Tuesday, April 29, 2014

INTERVIEW: Christopher Hawthorne Moss and #Giveaway!

Special Note: Christopher Hawthorne Moss and I scheduled this interview several weeks ago. He was super excited to participate, being a hat aficionado himself! I received word from his partner of many years, Jim, that Kit (as I know him) had a significant medical emergency that left him in critical condition. Kit is a MARVELOUS guy and one of the most enthusiastic supporters of The Hat Party. I hope you will please send your love and prayers to him and Jim as Kit works toward healing.

His giveaway will continue--I know he's excited to share his stories with you all, so make sure you check out the details at the end of the interview.

With a heart full of love and a fancy hat,

~ ~ ~

Hello Christopher and welcome to The Hat Party! <3 Thank you so much for subjecting yourself to the RANDOMNESS that is a Raine O'Tierney interview! Please don your best hat, and let's get started!

On a scale 1 (super chill) to 10 (falling apart at the seams) how cool are you when it comes to reviews?!

Probably a three since most bad reviews I’ve gotten indicate a significant lack of reading comprehension and attention.  Every so often though someone who knows what s/he is talking about catches me at a goof.  I tip my hat, bow and say, “Touché!” and go on to try never to make the same mistake twice.

You’ve been given the opportunity to go back in time and give your 13-year-old self a message. What do you say?

“Despite all apparent evidence to the contrary, you are a dude, bro.”

(And because you’re a master of historicals, BONUS question! Now that you and your 13-year-old self have talked…and you still have the time machine…what time period do you and your 13-year-old self travel to and what do you do?)

Go to the 1480s and rescue the Princes in the Tower.  That would probably prevent the Tudors, which in turn would prevent all the goddamned Anne Boleyn novels.

So, you were editing along and zombies attack. And they are on fire! What do you do?

Rescue my cats, Mr. Hata and MacDhui the Duck.

What one food item do you consider to be your arch nemesis?

Licorice bridge mix, a beloved enemy.

Describe yourself using a literary quote.

“I celebrate myself!  I sing myself!” Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

You have 200 words—Make. Me. Swoon. (PLEASE!)

François  “Frankie”  Deramus ran a finger along his thin black moustache, leaned in and gazed at you, the exotic scent of his cologne making your head swim.   His coal black eyes sparkled in the light of the Japanese lanterns adorning the promenade on the riverboat Le Beau Soleil. On the bayou you could hear a lone violin playing a lilting Creole tune.  “Mademoiselle,” he purred, “I generally prefer the presence of Y chromosomes, but you are delicious, ma douce.  I must have you.”  His warm lips brushed yours as he removed the grand hat from your hair.  “Exquisite,” he sighed, and brushed the back of his hand over your already erect nipple.

What makes you inexplicably happy?

Overly buttered popcorn.

And finally, for THE most important question of all: what kinds of dachshunds are the BEST kinds of dachshunds?

The kind of miniature dachshund whom my cats can’t but love unconditionally, as s/he does us.

~ ~ ~

As the famous riverboat Le Beau Soleil lazily steams down the mighty Mississippi into the heart of the South, distractions of every sort attempt to pull agent for the Treasury Johnny Stanley away from his assignment. While liquor and gaming are no great temptations, his fascination with Le Beau Soleil’s owner, the debonair Frankie Deramus, means Johnny’s steadfast denial of his attraction to men is no longer feasible. Johnny fights his lust, but when he must come to Frankie’s aid, he can’t ignore his urges any longer. 

Their passionate love affair falls apart when Johnny refuses to admit two men can be in love. A bitter confrontation between the lovers at a Mardi Gras masquerade forces Johnny to run north. Frankie tries to follow, but the Southern states secede one by one, making it impossible to track Johnny down. The Civil War pits brother against brother and separates lover from lover. When at last the lovers meet again, it’s on the battlefield….

Available at Dreamspinner Press

At the time of the earliest Crusades, young noblewoman Elisabeth longs to be the person she’s always known is hidden inside. When her twin brother perishes from a fever, Elisabeth takes his identity to live as a man, a knight. As Elias, he travels to the Holy Land, to adventure, passion, death, and a lesson that honor is sometimes found in unexpected places. 

Elias must pass among knights and soldiers, survive furious battle, deadly privations, moral uncertainty, and treachery if he’ll have any chance of returning to his newfound love in the magnificent city of Constantinople. 

