Interview with a vampire author

Critique partner and friend Vic Brown is riding high on the recent publication of his first novel, Vampire Resurrection. If you are a vampire fan, you will want to check out a new and interesting take on the genre. Vic was kind enough to do an author interview, but first let’s find out about his book.

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Lamar Bradford, wealthy owner of Coleson Manor, is a third generation offspring of a polluted blood line, and the gene for vampirism that he carries in his DNA has just been triggered. Morgan Summers, a 325-year-old vampire, who was forced to watch her mother pressed to death as a witch in Salem Village in 1692, is searching for the key to mortality. Lamar has it, but it comes at a high price. Stalked by a sinister and clandestine arm of the Roman Catholic Church—the Order of the Vampire Final Solution–the OVFS has tracked down and killed fifty-seven vampires since its inception in 1925. Morgan Summers is to be their fifty-eighth conquest, with Lamar soon to follow. But there is hope. Dr. James Heller, Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science is also Director of Harvard’s Genetics Laboratory. Heller’s scientists are desperately working on a gene-splicing technique that would provide resurrection for vampires—a return to mortality and humanity. Will Lamar and Morgan defeat the OVFS and those trying to destroy them? But more importantly, can a secret resurrection project succeed to save others trapped by the vampire gene?

Buy it on Amazon

Author Interview

Q: Where were you born? Are you the kind of person who likes to move around a lot, or do you prefer to live in one place?

A: I was born in Washington, D.C. and raised in Silver Spring, MD from the age of four until age twenty-two. During a 30-year career in the USAF, I moved a lot, but since retiring, have lived in three locations in Maryland and for the last three years, we have lived in Williamsburg, VA (for our “Fourth Trimester”).

Q: What sparked your interest in writing? How long have you been writing?

A: I wrote my first fiction—a short story—in the 6th grade and have loved to write ever since. I have written 72 articles for publication in a monthly jazz club newsletter, a lifetime of non-fiction during my USAF career, a filing drawer crammed with short stories, a novella, three novels, a memoir and various other bits. Am working on another novel, the sequel to one published in March 2015—Vampire Resurrection (available at AMAZON). I have been writing for over 60 years.

Q: Your novel, Vampire Resurrection, describes a unique take on vampires. Why vampires?

A: After a vineyard full of rejections, I decided to go against the “rules” and write to the market. Vampires form a strong nitch market. I had read or watched very little vampire-related material, but I chanced to read a long article on gene-splicing in the Health and Science section of the Washington Post and the idea for a novel flashed through me. Vampires who wanted to become normal, mortal human beings through having their DNA altered. I tried the opening chapter and was enroute to creating a completely new approach to vampirism.

Q: How long did it take you to finish it? How many drafts did you write before you were satisfied?

A: It took me about six months to create the first draft. Critiquing, editing, rewriting took almost another year. I worked on each chapter as if it was a standalone work, so it is hard to put a number to how many drafts I created before it went to press.

Q: How would you describe your path toward publication?

A: Long, meandering, frustrating, and challenging! One of the significant factors in the game is LUCK. I attended a course in writing in Virginia Beach. The literary agent and CEO of High Tide Publications, Inc. attended. They offered to listen to “elevator pitches,” and I pitched both of them. They asked for my first three chapters, then the whole novel (which wasn’t quite finished yet). They sent me a contract and I was graduated from writer to published author. I was glad I had not self-published my vampires.

Q: Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

A: Aspiring writers are inundated with advice, and I hesitate to try to add anything. But for those who are not trying to make a living from their writing I would add this to their pile of advice: Never lose your love of writing because of the process. Getting published is not the be-all or end-all of life. Creativity is. So be creative. Have a large basket at hand, and fill it with faith. During your journey, ENJOY, work hard on the craft, practice telling stories, and try your hand at poetry— at least read some. A dash of poetry in your work is like a dash of nutmeg on a pumpkin pie. Mingle with writers/editors as often as possible. Their good stuff can and will rub off on you.

Q: Name a few authors who have inspired you and describe why.

A: Favorite authors. First, Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series for everything: plotting, characterization, research, dialogue, love scenes, you name it. Next, Jean Auel’s series beginning with The Clan of the Cave Bear for her extraordinary creativity, the treatment of animals, prolific sex scenes, and the brilliance of her fictional world, and C. S. Forrester for his series, Horatio Hornblower. He is the Father, the Dean, the best of the storytellers of adventures at sea in the 18th and very early 19th centuries.

Q: What are you currently writing?

A: I am currently writing the sequel to Vampire Resurrection. The working title is Vampire Renaissance.

Q: Coffee, tea, or hard liquor? (or all three?)

