The
Care and Feeding of Sex Demons Blog Tour Information:
About the Author:
Angela Fiddler wrote her first erotic novel as a
birthday present to a friend who had requested kneeling and vampires. While the vampires come and go in the story,
the kneeling remains. Angela likes smut,
dark humor and stories that mix erotica with raw emotion. She talks about writing and her characters at
www.angelafiddler.com.
Her latest book is the paranormal erotica, The Care and Feeding of Sex
Demons.
Connect
& Socialize with Angela!
Has writing been something you always did, or was it a
discovered talent that came to you at a later point?
I have always been writing. I started my
first fantasy book at eleven. It was called “To Find a Unicorn” and it was just
as bad as you would expect a book to be by an eleven year old. I had magic
swords, sarcastic talking white horses, farm boys who were really princes, I
really nailed cliché fantasy at a very young age.
Do you remember how it felt when you were offered that first
contract? What emotions stand out in your memory?
I had it in my head that I was going to be
published before I was twenty-five. Nothing was going as planned until we
visited the Bog People exhibit at a museum and I realized that you can tan
human skin by burying it in bogs. That story became Songs, published in Cloaked
in Shadow, an anthology about dark elves. That it had sold within a few months
of my deadline gob-smacked me. All I had gotten to that point was form
rejections. It really made me look at what was different between the story that
sold and the stories that hadn’t. People do not want to read the set-up for the
story. They want to read the story.
Is this a first book, part of a series, or the latest in a
long line of many?
Yes. The Care and Feeding of Sex Demons is
rebooting the world from Cy Gets a Sex Demon so that even though it follows the
world from the first book, I want people to read Care and Feeding first. The next book in the series Only Sex Demons
can Prevent Hellfire isn’t written yet but it’s in the works.
What is the oddest thing that’s happened to you since you
chose to become a professional writer? Will it ever make it into a book, or is
that a secret?
In 2005, I was shopping an epic fantasy
around Worldcon in Boston. I had an editor agree to read it, and I thought I
was pretty much set. I went to Salem, and when in Salem, I went to go get my
cards read, because that’s what you do. The reading was fabulous. It promised
success and support and recognition in my chosen field. I was giddy it was so
positive. The reader asked me if I had one question and I asked, “Will
Misbegotten sell?” The man studied the cards, looked at me, looked back to the
cards and said no. I was gobsmacked. When I asked him if he was sure, he went
back to the cards and said, “It will sell, but you’ll have to massacre it.”
On
the plane ride home, I reread the book and he was absolutely right. It was
about 85% of the way done, but not there yet. I rewrote it completely, but then
sold my first vampire book, Castoffs which set me off on a whole new direction.
Last year I totally rewrote the whole book, keeping nothing but the main
characters’ names and what they had wanted, but haven’t had a chance to rewrite
it yet and send it off. I’m very excited to see what will happen.
Do you have your next book underway, or other titles in the
planning stages?
I’m always writing. I’m working on book two
of my Tempest series. The first book, Coral were his Bones was just contracted
to Loose Id yesterday for a May release.
Do you have a favourite genre and why? Is it one you write
in, read in, or both?
I love gay paranormal. As a gay person, I
love exploring the same-but-different issues gay relationships have, and
putting them in a world where magic is real and has a very steep price means
that the stakes are always going to be higher if the characters succeed or
fail. When I read, I pull from all genres. I love Sharyn McCrumb’s world
building, James Lee Burke’s language use and Neil Gaiman’s plotting. If you
only read within your own genre, there’s a funhouse hall of mirrors distortion
that you have to fight.
What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing
process? Does it change from book to book or remain the same?
I think all the good writing references what
is familiar while diving off what isn’t. For me, it’s the way the plot unfolds
from what is expected. The two a.m. jolt that wakes you up and explains
everything is such a rush. It has to be written down or it’s forgotten and half
the time what you’re reading in the morning is complete gibberish, but I love
interconnection between what has come before and what that does for what is
coming up.
If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you
choose and why? What kind of book do you think would come from the
collaboration?
Megan Whalen Turner. Oh, my god. If I could
take Gen for a spin I would swear I’d bring him back mostly in one piece. What
she managed to pull off in a first person narration in the Thief should be
taught in classrooms. I don’t know what kind of book we would create, but it
wouldn’t be about around Sophos, I can tell you that.
Where can readers find you on the web?
I blog at www.angelafiddler.com and can be found
on Twitter @Angela_Fiddler
About the Book:
Keeping a sex demon happy and sexually
satisfied is always the safest option, even if Cy has his own relationship
issues. When saving the world on a regular basis, a happy home is important,
especially when mixing human, fae princes and a starving sex demon.
Purchase your copy at AMAZON
Purchase your
copy at Loose ID
Discuss this book
in our PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads by clicking HERE
Title: The Care and Feeding
of Sex Demons
Author: Angela FiddlerPublisher: Loose Id
Pages: 180
Language: English
Genre: Paranormal Erotica
Format: eBook
Purchase at AMAZON
Keeping a sex demon happy and sexually
satisfied is always the safest option, even if Cy has his own relationship
issues. When saving the world on a regular basis, a happy home is important,
especially when mixing human, fae princes and a starving sex demon.
Book Excerpt:
When rotten fish and bile smell of the
ambergris met… well, you know what sulfur smells like, the whole sky lit as
fragrantly as it did brightly. Just like the old days. Evil came in different
flavors but it all smelled badly. I was ready for whatever came out of that
cloud. But the only threat was a different kind of bad smell. My agents
replaced three quarters of the whale vomit with earwax at the source to cut
costs. We didn’t know it would also save the world.