Available at Dreamspinner Press

About the Author:

Christopher Hawthorne Moss wrote his first short story when he was seven and has spent some of the happiest hours of his life fully involved with his colorful, passionate and often humorous characters. Moss spent some time away from fiction, writing content for websites before his first book came out under the name Nan Hawthorne in 1991. He has since become a novelist and is a prolific and popular blogger, the historical fiction editor for the GLBT Bookshelf, where you can find his short stories and thoughtful and expert book reviews. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his husband of over thirty years and four doted upon cats. He owns Shield-wall Productions at http://www.shield-wall.com. He welcomes comment from readers sent to christopherhmoss@gmail.com and can be found on Facebook and Twitter.


Comment between now and May 4th at 11:59 PM CDT for your chance to win an ebook copy of Where My Love Lies Dreaming or Beloved Pilgrim! 1 winner will randomly be chosen for each title!

Sunday, April 27, 2014

INTERVIEW: Jaye Edgerton

Today we are talking to the fantastic Jaye Edgerton whose hat, hair, and book cover all make me INCREDIBLY jealous!

Welcome back Jaye to The Hat Party <3 Thank you so much for subjecting yourself to the RANDOMNESS that is a Raine O'Tierney interview! Please don your best hat, and let's get started!

If you could have a conversation with your 13-year-old yourself right now, what would you say?

Stop with the boys. STAHP. Lesbians exist outside of the Indigo Girls and you are one. Also the internet is going to be amazing, and someday you will be able to afford new shinies and all the Transformers you want but you’ll give it up to chase your dreams, so no, you will never stop being totally punk.

Describe yourself using song lyrics.

There's a picture opposite me
Of my primitive ancestry
Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free
Though I respect that a lot
I'd be fired if that were my job
After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts

We’re both gamers! Have you ever had a game reduce you to tears?

I’ve reduced myself to tears in the context of a game, certainly. When I played World of Warcraft, like so many other writers (and other women!) I was on a role-playing server. Though to really explain it I’ll have to take a moment to explain to our readers about the Forsaken:

A few years ago (in narrative time), Lordaeron, one of the two human kingdoms in the world, was hit by, well, a zombie apocalypse. Even their crown prince was corrupted and turned into one of the undead Scourge army’s Death Knights. But as the rest of the world fought against the power controlling all the zombies, its control over some of them loosened, and they were able to break free. These former citizens of the kingdom regained their free will and took back their capitol…but they were still zombies. They called themselves the Forsaken.

I played a character who was one of these zombies. She was religious, and as a zombie she was an absolute mess of self-righteous self-loathing. In life she had been part of the city guard in one of the kingdom’s biggest cities, which was not only still under the control of the evil zombies, it was one of the game’s major dungeons.  Role-playing her sorting through the wreckage of what had been her life, a life she could never have again, definitely got me sniffling on more than one occasion.

What is your superpower? What is your Kryptonite?

I have a freaky ability to recognize patterns and find things. When I worked at a mainstream book shop (as opposed to the used book shop I worked at several years later) we’d get lists of books for stripping or remaindering, and they’d always give me the list after everyone else had gone over it to find the books they’d missed. I was really good at the technical support side of technical support, too, but terrible at the social side.

Productivity is my Kryptonite. I have like zero willpower. Part of why I quit my day job to write was because I knew I’d never be able to do it unless I forced my hand like that.

You have 200 words—Make. Me. Swoon. (AGAIN!)

I have this habit of writing absolutely filthy scenes for otherwise mainstream novels I’m working on, so have part of one of those!

He pulled me onto the bed. I teetered on top of him, trying to keep my balance when all my body's attention was on the growing erection between my legs. His hands were all over me as I kissed him, unbuttoning my shirt, tugging at my belt. I only reluctantly pulled away from those warm moist lips to squirm my way out of my pants, letting them fall to the floor. I tugged off his pale green shirt and added it to the pile of clothes. The tangles of his hair hooked around my fingers. He pushed against me, his erection hard against my own, and I moaned into his mouth. Part of me wanted to slow down, to savor this, but it was buried under that aching need to be in him. He slowed down for me. His fingers around my shaft defied my memory of him, his last six years of experience teasing out tiny helpless sounds from my throat. His other hand was everywhere: in my hair, on the small of my back, clutching my rear. I pulled away from his lips and looked down to see him gazing up at me. "I missed you," he murmured.

A GENRE SPECIFIC-VIRUS has targeted you and rendered you incapable of writing your chosen genre! What do you do now?

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh! Gosh… Mainstream? I’m terrible at mainstream. I have this weird quirk about writing real places. I can’t help but feel like I’m messing it up. So if I couldn’t write sci-fi/fantasy I’d probably die.

What is one mistake you’ve made during your writing career that you’ve learned and grown from?