A: Coffee by the gallon. Distilled spirits (sounds better than “hard liquor”) as a reward after a long, hard day at the parchment, quill in hand.

Q: What books are you currently reading or on your to-be-read list?

A: The two on top of a tall, quivering pile: The Pagan Lord by Bernard Cornwell (another favorite author!), and Duty, by Robert M. Gates (non-fiction).

Q: And now for the bonus fluff question: If you could be a character in your one of your favorite novels, which character would you be and why?

A: If I could be a character in one of my favorite novels, who would I choose? I shall interpret your question as pertaining to a novel that I have written. And that would be Yost. (I only gave him the one name.) He was a knight in the year 1402. I selected him for his cunning, his courage, and his wise choice of a woman. My favorite genre is Historical Fiction (not vampires). I have written a novella and two novels in the HF genre.

About Vic:

Vic BrownBorn in Washington, D.C., Charles V. Brown wrote his first fiction short story in the fifth grade. He still has it; in fact, it is reproduced in his as-yet-to-be-published memoir, Sleeve an’ Me.
For years a dabbler in fiction, he allowed a thirty year Air Force career and an advanced degree, along with raising two daughters, three horses, breeding English Setters, playing innumerable Dixieland Jazz gigs, and a tour in Nam to get in the way of writing. His second novel, Viking Lady, won grand prize in the Maryland Writer’s Association’s annual novel contest, and then he got serious about writing.  After seventy-two years as a Marylander, Vic and Jenny moved to Williamsburg, Virginia, and rescued a cat–Crickett (with two ts!).  Vic still plays jazz and writes and critiques and basks in the warmth of a mighty-nice place to live: Windsor Meade.

See more at vicbrownauthor.com.

Room 3 book tour

innovativeonlinebooktours

I’m excited to be part of Jonathan D Allen’s book tour for Room 3, his new release. I’ve got a giveaway and some great excerpt to share.

room3_rb_4cBook Blurb:
Torn away from everyday life and held prisoner in a tiny cabin, Kelli Foster must harden herself to survive torture and isolation. When Carla is introduced to Kelli’s small world, the experiments they are forced to endure take a dark turn. Kelli is forced to choose: Save her own life, or free her new friend? Sacrifice her dreams or sacrifice her love?

Following a failed escape attempt, Kelli, Carla, and Kelli’s lover Samarta work together to unravel the mystery behind the shadowy group that has kidnapped them all. Their path to freedom lies through mind-bending discoveries and globe-trotting adventures, culminating in a battle between godlike beings that hold Kelli’s fate in their hands.

Born and raised in the rural Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, Jonathan D Allen wrote his first Jacket Photo2fantasy/sci-fi novel at the age of 13. After studying writing and communication at James Madison University, Jonathan turned his passion for writing into a full-time technical writing career in the DC Metro area, working for companies like Sprint/Nextel, Time Warner Cable, and Sirius XM Radio, where he had an opportunity to combine his love of music with his love of writing.

He may have drifted away from fiction at times, but it was always his first love – and he always returned to it. Now living in Bethesda with his wife, two cats, and two quirky guinea pigs for which his publishing company is named, he crafts the kinds of stories that he had always hoped to read but just couldn’t quite find.

Links:

Buy Links:

Amazon paperback | Kindle

B & N Print or Nook 

Smashwords

Giveaway: http://innovativeonlinebooktours.com/-M5R8.html

Room 3 Excerpt 1

This is the first time we see one of Kelli’s visions, following a an injection of the mysterious hallucinogen.

Something rustled in the corn. I whirled, but I knew who it would be before she even appeared. She always found me. “Mimi?”

A little girl appeared from between the rows, pushing the bottoms of the stalks apart. She had blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a smile that could just melt your heart – the kind of smile that never, ever survives into adulthood.

She cocked her head. “How’d you know my name?”

She always asked me that.

“We’ve met, but I’ve told you that before, too.”

She put her hands on her little hips. “How come I don’t remember you?”

“I think it’s this place. It always makes you forget.”

“I don’t like that.”

I looked around. “I don’t like it much, either. But don’t worry about it. I’m here.”

Wheels turned in her head. “But why are you here?”

No clue how to answer that one. “You’re looking for something, right?”

She nodded.

I leaned down, putting my hands on my knees. “What are you looking for, sweetheart?” I already knew the answer, but this had gone down a certain path forever, and the show had to go on.

She rubbed her eyes. “Cici’s gone. I can’t find her.”

Cici. The girl forever searched for Cici. I had no idea if she even existed. “Now where did you last see your sister?” I said.

Her eyes widened, like I’d shown her the secret of the universe. “We did meet, didn’t we, that’s how you know about Cici?”

I nodded. “Where did you see her last?” Knew the answer to this one, too.

