Wednesday, July 22, 2015


Hello J. Colby 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!

Hat on and ready to go! Wait, are fascinators hats? I mean… they go on your head. Oh well, fascinator on and ready to go! Thanks for having me! J

Tell us about a time you were done a great kindness.

Absolutely no question on the answer to this. A few months back I drove to work—I usually walk or bike. I must have dropped my keys by my car when I went to put them in my bag, because by the time I left work I was having a mild freak out when I couldn’t find them. I checked everywhere I could think of before trudging back to my car, dejected and hoping against hopes for a miracle.

Well, I got one! When I got there my car was unlocked and someone had left my dropped keys tucked into the seat.

So, thank you kind Samaritan for NOT stealing my car!  XD

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

I don’t know actually. I was a terribly unexciting teenager who actually got along with her parents. Probably something terribly cliché like ‘your parents are probably right, stop arguing with them over stupid things’.

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

Considering how terribly unobservant I can be, I’d probably get bitten and die. Or flail in a completely unbecoming manner and throw pillows at them or something.

Describe yourself using a literary quote.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat: "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."
"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”
Lewis CarrollAlice in Wonderland

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

He can feel his voice like fingers on his skin. Literally. Phone pressed to his ear, he doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t touch himself. Doesn’t have to. That smooth sonorous voice is caressing him in ways he never could himself, even when he knows his body better than anyone.

Or so he’d thought.

He can’t focus on the words. The words don’t matter anyway. He could be reading the phone book and that soft and silky touch would still have him hard and aching.

Until it stops.

“Wh… what—“

His voice is broken and confused and he’ll never admit that to anyone outside the two of them. A soft chuckle comes across the line, and even just that noise has him squirming on his sheets.

“You were so quiet… I thought you’d lost interest.”

There’s a heaviness to that last word and he feels it like a firm hand between his legs.

“As if I could.”

He’s not sure how he manages to form coherent words, but he does. He’s rewarded with another one of those rich laughs and the sound makes him moan. He’s had phone sex before, of course, but not like this. Nothing could be like this.

What makes you inexplicably happy?

My parents and how completely they support pretty much anything I do with my life. They’ve never ever told me I couldn’t do something, just cautioned that it might be hard.

Sing us a song!

I have a very good friend
The kind of girl who likes to follow a trend
She has a personal style
Some people like it, others tend to go wild
You hear her voice everywhere
Taking the chair
She's a leading lady
And with no trace of hesitation she keeps going
Head over heels
Head Over Heels –ABBA

Yeah, I’m an unrepentant ABBA fan, and I love this song so much. It just feels like it’s me.

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

Dairy. ;__; I’m lactose intolerant and I love dairy. It’s a very tragically doomed relationship.

Biggest mistake you’ve made in your writing adventure and what you’ve learned from it.

Always make multiple back-ups of files!! I lost my hard-drive to an unexpected computer death and recovered everything but one file, which I’d backed up on a USB—which… I lost somehow. I managed to lose over 50k of one of the stories I was most attached to and haven’t had the heart to try and rewrite.

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

Okay I’m not going to lie, I’m not a dog person at all so I actually had to google Dachshunds. XD I’m sorry! But I definitely think long-haired dachshund puppies look the cutest and cuddliest.

~ ~ ~

Photographer Elliot is near the top of his field and loves his work, even if it means putting up with models like Cory: beautiful, egotistical, and aggravating. Then a photoshoot in Norway shows there's more to Cory than Elliot thought, and he agrees to dinner despite himself.

But even if he's not completely a brat, it's well known Cory prefers to play rather than settle. And Elliot isn't interested in being anyone's toy—no matter how persuasive and persistent Cory proves to be.


Elliot wasn't sure what bothered him the most about Cory. If he took the time to think about it—which he'd really rather not, if he were honest with himself—it was a combination of many things. The easiest to focus on right now was the ridiculous nickname that all the fashion magazines had given him.

Angel Eyes.

It was ridiculous for a grown man to be called that without any trace of derision or irony, yet somehow it was always mentioned at least once in every article that featured him. Elliot couldn't even argue that the name didn't fit, which made it more annoying than it already was.

"Cory. If you don't mind, I would like to finish this shoot at a reasonable hour if at all possible."

Cory turned his famous pale blue eyes in his direction lazily, as if it was too much work to turn his entire head and look right at him. He didn't say anything to him directly but shooed the hovering makeup artists and fashion coordinators away with a lazy wave of one hand.

“Whatever you say, Posh Spice.”

"Thank you. If you'd just move a bit to your left, please. One hand on the middle button of your suit jacket."

Elliot did his best to ignore Cory’s attempt at humor towards his country of birth, but his tone was terse anyway; he couldn't help it. No matter where they were shooting, Cory always managed to delay things with his inability to do anything without flirting with someone. It also never seemed to matter if he spoke the same language as the person he was flirting with.

Like the time Elliot had forgotten his camera bag and returned to their rented studio just in time to walk in on Cory and three models during their shoot last year in Milan—or had it been four? There'd been so many limbs everywhere that he still wasn't sure. It certainly hadn't helped that he'd been given a rather glorious view of Cory's ass that he'd been a bit reluctant to try and forget even if it was the right thing to do. He was only human, after all.

It was all made more irritating by the fact that when Cory gave his full focus to a shoot, he was an amazing model. There was a reason he was sought after in nearly every fashion-forward country. If only Cory could make a concentrated effort to keep his mind on the camera and out of the gutter for longer than five minutes at a time.

"You're crankier than usual today," Cory said after a few more shots had been taken. Elliot had paused in his shooting in order to direct him to sit on a dark wooden chair that he'd placed in the middle of a stark white backdrop, giving Cory a chance to speak. "Did you not get any last night?"

Cory's slow Georgian drawl and deep voice managed to make those words sound more perverted than they already were. Elliot's jaw clenched as he counted to ten slowly in his mind. He reminded himself that despite being in Norway and not the U.S., it would still be very illegal to throw Cory out of a fifth-story window.

Even if he chose to ignore that, it would be hell to try and replace him when they'd already finished nearly half of the two-day photo shoot. Elliot wasn't sure what it said about his current state of mind that he was more worried about losing this contract than being publicly crucified and sent to jail should he toss one of the world's most famous men out of a window.

What are your hopes for this title?

Honestly? I just want people to enjoy it. I’m pretty easy to please that way.

About the Author

J. Colby has been writing for as long as she could hold a pen, pencil, or crayon in her hand. Her mind never stops creating, which often leads to interesting dreams— and sometimes nightmares.

She has two cats that own her more than she owns them, and a full-time job that pays the bills and owns her more than her cats do.

Food, sleep, the smell of old books, and knitting are all things she loves on top of creating new worlds and the people in them. Though sometimes food more than any of the others.

Find J. Colby: Dreamwidth * Twitter * GoodReads

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