I got it in my head for a while that writing sci-fi short fiction for the big anthology magazines would be my ticket to greatness, but I can’t actually write short fiction to save my life. My strengths as a writer are completely incompatible with that kind of story—I need space to spread out, to explore my characters. It took me a lot of angsting to accept that and move on.

What are you going to do to survive during the zombie apocalypse?

Pfft, I am SO READY. I have a great post-apocalypse car—an old Volvo 240 wagon—so I’ll just drive over zombies until I get to the middle of nowhere and hole up there, living off the land.

Seriously, my roommate/BFF says I am his Zombie Survival Plan. I credit a Southern upbringing with making me super handy.

Give a shout-out to another author who may, or may not, know how much you appreciate them.

There’s a sci-fi-fantasy author named C.S. Friedman who doesn’t get talked about nearly enough, but she’s both an excellent writer and had a direct impact on my life. When I was in high school, the English department put together a Writers’ Conference, and as my creative writing teacher was dating Ms. Friedman at the time he roped her into coming to talk to us. Attendees were chosen based on submitted short stories, and it was the first time I felt like my writing was taken seriously. I’ve recently been rereading her Coldfire Trilogy, and unlike a lot of things I thought were awesome as a teenager it still holds up well.

And finally, it’s STILL THE most important question of all: what kinds of dachshunds are the BEST kinds of dachshunds?

The fluffy long-haired one! One of my grandmothers had one of those.

~ ~ ~

When Erik, a human scholar and amateur mage, sets out to find Alfheim, the legendary home of the light-elves, he has nothing to lose. His village suffers under a mysterious Unending Winter, and his lover died in a hunting accident while trying to find food. Erik wants to find a way to end the cold, but he doesn’t expect a beautiful but Winter-cursed fey lord who wants him for his champion—and his bedmate. 

Lord Therial is an elemental creature, tied to the land, and the elves of his kingdom revere him like a spoiled but rightful ruler. A spell cast by a rival fey locks him and his little corner of Alfheim into a perpetual Winter that seems connected to the one afflicting Erik’s home. If Erik fails to defeat the enemy, both realms will remain trapped forever.

Available from Dreamspinner Press | Amazon | ARe

About the Author:

Jaye Edgerton lives in Columbus, OH, with three ferrets and a long-suffering best friend-slash-roommate. “Eccentric” is a nice way to put it. In addition to fiction, she writes about geek culture for her local alt-weekly. She likes her fluffy happy romance to be about men and her serious dark fantasy to be about women—she’s contrary that way. Before deciding to take her writing seriously, Jaye spent a cumulative five-and-a-half years working in bookstores, used and otherwise. After that she spent seven years in tech support where she mostly wanted to cry a lot, but the experience encouraged her to chase her dream of being a professional writer instead of just writing dirty vignettes about her Dungeons & Dragons and World of Warcraft characters that she showed to all of two people. She’s much too fond of office supplies, out-of-print sci-fi/fantasy authors, and Transformers.

Jaye can be found on Twitter as @JayeEdgerton, and she blogs at http://jayeedgerton.wordpress.com/. She can be reached at jayeedgerton@gmail.com and http://jayeedgerton.com/

Friday, April 25, 2014


This is the very first time we've ever had a guest don a hat while in *HELL* Please welcome the amazing Tinnean!

Hello Tinnean and welcome to The Hat Party! <3 Thank you so much for subjecting yourself to the RANDOMNESS that is a Raine O'Tierney interview! Please don your best hat, and let's get started!

Thanks so much for inviting me, Raine! This is so much fun! I don’t usually wear hats, but when we were down in the Caymans a few years ago, I did don one to ward off the Caribbean sun. This was taken in Hell. ;-)

You have three words, describe your writing dreams.

Best-seller list. (I’m easy, ARe, NY Times, USA Today, even my local newspaper. *whistles innocently*)

On a scale 1 (super chill) to 10 (falling apart at the seams) how cool are you under the pressure of blurb writing?!

On a good day I’m about a 5. On bad days… well, let me just say a lot of teeth-gnashing and hair-tearing is involved, not to mention the throwing of profanity at the computer screen.  Why yes, I do have a hate/hate relationship with blurbs.

If you could go back and speak to your 13-year-old self, what would you say?

Keeping a journal is a great idea, but don’t leave it laying around on your night table. Find a better place to hide it.

A genre-specific virus has attacked you, rendering you INCAPABLE of writing your chosen genre. What do you do now?!

I can’t *not* write, so I’ll go back to writing f/m (my female characters are strong women and give the men a run for their money) until a cure is found.

Describe yourself using song lyrics.

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year...

Tell me your zombie apocalypse survival plan.

I guess that depends on if we’re facing The Walking Dead or George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead zombies.

