Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Welcome to Lou Sylvre

Welcome to Lou Sylvre on my blog today. Thanks Lou, for your patience *HUGS* and congratulations on the publication of your book.

When and why did you begin writing?

Like most writers, I wrote as a child. I remember specifically a long (and I mean long) song about the yellow rose of Texas (plagarism at age 7), a sci-fi story in eighth grade advanced English, and a Poe-esque poem about a soldier returning from Vietnam, unfortunately in a coffin. Thought I was a genius. I tried to write for publication around the late nineties, but wasn’t successful because I didn’t listen to what anyone had to tell me. I tried again with more humility beginning around 2005, and have been much more successful.

What inspires you to write and why? 

In a nutshell, I love language and people and the world outside, and I have a need to create.

What is the best piece of advice you received before you got published?

Never end a sentence with a semi-colon;

Do you have any rituals to start your writing day?

C-O-F-F-E-E.  And usually I re-read what I wrote the day before, maybe even edit it a bit even though a million experts will tell you not to do that.

What are you currently writing?

A second Vasquez and James novel, Delsyn’s Blues. Starting to scrape together a second M/M series that will be very different, but will still involve suspense and intrigue. A second novel in a YA fantasy series that is published under a different name. And I have a few short stories or novellas in various states of neglect.

How do you find your names?

This is the first time I’ve been asked this question, and I’m so glad you did, because it’s one of my favourite parts of writing. Character names are very important to me, helping to define who and what the person is. I do have a method. I know I want the name to reflect their heritage—for instance an Irish person will have an Irish name.  I ask myself about their character—are they strong, peaceful, beautiful, tragic, angry, etc. Then I browse a baby name book. (Yes, really). I find a candidate, go to various resources to find out if the name really means what the book says it means, etc. To put a finishing touch, the name has to “sound” right, and names—especially between main characters—can’t be too much alike.

What is the most interesting piece of research you’ve done so far?

Pretty much hands down, the research I did for Loving Luki Vasquez about explosives and detonators. Of course, since it’s the most ready at hand source, I went online. I went to all sorts of sites but tried for the most part to stick to material put out by US military or law enforcement agencies. However, some of the sources were a little scary, and some I even closed immediately after the first line. After that research I did become paranoid that the FBI was following me. I’m still not sure. (joking, mostly)

Do you include your life experiences in your books?

Not directly, but I don’t see how a writer can avoid it in a more general sense. Our particular string of life experiences colours everything we think, do, say, and feel. So if I’m writing about outrunning an explosion, or being a man with an erection, even though I’ve never experienced it directly it’s my life experiences and particularly the emotions that go with them that makes the writing credible.

Who is your favourite author and why?

I know I should be able to answer that, but the truth is I don’t have one. Most likely answer will depend on what sort of thing I’m reading lately. A few that over time that have been either favourites or influential: Lewis Carroll, Poe, Steinbeck, Tolkien, James Welch, Dick Francis, Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon (in the Lord John series), etc. Right now I’m reading things entirely different from any of the above. And, my favourite books (if I could remember them) would very often not be by any of my favourite authors.

What do you do to relax?

Most frequently (at least daily) read. Walk. Work out. Go to the book store. Time with family. Maybe garden. Maybe visit friends or go out for a leisurely meal and a movie.  Spend some time online. I also play guitar, and would have listed that at the top, but I haven’t done that much for the past few months for various reasons. I love being in the forest, in the desert, in the mountains, or near salt water (all of which are right here in Washington State). 

Where can we find you on the web?

(And thanks, Sue for the privilege and pleasure of an interview.)

Lou's bio.

Lou Sylvre hails from Southern California, but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. When she’s not writing, she’s reading—fiction in nearly every genre, romance in all its tints and shades, and the occasional book about history, physics, or police procedure. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow.

Loving Luki Vasquez blurb:

Buy link:

Reclusive weaver Sonny Bly James controls every color and shape in his tapestries, but he can’t control the pattern of his life—a random encounter with Luki Vasquez, ex-ATF agent and all-around badass, makes that perfectly clear. The mutual attraction is immediate, but love-shy Sonny has retreated from life, and Luki wears his visible and not-so-visible scars like armor. Neither can bare his soul with ease.
While they run from desire, they can’t hide from the evil that hunts them. After it becomes clear that a violent stalker has targeted Sonny, Luki’s protective instincts won’t let him run far, especially when Sonny’s family is targeted as well. Whether they can forgive or forget, Sonny and Luki will have to call a truce and work together to save Sonny’s nephew and fight an enemy intent on making sure loving Luki Vasquez is the last mistake Sonny will ever make. 

