To get us started
can you tell us a little about what you are working on or have coming out?
I’ve made a bit of
a departure from my usual Victorian Gothic Historical and gone all SF. Well, sort of. It’s more a thinly disguised late Victorian
age which happens to be on another planet.
My main character, Will, could easily be a Victorian gentleman but his
reserve soon gets broken down when faced with the over whelming temptation in
the form of a beautiful young man in his bed.
He’s not stupid – he knows a good thing when he sees one.
This book is rather
dear to me as it was the first one I ever wrote. I think I took “putting things on a back
boiler” a bit far as it has been simmering on and off for about 4 years now – I
think it must be stuck to the bottom of the pan by now. I finally had to give myself a definite
deadline of getting it finished by September this year and by the time this is
posted I hope to have a publisher for it.
It also combines
two of my great lifelong loves – Egyptology and SF – yes, I loved the “Stargate”
movie. I know it has been done before
but hopefully I give it a sexy twist.
While that’s with
the publisher I am going to try not to rest on my laurels. I’m firmly back in Victorian England for my
next Gothic horror. I’ve got this
character running around in my head who wants me to tell his story. He is a very naughty boy and is going to get
up to all sorts of naughtiness – in a graveyard!
If we asked your
muse to describe you using five words, what do you think they would say?
Get me out of here!
(Twisted, perverted, procrastinator, appalling speller.)
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
By Jeffrey Dean
Morgan’s side? What a man! That smile….. That bum….
How do you get yourself in the mood to write?
I stand over myself
with a big stick and look threatening.
Where
do you find the inspirations for your stories?
Victorian
Gothic literature. I am mad about Saki,
M R James, Lovecraft. Wuthering Heights
Movies
and pretty men do it for me. The above
mentioned Jeffrey Dean Morgan was the inspiration for my Highwayman.
I
love listening to talking books and letting the language flow around me. Poetry soemtimes works for me.
I
am also a very vivid dreamer and get loads of my ideas from dreams. A character or situation may stand out or
soemtimes I can dream a whole plot.
With
the new book I am hoping to write next it was just the name of the character
which came to me and then he started inhabiting bits of my mind and a story
started to form round him. You know when
a blob of mercury shatters and then pulls itself back together again? One little spark acts like a loadstone and
pulls things in. To mix my metaphors.
Is
there any books coming that you are itching to read (either electronic or print)
from your favorite authors?
Katrina Strauss just emailed me to let me know
she has started on Blue Ruin 5. Now I am
totally tormented and will be until I have it in my grubby little paws. When the last one came out I stopped up until
Midnight UK time to get my copy. Book 3
came out when I was on holiday (in Egypt
I’m obsessed with her Dom – Derek. He is just gorgeous! A total dream of a man. I love spending time with him and his unsubby
sub. I love the details of their
domestic life just as much as I like the juice details of their sex life. Katrina could do a whole chapter of Derek and
Blue cook Ramen for tea and I would love it.
Though of course knowing those two it would involve Blue being bent
naked over the counter and getting spanked with the wooden spoon and then Derek
coming up with some devious use for the noodles. I think mostly I just want to BE Derek – he’s
so cool and sophisticated and a little bit vulnerable.
Everyone watch LooseID – Katrina is one sexy
lady.
What do you feel is the most important thing that a
first-time author should know?
Like a lot of people I used to dream about being a published author -
then I realized that to get a book published you actually have to sit down and
write one. So the most important thing
is you have to actually write that book.
"Dear Lord,
Please. Let me get a book published."
The man goes home and nothing happens. So the next day, the man returns to church,
gets down on his knees and prays to God:
"Dear Lord, Please! I am
begging you! Please!
Let me get a book published!"
The man goes home and again, nothing
happens. So the next day, the man goes
back to church, gets on his knees and prays to God: "Dear Lord, If you don't answer my
prayers soon, I am going to give up.
Please! Please! Let me get a book published!"
Suddenly a big, booming voice from above
answers, "Meet me half way! Write
the darned book!"
Wolf in the Fold
Loose Id
Vampires &
Shapeshifters, LGBT, BDSM & Fetish, Fantasy & Paranormal
Available at Publisher
When dissolute romantic Henry Garrett
enjoys a hot night of illicit sex with a hired whore he thinks it will end
there. What he does not expect is for his one-night stand to follow him home
and turn his life upside down, leading him down a path of self discovery with
consequences quite beyond his wildest romantic imaginings.