If it’s the latter, I’ve got a stockpile of pills, and I’m checking out. *cough*

If it’s the former, well, since we live in SW Florida, we have storm shutters, so I’d make sure they were up as soon as possible. (Unfortunately, for the back of the house we have Armor Screen, which zombies could probably get around. Then it’s a matter of waiting for them to break open the sliders. *shudder*) We’ve got a case of water in the garage, and there’s water in the spa for the toilets. (being careful to slip out when no zombies are around, since it’s outside the Armor Screen.) There are boxes and cans of food in the pantry and pizza in the freezer, and we have a propane grill on the lanai with a full spare tank in the garage, which is attached, so no having to venture out for that. For defense, we’ve got a handgun and ammunition, walking sticks, and a couple of golf clubs. Hey, if they worked for Daryl and Beth, I’m willing to give them a shot. There are a couple of large knives for worst-case scenario.

You have 200 words—Make. Me. Swoon. (PLEASE!)

“I always wondered what being married would be like.”

“Uh… yeah?” Where was he going with this?

“I’d… I’d like Harry to be my best man.”

“Okay.” Was he trying to tell me that, in spite of our agreeing to do away with condoms, he didn’t see a future for us? That he intended to leave me eventually for a woman?

I’d been so miserable without him; how could I bear it if... Fuck it. I’d hold onto him for as long as I could, make him as happy as I could, and put off the time I would be miserable again for as long as I could.

“I want you to know that I’ll always come back to you.”

“What?” He’d leave me to marry some woman, unknown as far as I could tell, and then come back to me when he got tired of living the straight life? Could I live a life like that? “Wills…”

“Dammit. This isn’t coming out right.” He turned, took my hand and brought it to his mouth, then dropped to his knee. “Marry me, Theo? I know it wouldn’t be considered legal, but marry me anyway?”

What is your most irrational fear and what makes you inexplicably happy?

Are you sure you want to know? Okay, okay, my most irrational fear is that the boogey man is going to get me. If you’ve seen the original Halloween, the scene where Michael Meyers morphs out of the darkness behind Jamie Lee Curtis. Yeah, that’s the one. To further illustrate what I mean, my son did that to me when I’d gone down to the basement to do laundry. I turned around and there he was right in my personal space, and I almost had a heart attack.

As for what makes me inexplicably happy, babies—human babies, ducklings, chicks, bunnies, pups, kittehs. And of course finishing a book and signing a contract.

Worst mistake you’ve made in your career and what you’ve learned from it?

I signed a contract for my first novel, and it said nothing about when the rights revert to me or if they ever do. Now I make sure there’s something in the contract that assures me what I’ve written will become mine again in a few years.

And finally, for THE most important question of all: what kinds of dachshunds are the BEST kinds of dachshunds?

Is this a trick question? They’re ALL the best!

~ ~ ~

Giving up a life as rent boy Sweetcheeks for his lover, William Matheson, was an easy decision for Theo Bascopolis. But years of selling his body and the lingering pain from being thrown out by his father leave Theo worried that Wills, who’s always had his family’s acceptance, can’t truly love him. Life has taught him love isn’t for rent boys, and he’s having a hard time tearing down the walls he built around his emotions and trusting that Wills sees beyond his past.

Despite Will’s reassurances, he leaves for an extended assignment with no contact, giving Theo too much time to think about the future. A message arrives, and as far as Theo is concerned, it proves him right. Maybe it’s too late to protect his heart, but he’s not going to hang around waiting for Matheson to stomp all over it. Theo runs, breaking all ties to his former lover.

When Wills returns to an empty apartment and no sign of his lover, he wonders whether Theo really wants to be found and if they are meant to be together after all. But they’ve been through too much, and Wills always gets his man.

Available from Dreamspinner

I was in my office, working on the tax returns for Tim and Cris, when the house phone rang. “Theo Bascopolis, accountant at large. How may I help you?”

“Theo, it’s Vincent.”

“Vince? What’s—Wills?” Vince never called during the day, and I felt my insides twist. Since I’d learned what Wills really did, I’d started dreading a call from his boss. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” I sagged in relief. “I sent him to take a nap.”


“He was busy with work.”

“Oh, got it.” Wills had called early the day before to let me know he was working through the night, and I’d brought him dinner. “So what’s the skinny?”

“Paul’s in trouble.”

It was a good thing I was sitting down, or I’d have wound up on my ass, but I still had to swallow a bunch of times before I could speak. “What... what’s wrong?”

“Spike’s missing, and I’m flying out to deal with it. I need a favor.”

“Oh, Jesus…. What can I do?”