Leaning back on the low balcony wall Luki gazed through the glass. Inside, an electric fireplace threw orange light and blue shadows over the room, casting Sonny’s shoulders in bronze. Luki found himself imagining the rest of Sonny’s bare skin glorified in that light. He went back inside and stood at the foot of the bed, couldn’t help it, stared at Sonny’s sleeping form, chewing his lip.
“What are you looking at?” Sonny asked, apparently not sleeping and always the jester. Luki almost laughed. Sonny seemed to be trying to find some moisture in his drug-dried mouth, so he took him a glass of water. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched him swallow.
Sonny managed to deposit the water glass on the night table without a major spill, then met Luki’s eyes again, more serious this time. “What are you thinking about?”
Luki waited, feeling his breath go scarce, his heart insisting on heating his blood. “You,” he said. After his treatment of Sonny that morning, speaking his mind now felt like a frightening plunge. “I’m thinking about putting my mouth all over you.”
Sonny returned his gaze. Faint, sober smile. No jokes, no words.
Luki leaned over and kissed his mouth, sweet and soft. “Yes?” he asked.
Luki started with another kiss, sucking honey from Sonny’s lips. He visited tender, fleshy earlobes, dusted the lightest of kisses over fluttering eyelids. He feathered his lips and tongue over the line of Sonny’s jaw and down to the dip at the base of his throat. Sonny moved as if to participate. Luki held him back, gently pushed him down. With tongue and teeth and lips he paid tribute to every beautiful curve and hollow and rise of Sonny’s body he could reach without causing his wound to hurt. He kissed the hollows behind his collarbone, gently nipped taut nipples, poked his tongue into the dip of his navel. Then, the miraculous valley inside each hip—there he started at the fold of Sonny’s thigh and blazed a trail of kisses to the place that made Sonny dig his hands into Luki’s hair.
Once more, on the other side.
Sonny shifted again as if to participate, but Luki took hold of his hands and paused to meet his eyes. “No,” he said. “Be still.” Sonny’s belly clenched and he gasped, as if he thought the words, all by themselves, were sex play. His prick had hardened to the point that the tight skin pulled it almost flat against his belly. Luki ignored it, except to run his tongue beneath to collect the pool of pre-cum that had gathered there, brushing across the head of Sonny’s penis in the process. Downward again, inside the thighs, behind the knees, the sensitive toes and arches. Slowly, then up again, until he came once more to the center of Sonny’s excitement, pleasure, and despair, and began to address the heat arising there. He spread Sonny’s legs, burrowed his hands beneath his ass to hold him still.
Sonny grabbed at his hair again, said, “Luki, please.”
“No,” Luki said. “Wait.” Thick, wet lips, the flat of his tongue, a long, light kiss. He teased at the small, diamond-shaped tenderness just behind the head of Sonny’s penis, circled the smooth coronal ridge with his tongue, closed his mouth over the taut, curved head. Pleasuring. Or perhaps, judging from Sonny’s struggling breath, torturing.
“God, Luki, please,” he panted.
“Wait,” Luki said. He stroked the length of Sonny’s cock, squeezing, and with thumbs gathered the lubricant that emerged. Again cupping Sonny’s ass in his strong hands, he used the now slick thumbs to massage the sensitive rim of Sonny’s anus, sucking at his firm testes before moving his mouth once again to his erection. Sonny felt good to him, tasted sweet. Luki rejoiced in every touch he applied to Sonny’s gorgeous skin. But what drove him on his quest was a deep, unfamiliar desire to please at all costs. Luki applied all his experience and skill, relentless, merciless, demanding, but slow and sweet. Sonny’s breathing became ragged and his grip on Luki’s hair turned desperate, insistent, almost violent.
Luki dropped his mouth over Sonny’s shaft, opening his throat, and then sucked upward, slow and hard, at the same time pushing his two thumbs just inside, just past the pliant opening.
To Luki’s overwhelming pleasure, Sonny responded just as intended. He moaned long and low, almost silent, and the first hard pulse of orgasm shook him, splashing semen against Luki’s swollen lips.
After a while Sonny’s breathing calmed. Luki flared his nostrils to draw in the smell of Sonny’s sex, like saving it up.

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