Gabriel is wild, sexy, knows what he wants
and is not afraid to bend over to get it but he could be more of a danger than
even Henry thinks. Because there is something dangerous in the woods of Garrett
Hall, and it just could be that Henry’s wild lover is a threat to more than his
lifestyle. Sado-masochism may not be the only secret pretty Gabriel was hiding.
Note:This book contains explicit sexual
content, graphic language, and situations some readers may find objectionable:
BDSM theme and elements, male/male sexual practices.
Teaser Excerpt:
I
had in my time seen some beautiful young men, mostly in artists’ studios or
houses like this one, though of better repute, in London
A thick mane of hair so dark as to be almost black fell to his shoulders. At this distance I could not tell the color of the eyes beneath thick, dark brows, but they were remarkable and piercing. His nose was well made and straight above a mouth so full it was deserving of the title sensuous. He had a certain insolent look to his face and something half wild to his countenance.
He wore a long, dark riding coat, and with no more ado than shutting the door behind him and dropping the latch, this he let fall to the floor to reveal that he wore not a stitch of clothing beneath. He was slender with the look of a youth who had recently outgrown his coltishness. Well-toned, he looked fine and fit. There was little hair on his body, but I took him to be not far out of his teens if out of them at all.
His limbs and body were a golden brown that spoke of being outdoors much, but he was too smooth and lithe for farm labor and the tan too uniform. He had been under the sun and naked there too. He could have been a stable lad who sun bathed naked on his days off, but he looked more like a wild thing that had strayed in from the forest.
His member was already semierect, reaching from its nest of dark curls, slender and long. I swallowed at the sight of this pagan vision. Even the god Pan had not been cut from nature’s own cloth the way this youth was. He was beautiful in his raw, untamed state.
“Do you like what you see, sir?” he asked with a twist to his lip as if already certain of the answer.
“You’ll do,” I replied, but he was too sure of himself for his smile to fail.
To show I was not daunted by his confidence, I approached him. He was a little below my own height, but if I hoped to intimidate him with my added stature, I was to be disappointed there. In fact, he raised a hand to my chin.
“You’re a fair one yourself,” he responded, and I could not help but feel a little pleased. I had been told I was good-looking, but it should not matter to me what this hired boy thought. His fingers were long and clever, uncalloused. More and more intriguing.
Up close I could still not quite tell the color of his eyes, as they seemed to change in the reflected firelight. I would say they were hazel, but a color so light it bordered on gold. His face was smooth and youthful. I could see he was a little older than I had first thought but still some years below my own age.
“What’s it to be then?” he asked as he ran his hand down the front of my shirt under my cravat and started to loosen the buttons he found there. I could not place his soft accent. His speech was working class but not coarse or unpleasant. Mayhap he had been educated to be more pleasing to his clients, thought it was unlikely many of them bought him for his speech.
What indeed? This fascinating creature was mine to do with as I pleased this night.
I trailed my fingers down the valley of his arse.
“I already prepared myself,” he said.
Now that was a sight I wish I had seen: this wild youth kneeling on a chair, perhaps, as he reached between his own legs, those clever, long fingers oiled as he stretched and prepared his entrance for me. I was rapidly nearing full hardness behind the placket of my trousers.
Not wanting to appear too eager for him, I turned away and moved to the side of the bed, loosening my cravat and sliding it from my neck. I finished the work he had started on my shirt buttons and pulled the garment from my shoulders. I heard no movement, but suddenly he was at my back, reaching round to the fastening of my trousers. He paused to palm the thickness beneath the material, outlining and shaping my member.
I could not help but sigh a little at the warmth of his palm seeping through the cloth. I hardened fully at just that touch. He moved to undo my trousers, then slid his hands down my hips to slide the material of breeches and undergarments together from me. I lifted my feet to aid removal, and he went to his knees in front of me and reached up to my erection.
I looked down, and through that wild tangle of hair, with those feral green-gold eyes, he grinned up at me before swiping his tongue along the length of my member.
I tried to lock my knees, but I confess I trembled slightly. It was not as though I indulged this sin very often and never with a wild-looking beauty such as knelt to my service now.
He grinned again and then licked more, swirling his tongue around me before planting a brief but hard suck to the tip.