“I have a kitten—”

“You do?” The thought of Vince with a kitten was kind of adorable. I remembered how cute he’d been with Miss Su. “Since when?”

“Since… Theo, is that really important?” He sounded impatient, and I felt dumb for letting myself be distracted.

“No, I guess not. I’m sorry.”

“Can I leave her with you?”

“Sure. You want me to come pick her up? Just leave the key—”


“Geez!” From the way he reacted you’d think I was volunteering to walk into a minefield instead of his home. “You don’t have to be so jumpy!”

“Look, you know where my condo is.”

“Sure.” As well as those times I’d worked there with Delilah Carson, for a few weeks this past fall, I’d gone to Aspen Reach to oversee it being refurbished... the walls painted, the hardwood floors refinished, and the arrangement of the furniture. I’d had the best time, and I was pretty sure Vince was happy with the results.

“Meet me there, okay? Wait for me outside the gate.”

Like I’d be able to get in—there were no guards there who I could charm into opening the gate for me. Which I wouldn’t have done anyway, since I was an engaged man. “I’m leaving right now.”

“Thanks, Theo. I owe you.”

“Vince, you don’t owe me a thing. You gave me Wills! And besides, you’re doing this for Paul.” And I knew how much Paul meant to him.

“I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.” I hung up, got my jacket and keys, and turned to my own kitty. “I’m going to bring a visitor home. Watch the house, okay?”


“Good girl.”

I went down to the garage, got into the Corvair, and backed it out, scraping the driver’s side door again. Stupid narrow driveway. 

Although… Maybe I should take lessons?


I’d only just arrived at Aspen Reach when Vince pulled up to the gate, and it swung open. He drove through, and I followed him to his building and parked behind his car. 

“I don’t have much time,” he said as he used a keycard through the swipe lock to unlock the door to the lobby.

“That’s fine. You haven’t heard anything else, have you?”

“No, but I know someone who knows someone on the CIA set, and I’m going to call him as soon as I get to LA.”  

Spike had been thrilled when he’d gotten that part on the TV show, the friend of a computer geek who hacked into an important lab’s mainframe. We’d all been thrilled along with him. It was his first role following his appearance in the slasher flick slated to open over the Independence Day weekend. Even though the movie hadn’t been released yet, insider word praised Spike’s performance, and the CIA showrunner had been interested enough to give him a screen test.

Vince headed for the stairs. I’d never known anyone who preferred stairs to the elevator the way he did, but if that was what made him happy…

“I know you’ll want to talk to Paul, but do me a favor and wait for him to call you. He’s been up for almost twenty-seven hours, and I told him to get some sleep. I’ll have him call you when I get there.”

I touched his shoulder. “Thanks, Vince.”

“Don’t make a big deal of it.”

“Okay. But Vince? Thank you.”

We climbed up to the third floor, and he took out a key ring with a bunch of keys on it. He inserted one key after another into the six locks on his door. That was new; at least they hadn’t been there last fall. Something else I didn’t understand, but it wasn’t my business, so I didn’t say anything.

“Come on in.”

I followed him in and glanced around.

“I have to say we did a great job on this place.” And I was pretty damn proud of it. “It’s so much less… pink.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Pita!”

“That’s your cat’s name?”

“It’s temporary. I’m giving her to a friend’s mother for Mother’s Day.” He stuck his pinkies in the corners of his mouth and whistled.

“That isn’t the way to call a cat!”

“No?” He laughed as the cat appeared and bounded toward us.

About the Author:

Tinnean has been writing since the 3rd grade, where she was inspired to try her hand at epic poetry. Fortunately, that epic poem didn't survive the passage of time; however, her love of writing not only survived but thrived, and in high school she became a member of the magazine staff, where she contributed a number of stories.It was with the advent of the family's second computer – the first intimidated everyone – that her writing took off, enhanced in part by fanfiction, but mostly by the wonder that is copy and paste.While involved in fandom, she was nominated for both Rerun and Light My Fire Awards. Now she concentrates on her original characters. Her novel, Two Lips, Indifferent Red received honorable mention in the 2013 Rainbow Awards.A New Yorker at heart, she resides in SW Florida with her husband and two computers.Ernest Hemingway's words reflect Tinnean's devotion to her craft: Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.She can be contacted at tinneantoo@gmail.com, and can be found on Live Journal: http://tinnean.livejournal.com/, @tinneantoo on Twitter, and on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tinnean
If you'd like to sample her earlier works, they can be found at http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/tinnssinns/Welcome1.html

Thursday, April 24, 2014

COVER REVEAL: If Wishes Were Horses and #Giveaway!

