Monday, November 28, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Today my guest is Tony-Paul de Vissage who brings a little bite to your Monday.
Tell us a little about yourself:
About moi? I like to fall back on the “Official Authorized Biography” for that question, delivered with tongue in cheek. Voila!:
A writer of French Huguenot extraction, one of Tony-Paul de Vissage’s first movie memories is of being six years old, viewing the old Universal horror flick, Dracula's Daughter on television, and being scared sleepless--and that may explain a lifelong interest in vampires.
This was further inspired when the author was kidnapped by a band of transplanted Romanian vampires who were sightseeing in the South. He was returned to his parents with the offer of paying his way through college if he would become a writer and pen positive stories about vampires. His parents, (grateful for the tuition offer since it let them off the hook) agreed.
Though the promise made to his supernatural mentors survived a liberal arts' education and the scorn of friends and family, marriage, parenthood, divorce, and a variety of occupations ranging from stage work to doctor's assistant took precedent over writing for several years, as did moving from one United States coast to another.
Eventually that first story--a short story about the hapless vampire Clan Andriescu--was published. A voracious reader whose personal library has been shipped more than 3,000 miles, Tony-Paul has read hundreds of vampire tales and viewed more than as many movies.
Whew! That’s a lot, isn’t it?
What do like the most and the least about writing?
What I like most? Seeing that book listed as being released and having someone ask me to tell them about it (Guess that’s two things, isn’t it?)
What I like least? The time it takes to write a novel. I used to be able to get one done in three weeks, edited, proofed, and ready to go. Now, it takes a team of horses to get me to sit at the computer long enough to write, though I may have the story all plotted out and ready to go in my head. Apparently I’m getting lazy with each passing day or something like that.
Give us a peek into your latest published work?
My latest published work is an anthology of short stories, Sweet Sips of Blood, published by Vamptasy Publishing, UK. Here’s the blurb:
Some vampires want to have their cake and eat it, too…
Sweet Sips of Blood…a collection of vampire tales written with a pen dipped in crimson icing… After the Apocalypse of 2012, humans and vampires unite to face an assault from a mutual foe… A famous writer of vampire novels goes too far with her latest literary effort… A vampire with a toothache seeks out an unusual dentist…
Blood will Freeze…Working-class Vampires…the Best Dentist in Orange County… and seven other short stories, some whimsical, some sad, a couple horrific, but all designed to titillate, amuse, and chill…Sometimes the vampire gets his “cake”; in others, he’s still outside, staring in through the bakery window. Like the sweet sips of blood sustaining the vampire’s existence, these stories are sweet sips of vampires’ secret souls…
What’s next on the writing horizon for you?
I just finished my fourth novel, The Last Vampire Standing, which is a contemporary, vampire story set in the South. It’s not a romance, however, but a more “traditional” vampire story with some very unusual sex involved. I’m also currently working on getting Dark God Descending (originally published in 2008 and not out of print) re-issued. Then, I have a 7-book series to tackle, the Second Species.
Is there anything you want to tell readers?
Vampires aren’t just for Hallowe’en anymore!
EXCERPT from Sweet Sips of Blood
“The Best Dentist in Orange County”:
The pain jerked him out of Unsleep like a fish being hooked from a lake.
What the Hell? For several seconds, he didn’t recognize what was happening. Then, the sharp burning stab again shot through his right upper canine. I have a toothache! It was a new sensation but not one he’d care to have for very long, Domingo decided. Since pain was little more than a vague memory, he had no idea what to do or how to stop it, so, as always, as he’d done when he was alive, he turned to the one person he was certain could help him. His sister, Liseta.
He was out of the black-sheeted bed and through the door, quite literally—Domingo never bothered with the inconvenience of opening a door—before he realized he was still naked. Materializing back to the bed, he found the robe at its foot, hastily shrugged it on, belted it, and appeared again outside in the hall.
Liseta was in the sitting room, knitting just as she had through the centuries no matter where they resided. She’d begun the habit while they were still in Spain, fashioning warm sweater-like garments for the children of the servios who lived on their father’s grounds. After their hasty escape from their beloved birthplace, she had continued the practice. When they settled in Orange County, following a slow progression across the United States, Dom had informed her that now that they were in California, no one needed heavy-weight bulky-knit pullovers. Adaptable as ever, Liseta switched to a lighter yarn and now knitted tank tops instead.
Good Will Industries seemed particularly grateful.
As he stumbled through the door, one hand against his right jaw, she looked up and smiled brightly. That always annoyed him. How could anyone be so cheerful this early in the evening? He himself was a midnight-owl, didn’t really get his fangs out until just before the witching hour! Well, they were definitely out now, and aching savagely.
“Good evening, hermanocito. You’re up early,” was her statement of the obvious. She nodded disapprovingly at his loosely belted robe and tousled hair. “—and not dressed, either.”
Brushing his hair out of his face, Dom dropped onto one of the Queen Anne chairs and sprawled languidly. “Don’t start, Lisi. I-I think I’m ill!”
That startled her. The clicking needles stopped their motion. “Ill? What do you mean?”
It should be apparent, he thought. Did I always walk around with one hand clamped to my face? “M-my fangs hurt. I think I have a toothache.”
Now, she looked worried. “How could that happen? Have you bitten anything tough lately?”
“No...” He thought a moment, grimacing as the upper eye-tooth again sent out a vicious throb and a memory of the night before returned. “...wait...yes!”
“Well…” He hedged a moment.
“Where did you go last night?” she demanded, expecting the worse.
Domingo had a habit of lurking in the most disreputable places, outside bars and pool halls. Lately, he’d started hanging out near escort agency entrances. He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Over to Laguna Beach. They were supposed to be filming a movie there and I thought it would be easy to find some prey.”
“And did you?” She didn’t try to hide the exasperation in her voice.
He shook his head. “Not really. I got my dates wrong. The filming’s not until tonight, so the beach was nearly deserted. There were only a couple of late-night surfers available.” He looked a little sheepish. “I waylaid one of them. Guess that’s when I broke my fang.”
The surfer had been a muscle-bound, bull-necked oaf whose jugular was iron-tough. He had almost gnawed through it to get a single drop. And the bastard had the effrontery to actually put up a fight!
“Dom!” Her expression as well as her voice held irritation. As if he were five instead of five hundred, he thought resentfully. “I wish you wouldn’t go to the beach. Who knows what the ocean could do to you? All that moving water, and salt and...”
“...the sad crying of the gulls...the whisper of the waves...the silver of the moonlight on the billows...” he added, softly. “You know how I like to watch the fog roll off the water and creep slowly across the PCH. And the cold, seeping into my bones, making them ache with longing... Doesn’t that give you una tembladera deliciosa?” He shivered with intense exaggeration.
“Such pretty sentiments, chico,” she agreed. “You always did have the heart of a poet.”
“Not any longer,” he corrected, shaking his head sadly.
She looked surprised. “But of course, you do! It’s in that little carved teak chest in your bedroom—” She stopped as Domingo continued to shake his head.
“It was getting rancid. I fed it to one of the wolves on my last trip to the San Diego Zoo.”
Liseta looked sympathetic. “That’s too bad. It took you so long to find just the right one.” She reached out and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “But you’ll get another, I’m certain.”
BUY LINK for Sweet Sips of Blood click here
Thank you for being my guest today Tony-Paul.