She pointed over my shoulder. “There.”

I knew what I’d see when I turned. I’d seen it so many times that I’d even started to see it in my dreams. It didn’t matter, though. Every single time I turned to gaze on it, it knocked me on my proverbial butt: an enormous, gnarled tree, soaring up into the sky. This wasn’t just any tree, though. Somebody had carved a wooden organ out of the trunk, with two levels of wooden keys and wooden pipes rising out of the higher reaches.
The largest keyhole you’ve ever seen had been connected to that organ, its details carved right into the trunk, between the keys and the pipes.

“She’s locked in there, isn’t she?”

Excerpt 2:

Carla shares one of her visions.

She turned her head toward me. It took me a little off-guard, because her eyes looked like deep black sockets, where no light ever escaped. “Have you ever seen somebody die?”

I thought of Gina. “I might have, yeah.”

She looked back to the ceiling. “When I was about 21, I lived in this little townhouse just outside DC. Southern Alexandria. Not the nicest place, at least in those days, but I took what I could get. Anyway, one day I went out with one of my roommates, I don’t remember why, probably to get groceries, something like that, and there was this little hill that you had to go up near where we lived. As we were going up the hill, we heard a weird sound, and saw a shower of sparks a few cars ahead of us.”

“Uh huh?” I said.

“The car pulled off the side of the road, and the sparks died down, but something rolled off from the back of the car. Couldn’t quite tell what it was. We were far enough away that it just looked like a blur.” She sighed. “When we drove by, we saw that the sparks had come from a guy on a motorcycle who had gotten hooked underneath the back of the car. I guess he was driving along and this old woman cut him off without even realizing it. When he hit his brakes, he slid up under her bumper and got stuck there.”

I put a hand to my mouth. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“Dragged him about 200 feet. We had to get out and try to help, but what could we do, other than call 911? Car was off in the grass on the side of the road, and the motorcycle was on its side, looking like something big had chewed on it. I remember the gas cap had come off at some point, because you could smell gas pouring out onto the grass. It was a bad sight, but my eyes were drawn to the guy who had been driving the motorcycle. You know how you can’t just look away?”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah. He was lying down in the grass, arms up over his head, just breathing heavy. Not saying a word. When I got close, I could see that the bottom part of his right leg, from his knee down, was gone. It was nothing but ripped-up jeans. No blood, no bone. That bothered me the most, for some reason. My brain kept picking at that one thing – why was there no blood? My roommate told me later that it meant he was bleeding internally, and it must have been pretty bad.”

My stomach flopped over. “Good God, girl.”

“It took him a couple of minutes to die. I guess the internal injuries were too much for him or something. But you could see when he died. I never believed in souls or anything like that, but…his body shook and he went limp, and it was like, I don’t know, something beyond just electrical impulses left his body.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest. “I’ll never forget it.”

Let me tell you, it was quite the conversational upper. I had all the joy that I might feel if I’d been hit by a freight train. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but why are you telling me this?”

“Because I saw all that again in Room 3. Only he was conscious. He kept looking at me with these hazel eyes and asking why I didn’t save him, where was the ambulance, how could I let another person die like that.” She looked at me. “But by the time he was talking to me, we were back in the room, and he was standing up, right behind Barren.”

Excerpt 3:

Samarta and Kelli arrive in Mexico and meet their handler.

Carlos gave these men a significant glance as he tucked his shades into his shirt pocket. “Come,” he said, and led us to the farthest table, positioning us so that he could watch them over our backs. Once we had all settled, he rubbed his hands together, giving a fake, toothy grin. “So. Your crossing was uneventful, I take it?”

Sam shrugged, a hint of just how eager he was to get to know the real Carlos. Not that I was much more eager; the contradiction between the guy’s grin and demeanor versus what I saw in his eyes put my nerves on edge. The sooner we were finished here, the better.

He got it, and he didn’t protest. “Right. I am glad you are safe.” He reached in his pocket and slid a set of keys across the table, glancing at the drowsing men from the corner of his sad, dark eyes. He told us the street name and number of the safe house.

Sam swiped the keys and slid them into his pocket. We rose together, but Carlos had other plans. He touched our wrists and looked down toward our seats “Please. Just one more moment.”

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

“Please. In time.”

We sat.

He leaned even closer to us, his arms hugging the tabletop. “Listen, friends. You must take the warnings seriously. The deaths in this city, some are from the drugs, yes, but our mutual friends wage wars for the souls of humanity with us as their pawns. Even you are expendable.”

Something about the way he said it… “We’re not the first people to pass through on your watch, are we?”

He tightened his mouth, and shook his head.

“Not all of them got where they were going, either?”

He shook his head again.

Sam put his hand on mine. “We will be cautious.”