Kenneth Carver had everything growing up except warmth and acceptance. When protecting his family’s name became more than he could bear, he came out as gay, sold his company, and bought a horse ranch.

Andrew Wofford's last undercover assignment nearly cost him his sanity. Now he has another chance of catching the drug runner who killed one of his informants and then escaped, but gruesome flashbacks threaten his ability to function in the field.

Andy’s latest investigation sends him to Ken’s ranch where he poses as a ranch hand. Ken is a prime suspect, but Andy refuses to believe Ken is guilty, in part because Andy is falling for him. Ken knows Andy isn’t who he seems, but he can’t bring himself to push the man away. When Ken hears rumors that someone is using his land to move drugs out of the city, he worries that it’s Andy. Neither man can trust the other even though that’s exactly what their hearts tell them to do.

For an excerpt and to purchase your own copy, visit Silvia's website!

About the Author:

Silvia Violet writes erotic romance in a variety of genres including paranormal, contemporary, sci fi, and historical. She can be found haunting coffee shops looking for the darkest, strongest cup of coffee she can find. Once equipped with the needed fuel, she can happily sit for hours pounding away at her laptop. Silvia typically leaves home disguised as a suburban stay-at-home-mom, and other coffee shop patrons tend to ask her hilarious questions like "Do you write children's books?" She loves watching the looks on their faces when they learn what she's actually up to. When not writing, Silvia enjoys baking sinfully delicious treats, exploring new styles of cooking, and reading to her incorrigible offspring.

Find Her At:

Website: http://silviaviolet.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/silvia.violet
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Silvia_Violet
Goodreads page: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21899380-if-wishes-were-horses

Cover Artist: LC Chase
Publisher: Self-Published

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

INTERVIEW: Devon McCormack and #Giveaway!

Today we're talking to Devon McCormack, who... *fans self* Quite a hat there, sir! What was I saying?

Hello Devon and welcome to The Hat Party! <3 Thank you so much for subjecting yourself to the RANDOMNESS that is a Raine O'Tierney interview! Please don your best hat, and let's get started!

Describe yourself in 3 ½ words.


If you could go back to any point in your timeline to encourage yourself, when would you go and what would you say?

My first time with a man. I’d say, “Don’t worry. It can fit in there. I promise.” No one really prepares you for that. At least, no one prepared me.

A genre-specific virus has attacked you, rendering you INCAPABLE of writing your chosen genre. What do you do now?!

I become a scientist and work to cure this virus. I at least want to understand how it spreads and do my best to keep from spreading to others, except for a few authors that I’d like to pass it along to. I also join some support groups to help me work through the emotional issues that would stem from being a victim of this tragic disease. I feel like there would be a lot of us.

As for how it would change my writing, I primarily write paranormal stories. I have two books coming out through Wilde City Press. One is about angels and demons. The other is vampires. I have a Harmony Ink Press YA book about demons coming out June/July. But I don’t imagine that I would have to write about paranormal creatures. I could see myself just as easily writing contemporary stories. I also wouldn’t mind writing some sort of Christian and/or spiritual fiction. I don’t consider myself particularly religious, but I have great reverence and appreciation for those who are.

Describe yourself using song lyrics.

“Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy, I’ve come home, and I’m so co-o-o-old. Let me in your window-ow-ow.”

Ok…maybe it doesn’t actually describe me, but I think that’s an awesome answer to that question.

Do you think you’d fare better against feral vampires or zombies?

Hmmm…those sound like frighteningly similar issues. I guess feral vampires. I’m terrified of zombies. In Night of the Living Dead, there’s this girl who loses her mind and just lies on the couch the whole time, whining about her dead brother. That’d be me. I’d lose my mind and be absolutely useless. For this very reason, my bestie and I have an agreement that if a zombie apocalypse ever occurs, I’m to be used as a sacrifice. In either case, feral vamps or zombies, I don’t think I’ll make it long enough to have to do any serious planning.

You have 200 words—Make. Me. Swoon. (PLEASE!)

Treycore closed his eyes and rolled his head back. A bulge in the covers moved up and down.

Waves of heat rushed through Kid. His cock couldn’t get much harder.

“You mind?” Treycore asked.


Treycore’s eyes shifted to Kid’s concealed cock.

“You wanna get off, too?”


Was Treycore serious? Had he heard him right?

Treycore pulled the covers down, revealing his rigid muscles, tense, swelling as he massaged his impressively massive dick.

Kid slid his boxers down and wrapped his fingers around the shaft of his penis.

“That’s a pretty good size,” Treycore said. “For a mortal, that is.”

“Thanks,” Kid said, not sure whether Treycore was offering an insult or a compliment.