My
boyfriend, Patrick, had insisted the bad guys would now the difference and that
I was risking my life to make the switch, but the person picking up the
ambergris from my agent hadn’t known what it was supposed to look or smell like
either. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. My brilliant planning was supposed
to have helped out my team, not me, personally.
After the sky fizzled out, the warlock had
exploded in a billion, billion...billion? I had no idea. I wasn't a physicist,
I was an apocalypse stopper. Calculating how many photons contained within
whatever warlock the Internet coughed up this week wasn’t in my job
description. No scientist would ever read my paperwork.
I
was retired from active duty. I was only supposed to administrate the real
apocalypse stoppers. I'd been out scouting for possible altar locations when
the world-ending had started early. The exploded warlock had been as surprised
as I was until he had been unmade.
And
he took my company car with him.
When
the apocalypse had started, my first thought had been oh, good.
Patrick was going to kill me.
The
cow walking along side me looked as though nature has squared off her body. If
cartoon physics were correct her cross-sections would look like T-bone steaks.
The highway I walked beside stretched on ribbons, rolling over the endless
hills in the high country. The cow had been following me for a while just on
the other side of the barbed wire fence. Three hours of constant adrenaline had
left my fine-reasoning skills somewhat stripped, but I was fairly sure it
wasn’t a threat. It reached the end of the fenced in field and regurgitated
some cud.
I
wanted breakfast, too. My back hurt, my shins ached, and the dried mud on the
legs of my suit added twenty pounds to each step. My boss had even forced me to
wear dress shoes to the stupid meet-and-greet that had turned into a
scream-and-run.
Another red car appeared in the distance, but
I didn’t get my hopes up. Because the high powers above loved to mock my life
choices, the last three cars that appeared in the past hour had all been small,
two-seaters, and red.
It bobbed
up and down on the ribbons. I had a
blister on the back of my foot. I wanted to stop walking, but that would almost
guarantee the car wasn’t Patrick’s.
On
the last rise, the turn signals came on, and the car started slowing down.
Patrick had a meeting with one of the major charm-makers in town. He’d been
worried about it for weeks, but once the rogue warlock who was sourcing his
hanged-man pancreas through craigslist had run out of his ambergris, the
hell-fire had stopped. The warlock had brought a full truck’s worth of sulfur,
but without enough of the catalyst ambergris, it fizzed out before summoning
even a hell-puppy, forget a hell-beast. Exploding into subatomic particles was
an easier death than having a summoned-but-not-contained denizen of hell
munching on parts of you from a watching-your-own-death happen perspective.
We had a lot of specific terms in our
business. We used a lot of dashes.
Patrick and I had been together for five
years, and yet when I asked him if I had woken him up just before dawn before
his biggest meeting of the year, he lied and told me he’d been awake the whole
time. I wouldn’t have lied to him.
Patrick slowed down, but didn’t stop, so
neither did I. He didn’t unroll the window until I couldn’t pretend my shoes weren’t
hurting my feet which every step.
“Get in the car, Cy,” Patrick said.
He
drove on another couple feet and stopped, so I still had to limp to get in. He
didn’t even wait for me to do up my seatbelt before he pulled the sports car
into a U-turn. I’d been on a single lane highway, but the tiny car had no
problem completing the circle on the road with its tiny wheel base.
The
silence was worse than the million questions he had every right to ask me. He
didn’t ask. I wanted to crack a window to let some of the tension out, but it
wouldn’t actually affect the air pressure.
Neighborhoods surged beyond the city limits
like massive muffin tops. Some groups subdivisions were love handles by now. Calgary
“I’ll grab something at the house.”
“I’m not dropping you off at the house. I have
to be in at the university in twenty minutes. There’s a C-train station there.”
My
feet were killing me. I just wanted to go home, and I’d bought the fucking car.
I put my head against the back of the seat. “I’ll get a cab.”
Patrick exhaled, sharply. I hadn’t meant
anything at all by wanting to hire a car to take me home.
“What wrong?”
“You promised me you were going to be in a
supervisory position. In what role is the supervisor supposed to be involved in
a standard apocalypse prevention attempt? You have minions. They should have
singed eyebrows right now, not you.”
I
reached up to touch my face. Mud flaked off. I would get the car detailed, but
I didn’t really have the time, which
meant Patrick would have to get it done for me, which meant he was cleaning up
after my mess again. We’d just had that talk. So that meant he’d do it for me.
I wondered if it had occurred to him not to answer the phone when I called. “It
was just supposed to be a dry run. He just recited his incantations better than
most. As far as we knew—"
“Do not sit there and tell me that you have a
clue as to what your boss knows. It’s far more like Ms. Gwen to know it was
supposed to be tonight all along than it is that this was all just a
misunderstanding.”
Patrick swung into a fast-food restaurant
parking lot. “You normally call your demon when you get into shit and you don’t
want me to know about it. Was he not picking up?”
I
flushed. August was my sex demon. He’d been given to me at the end of a
successful job back when Patrick and I had two separate addresses. It had been
after the house fire so technically I had an address, but no place to live.
Patrick had bright red hair. When I met him,
his arms and legs had been too long for his body in a way that I found
adorable. He moved with coils of energy. In the past five years he’d left his
early twenties behind and he finished filling out all the way. Now everything
looked in perfect proportion.
“I got you coffee,” Patrick said, motioning to
the white coffee container in the two-cup holder. It hadn’t been sipped from
either.” Alarm bells went off. “What, do you think I poisoned it?”
“No,” I said truthfully. But he would have
had to do something to it, or he would have sipped on it on the way out of the
city. Patrick hated mornings. He grabbed
it and took a big swallow. “Happy?”
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