“Let’s get you to the bed,” he said, standing up, much to my disappointment, though I could see the logic. I didn’t really want to be falling on my backside in the middle of the room and doubted my legs could hold me up.
A thick mane of hair so dark as to be almost black fell to his shoulders. At this distance I could not tell the color of the eyes beneath thick, dark brows, but they were remarkable and piercing. His nose was well made and straight above a mouth so full it was deserving of the title sensuous. He had a certain insolent look to his face and something half wild to his countenance.
He wore a long, dark riding coat, and with no more ado than shutting the door behind him and dropping the latch, this he let fall to the floor to reveal that he wore not a stitch of clothing beneath. He was slender with the look of a youth who had recently outgrown his coltishness. Well-toned, he looked fine and fit. There was little hair on his body, but I took him to be not far out of his teens if out of them at all.
His limbs and body were a golden brown that spoke of being outdoors much, but he was too smooth and lithe for farm labor and the tan too uniform. He had been under the sun and naked there too. He could have been a stable lad who sun bathed naked on his days off, but he looked more like a wild thing that had strayed in from the forest.
His member was already semierect, reaching from its nest of dark curls, slender and long. I swallowed at the sight of this pagan vision. Even the god Pan had not been cut from nature’s own cloth the way this youth was. He was beautiful in his raw, untamed state.
“Do you like what you see, sir?” he asked with a twist to his lip as if already certain of the answer.
“You’ll do,” I replied, but he was too sure of himself for his smile to fail.
To show I was not daunted by his confidence, I approached him. He was a little below my own height, but if I hoped to intimidate him with my added stature, I was to be disappointed there. In fact, he raised a hand to my chin.
“You’re a fair one yourself,” he responded, and I could not help but feel a little pleased. I had been told I was good-looking, but it should not matter to me what this hired boy thought. His fingers were long and clever, uncalloused. More and more intriguing.
Up close I could still not quite tell the color of his eyes, as they seemed to change in the reflected firelight. I would say they were hazel, but a color so light it bordered on gold. His face was smooth and youthful. I could see he was a little older than I had first thought but still some years below my own age.
“What’s it to be then?” he asked as he ran his hand down the front of my shirt under my cravat and started to loosen the buttons he found there. I could not place his soft accent. His speech was working class but not coarse or unpleasant. Mayhap he had been educated to be more pleasing to his clients, thought it was unlikely many of them bought him for his speech.
What indeed? This fascinating creature was mine to do with as I pleased this night.
I trailed my fingers down the valley of his arse.
“I already prepared myself,” he said.
Now that was a sight I wish I had seen: this wild youth kneeling on a chair, perhaps, as he reached between his own legs, those clever, long fingers oiled as he stretched and prepared his entrance for me. I was rapidly nearing full hardness behind the placket of my trousers.
Not wanting to appear too eager for him, I turned away and moved to the side of the bed, loosening my cravat and sliding it from my neck. I finished the work he had started on my shirt buttons and pulled the garment from my shoulders. I heard no movement, but suddenly he was at my back, reaching round to the fastening of my trousers. He paused to palm the thickness beneath the material, outlining and shaping my member.
I could not help but sigh a little at the warmth of his palm seeping through the cloth. I hardened fully at just that touch. He moved to undo my trousers, then slid his hands down my hips to slide the material of breeches and undergarments together from me. I lifted my feet to aid removal, and he went to his knees in front of me and reached up to my erection.
I looked down, and through that wild tangle of hair, with those feral green-gold eyes, he grinned up at me before swiping his tongue along the length of my member.
I tried to lock my knees, but I confess I trembled slightly. It was not as though I indulged this sin very often and never with a wild-looking beauty such as knelt to my service now.
He grinned again and then licked more, swirling his tongue around me before planting a brief but hard suck to the tip.
“Let’s get you to the bed,” he said, standing up, much to my disappointment, though I could see the logic. I didn’t really want to be falling on my backside in the middle of the room and doubted my legs could hold me up.
Copyright © Angela Plowman
About the Author
Angela Plowman is a small town English girl
who has lived her whole life within eight miles of where she was born. Even so,
her imagination has roamed the universe. She loves to travel, but remains
conflicted between her love of new places and sites, and her love of staying at
home. She loses herself in books, both reading and writing them, and is
passionate about 19th century art and literature.
Angela currently lives with a demented cat
called Elwood, in a village in the middle of England
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