Treycore licked his fingers, dipped his hand down, and rubbed the liquid over his thick flesh.

“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t have any lube. Here.”

He licked his fingers again and wiped them across the head of Kid’s dick. Kid’s shaft tightened as it grew even bigger. A ripple, like an electric shock, rushed from the head of his dick to the back of his pelvis.

What is your most irrational fear and what makes you inexplicably happy?

I like to believe it’s not an irrational fear, but as I contemplate it, I’m tempted to think that it is. I’m terrified of hallucinating. When I was little, I had terrible, monster-filled nightmares. I’ve always been worried, not that anything in these nightmares could actually happen, but that I would take a drug or lose my mind in such a way that I would suddenly be able to see these creatures in real life. That wouldn’t be okay.

Peanut butter makes me inexplicably happy. Peanut butter on bread. Peanut butter in ice cream. Peanut butter in candy. Peanut butter by itself. I don’t know how I would live without peanut butter.

Be honest. Be TOTALLY honest. How’s your handwriting?

Crap. Always has been. When I’m writing notes for a story, I have to go back and translate my chicken scratch. I usually can’t. Is “Jameri” the name of a character? A clue the MC finds? Is that even what it says? I don’t let it get me down, though. My philosophy is, “If I don’t remember what it says, then it’s not good enough to go in the book.”

Overall, I’m okay with bad handwriting. I’ve never trusted anyone whose handwriting is too good.

Worst mistake you’ve made in your career and what you’ve learned from it?

Waiting for someone else to come along and tell me that my work was good. I think it’s a mistake most writers make. We don’t want to have to be confident in our own work. We don’t want to risk putting something out there and discovering that we’re terrible. It’s very vulnerable to throw work out there and get feedback from people who can tell you that you’re crap.

For a long time, I stockpiled my writing, letting this and that project take up way too much space on my hard drive. When I self published the initial version of Clipped, I was just tired and thought, “I don’t care if no one else likes it. I do.” And then I found all these people who actually really enjoyed what I was writing. It was nice and surprising, and I never would have found them if I hadn’t put myself out there.

I think this lesson has changed how I feel about a lot of areas of my life.

And finally, for THE most important question of all: what kinds of dachshunds are the BEST kinds of dachshunds?

The morbidly obese kinds. You can just set them on a shelf and use them as decorations! So cute.

~ ~ ~

Though mortals have been convinced that God cares about their souls, nothing could be further from the truth. He created the world as a gift for his lover, Satan. But when Satan left him, he decided to end what he saw as his most grotesque creation.

Satan and his army of demons are man's only hope...

The demon Kinzer and his lover, Janka, have been sent by Satan to spy on The Raze, a gang of rogue demons who are working with God to bring about Armageddon. When someone exposes their true allegiances, The Raze clips Kinzer's wings and murders Janka. Kinzer manages to escape. He tracks down Satan's allies to warn them about a mole in their midst when he learns that they've located the Antichrist—a powerful weapon that could prevent the apocalypse. Now, he's on a mission to protect the Antichrist and avenge his lover’s death.

