Guest Author Day with Xavier Axelson/Ex
Why don't you start with telling us a little about yourself? What genre do you write in and why?
I’m Xavier, some guy who has managed to carve a crazy career in the adult industry that has lasted over 15 years. I have worked as a female phone sex operator, dungeon master, porn star talent agent, and as the assistant to an infamous Hollywood Madame. Now I write a sex advice column on Examiner.com, work for a leader in sexual technology as a product educator and write for m/m erotica for Silver Publishing. It’s a long way from the cornfields in Connecticut…
Were you an avid reader as a child? What type of books did you enjoy reading?
I was a voracious reader as a child…I am told I pulled books through the bars on my crib! I would simply die if I couldn’t read.
Tell us a bit about your latest book, and what inspired you to write such a story.
My latest book is called “A Valentine for Evrain” and I was inspired to write it truly because I am reading The Mists of Avalon and LOVE Arthurian legend and wanted to write something where my main character had an Arthurian style name, hence the name Evrain.
Did your book require a lot of research? How long does it take to write a book for you?
Can I be honest? I did no research…I actually wrote the entire thing in one sitting, well that’s a lie, I did do a little research into Arthurian names.
If you could have any vice without repercussions, what would it be?
What do you mean? Vices HAVE repercussions? I’m screwed…
If you could have been the servant to any famous person in history, who would that be and why?
Anne Boleyn because she was the ultimate rule-breaker; she loved and lived how she wanted and challenged not only people but government and religion.
What so you see for the future of publishing and e-books?
I think the future IS e-publishing, sadly, as I am a HUGE book lover, but for environmental reasons I see the necessary transition and am slowly but surely coming around to it.
Which of your characters do you love/hate/fear/pity the most and why?
I love all the men I have written since I have started writing Romance/Erotica. They are like friends that are lined up outside my house waiting to come in. I am always surprised when they arrive and always sad when they leave.
Do you get along with your muse? What do you do to placate her/it/him when she/it.he refuses to inspire you?
My muse is temperamental…so we are well suited. She is NOT however above confronting me when I am being wishy washy with the writing. She just says, “write or don’t write…but don’t fuck with me.”
Do you have another book in the works? Would you like to tell readers about your current or future projects
I have completed 2 novels. One is a psychological horror piece called “The Succumbing” and the other is called “The Elementals” which is a Gay-Horror-Romance. I am also working on a “men in uniform” short story and also trying to figure out where to submit this cowboy short story I have begging for attention.
Have you ever experience weird cravings while you write? If so, what kind?
I have cravings ALL the time…writing or not, I am a compulsive craver
For Fun, pick three to five questions to answer:
Which do you prefer:
Irish or Italian accent in a man? Irish
Dark eyes or Light eyes? Dark
Sleeping bag or Bed? Bed
Dinner or Movie for a first date? Dinner
Coffee or Tea? Tea
If you got three wishes from a genie, what would they be? (They can be silly, serious or in between).
1. World Peace
2. Money without consequence
3. More wishes
If you could spend a day with one actor/actress, who would it be and what would you do together?
Sharon Stone and we’d probably shop for ice picks.
What is on your bucket list to do before you pass from this earthly plain?
To go to Sweden and write a bestseller…short list…
Sneak Peek Excerpt into A Valentine For EvrainSilver Publishing
Coming in the Never Say Never Anthology
There was this assistant principal: sweet-lipped, early thirties, whose unconscious habit of wearing tight pants caught not only the interest of the town’s conservative population but mine as well, both for entirely different reasons. But I knew I'd bend him and, boy did I. He came in searching for something one night after school. He looked wild-eyed, caged; I know what a man wants when he looks that way. He said he was originally from the city, his eyes shifting hungrily, as if consuming the exotic spread of the store. I watched him inhale the sweet caramel smell of chocolate, cinnamon, lavender, and me. He did not know he wanted it, didn't know what it was that made his hands grip the counter, but I knew.
"I'm heading over to see this girl." His eyes scanned the counter top, the various chocolates underneath teasing him. "I thought she'd like something, thought it'd be gentlemanly."
I remember nodding, thinking, yeah, yeah I have heard it before, drop and give me 20. Instead I just smiled, cut two slices of dark-chocolate ginger bark and handed one to him. Ginger makes one think hard about heat, lust, fucking. I ate my piece and watched for his reaction. We both started to sweat. I wiped the back of my neck, and he grabbed a napkin from a stack on the counter and swiped it across his forehead. There is nothing hotter than watching a man submit to the unknown. I have heard that the thrill of skydiving is not so much in the jump, but in the fall.
"You ever skydive?" I asked him, as he began pacing my tiny sugar-infused domain. He didn't answer just kept sucking on the bark, his teeth gnawing at the confection as if it held the answer to the question I had just asked; the tight khakis revealed his erection. I could see the confusion in his face. He didn't know why he was hard. He looked down, betrayed by his body’s reaction. He knew I was staring and turned away; this only gave me a better view of what I wanted most. His ass was round, full, sensual for a man's body. I knew he’d never had anyone do anything to it. I spit a piece of ginger into the trash, reached down, and felt my own stiffening monster. I knew I'd fuck him the minute I laid eyes on him months before. He could pretend, pace, sweat—it was all gonna come down to one fateful moment: one push over the edge, falling, spiraling downward into a delicious oblivion. He would move back to the city, of course. He would learn he could not get what he really wanted from this place. I remember laughing at that moment, and his angry reaction.
"You think it's funny?" He spat, the ginger was working. "You think I like working in this shit hole. Small towns, small-minded backwards…"
"Hey there, this is my home you're talking about," I arched an eyebrow and reached for another piece of the bittersweet, dark-chocolate, ginger bark, "small minds, and all."