Available at Wilde City

Dedrus scanned Kinzer’s body, admiring his massive biceps, his brown eyes, and his black waves of hair. Even with the wounds and tears that still tainted his face, he was beautiful. Dedrus wanted to press him back against the cushion, rip off his clothes, and provide him with the ease he deserved. But no! He was just wanting it for himself, and he was pretending that it was to serve Kinzer’s pain.
“I loved him so much.” The words cracked through Kinzer’s lips. His cheeks and forehead shivered. Tears filled his eyes. “I know we had so much time, but it wasn’t enough.”
The sting in Dedrus’s chest intensified. His cheeks flashed red as anger washed over him—anger that he loathed because it made him feel like a terrible, selfish creature.
He set his hand on Kinzer’s back, his palm stroking softly across the blue fabric of his polo. He wanted to say, “You’ll find love again.” He couldn’t, because he knew he’d really be saying, “Please find love in me.” He thought of saying, “Everything will be alright.” No. He couldn’t make that kind of promise. “It’ll take time,” felt appropriate, and yet, as an immortal, Dedrus never perceived time as a generous gift as much as a twisted, agonizing punishment.
“I wish I could think of something right to say about this,” Dedrus said, “but I can’t. I know how much you loved him, and I know how much he loved you, and I can’t imagine how hard this is going to be for you. But I’m here. As your friend. I don’t know if that means much, but I know the feeling of having something so perfect and wonderful torn from you.”
Kinzer’s gaze met his. His eyes were sad.
Does he know what I’m talking about?
“Tell me you’ve found someone,” Kinzer said.
“Of course,” he lied. “I’m just being overdramatic.”
“I figured as much. Considering where you work, I'm sure you get a lot of offers.”
It was true, but not the way Kinzer was suggesting. There were nights when Treycore dragged some pathetic mortal back to ease Dedrus’s pain. Those nights were the loneliest. Though he could bring himself to climax, it was an empty relief that just stirred the cruel memories of those moments filled with so much more.
Dedrus hugged him again. “Let’s get to bed,” he said. “You need some sleep.”
Kinzer nodded.
“We have plenty to sort through tomorrow. You can have my room. I’ll just sleep here.”
Dedrus released him.
Kinzer picked the sword up off his lap and stood. He reached his hand out. “Come on. It won’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed.”
The upward curl of his lip let Dedrus know that Kinzer was more than interested.
Dedrus’s dick swelled. “I don’t think I can.” He wanted Kinzer so bad, and if he put himself in that position, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to resist making a move—especially if Kinzer initiated something.
“I'd rather not disrespect you like that,” Dedrus said.
Kinzer’s hand fell, bouncing against his jeans. His head drooped.
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dedrus smiled. “‘Night, Kinzer.”
Kinzer knelt, offering a light peck on Dedrus’s lips.
Don’t tease me with a taste!
“Up the stairs, first room on the right.”
Kinzer walked up the stairs, headed down the hall, and slipped into Dedrus’s bedroom.
Dedrus had hoped that Kinzer’s exit would provide some relief.
It didn't.
He ached for him. His thoughts dwelled on Kinzer’s lips tickling his nipples, his gaze appreciating his body, his tongue delighting in his body’s grooves. He wanted to run upstairs and throw his arms around him, to hold him for the night, and tell him that no matter what happened he’d be there for him. He wanted more than that, but he wouldn’t press his friend. He wouldn’t dare cross that line…even if Kinzer insisted.
Spreading his limbs across the couch, he rested his head on a lace pillow at the end and rolled so that he was facing the cushions.
He closed his eyes.
A few moments passed before something pressed against his ass.
He flipped over and hopped to his feet, ready for a fight.
Kinzer stood before him, holding his hands out, as if showing a cop that he was unarmed. “Whoa, cowboy. Chill the fuck out.”
“Sorry.” Every hair on Dedrus’s immortal body stood on end. “You freaked the shit out of me. Did you need something? Another cover? Pillows?”
Kinzer wiggled his thumb behind the waistband in Dedrus’s khakis.
“Yeah. I need something.” He pulled their pelvises together.
His hot breath rushed across Dedrus’s lips, settling in the bristles across his cheeks. The warmth combined with a rush of blood that surged to his face and made him feel like his cheeks were about to catch on fire.
Kinzer pressed his lips against Dedrus’s.
Amidst the creases in Kinzer’s lips, Dedrus felt the smooth, subtle dip where Kinzer’s cut was healing.
He trailed his palm over the rough fabric of Kinzer’s polo. As he reached the smooth flesh of his neck, curly black hairs pricked his fingertips.
Kinzer opened his mouth wide. Dedrus eagerly reciprocated, tilting his head and allowing their lips to seal together. A swirling sensation gathered at the back of his spine and rushed to the crown of his skull.
Guilt nagged at his thoughts. He couldn’t do this. Kinzer didn’t really want him. He was just vulnerable and ached for a physical distraction from his grief. It would be wrong to take advantage while he was still recovering from Janka’s death.
Kinzer’s tongue flicked his.
He wanted Kinzer so bad, but not like that. Pressing his hand against the dip between the bulbous, jagged pecs before him, he broke their sealed kiss.
“What?” Kinzer rested his hands on either of Dedrus’s hips.
“This wouldn’t be right. I don’t want to disrespect you.”
“I know. But I want you to.”
Kinzer wrapped both arms around Dedrus. Spinning them around, he pushed Dedrus back against a painting that hung from the wall.
Kinzer’s eyes glistened with that gleam—the one that was so familiar to Dedrus.
Dedrus couldn’t control himself. His lips returned to their passionate embrace. His fingers found their way under Kinzer’s shirt, feeling about fervently, savoring the dips in his torso.

About the Author:

If I was writing an old-school craigslist personal, I'd say (appropriately in code): fit masc wm ddf lookin 4 same. 28yo. Of course, who's honest with their craigslist personal ads? And who the hell uses craigslist these days? Please. That's what grindr is for.

On a more serious note, I'm from Atlanta, GA. I work odd jobs. My gay erotic novel Clipped is available through Wilde City Press. I also have a vampire novel coming out through Wilde City in October and a young adult novel being released through Harmony Ink Press in June or July


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