Angel Martinez’s Finn
I have the immense pleasure of interviewing Angel Martinez this morning. Her newest book Finn is out now. If you haven’t read it yet, you should check it out. She writes wonderful paranormal, fantasy, science fiction (and all kinds of other goodies like that) romance books. After the interview you can read all about Finn, plus an amazing excerpt that will make you want to read more. At the very bottom there is a giveaway for an e-copy of the book.
Amanda C. Stone: So very honored that I get to interview you this morning! Now, you write paranormal, fantasy, science fiction, and all kinds of wonderful books like that. What keeps you away from contemporary? Do you think you’ll ever write contemporary?
Angel Martinez: I don’t enjoy most ungarnished contemporary as a reader. Never have. Science Fiction, Fantasy, Mystery, Paranormal – those are the stories I’ve always read. (Sure, literary fiction, but that’s a different animal.) When I read for fun, I want something different. I live in the real world. All the time. So reading about it doesn’t interest me. As an extension of that, writing about the ungarnished real world doesn’t interest me much either. I have done a couple of short contemporary subjects, when themes come along that anger me enough, but those are few and far between.
For me, being able to step outside that regular world isn’t an escape. It’s a way to look at the issues we face every day from a new angle, with clearer eyes. Fantasy and spec fiction don’t help us hide from reality, they illuminate it in ways we miss in the day-to-day routine.
ACS: I can appreciate that view. I do like when I can throw all of the aspects of real life out the window when I read. If you were a paranormal creature, what would you be?
AM: Unicorn, I think. Strong, beautiful, magical, and I could poop rainbow marshmallows. I’d be sort of an odd one, though, since virgins hold no appeal for me.
ACS: I love unicorn stories and mythology. It would be so much fun to be one! What is your favorite paranormal movie or TV show?
AM: Er, um, I really don’t watch a lot of TV anymore. I did love Buffy, though. It was sometimes scary and sometimes tragic and sometimes way too much of everything, but for the most part, it kept a sense of humor somewhere in the mix. Loved the characters – the good that wasn’t always so good, the bad that wasn’t always so bad. And that episode where everyone had to sing everything? Priceless.
ACS: Buffy was such a good show! Was sad when it went off the air. If you could appear in an episode of “Supernatural”, what kind of creature would you play? Would you be a good guy or a bad guy?
AM: Ahem. Going back to the “don’t watch a lot of TV” these days? I know a lot of you out there are going to fall over when I say this, (please sit down) but I’ve never seen a single episode. There. I said it, and I feel so free!
Seriously, it’s hard to get away from the references and the pics and gifs, so I do have an idea of what goes on. I’d probably want to be a demon of some sort, something bad. Playing the bad guy is just more fun than playing the good guy. (Just watch Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth sometime – who’s having more fun, Loki or Thor?) But I’d like to be something bad that gets a chance at redemption. I’m a sucker for a good redemption story.
ACS: Don’t worry. I’ve never seen the show either. My husband LOVES it and talks about it all the time. Alright, last question. You are a fae. What do your wings look like?
AM: Ah, wings. I’ve always wanted wings. I’d be a dark fae, I’m sure, but I’m torn. Glorious raven wings would be one option, so long they drag behind me (sorry Maleficent, stealing your line.) Dragon-style wings would be lovely, too. No feathers, no molting, nice claw finger up top. Might be a little more delicate with the membranes but they’d be super cool, good for gliding.
ACS: Both options sound like they would be amazing to see! Thank you so much for joining me today. It was a pleasure interviewing you. Now read more about the book.
When Diego rescues a naked man from the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, he just wants to get the poor man out of traffic and to social services. He gets more than he bargained for when he discovers Finn is an ailing pooka, poisoned by the city’s pollution. To help him recover, Diego takes him to New Brunswick where Finn inadvertently wakes an ancient, evil spirit: the wendigo.
While they struggle to find a way to destroy the wendigo before it can possess Diego or kill nearby innocents, Diego wrestles with his growing feelings for Finn. Kill the monster and navigate a relationship between a modern man and a centuries old pooka. Piece of cake.
The ordeal of the shower seemed cruel, but Finn was filthy and smelled like a dumpster during a garbage strike. Diego placed one of his plastic kitchen chairs in the middle of the shower and installed Finn there, but he only slumped against the chair back, eyes closed, face turned into the spray.
Too exhausted to even flinch.
Diego fought down the little shiver of revulsion at the stench, stripped to his boxers, and stepped into the stall with him. He attacked the tangled mass of hair first, positioning Finn so his head hung back over the chair. No lice—a good sign. He might have been homeless, but he probably hadn’t lived on the streets too long. The nest of midnight snarls unwound under the caress of water and shampoo. If Finn stood, his hair would reach at least to the top curve of his butt. A strange blue-black iridescence shone in it, his natural coloring as far as Diego could tell rather than bottled special effects.
The rest Diego washed with a loofah, shoving away modesty out of a need to get Finn to his rest. An ache lodged around his heart to see how malnutrition had ravaged what probably had been a lean-muscled frame. An athlete, perhaps, before he went off the deep end, an impression reinforced by the absence of almost all body hair. Waxed or electrolysis-denuded—only Finn’s crotch sported a black thatch of soft hair. Swimmer, perhaps. The Olympic competitors often shaved it all off for every small gain in streamlining.
He turned off the water and tugged at Finn’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. You can’t sleep in the shower.”
Finn staggered to his feet and Diego all but carried him to Mitch’s room. The spare room, he corrected himself. He usually kept the door closed so the stark, unfurnished space wasn’t glaring at him.
He sat Finn down against the wall, brought him a pair of flannel pajamas, soft with age, and went out to the front closet to retrieve the air mattress and vacuum. Six boxes lay stacked against the wall; all that remained of Mitch’s things. Diego ran a hand over one, and then shook his head against the temptation to open the top and look at its contents. When he returned, Finn hadn’t moved from where he sat, naked and dozing in a patch of sunlight.
“You might want to put those on.” Diego toed the pajamas closer as he dragged the air mattress into place. When Finn’s only response was a long sigh, he added, “We need to get you warm. I don’t want to have to take you to Emergency.”
With a puzzled frown, Finn unfolded the material and managed, after looking back and forth between the pajamas and Diego’s jeans a few times, to pull the bottoms on. His efforts with the top, though, were sabotaged when the vacuum roared to life. He startled and scuttled sideways, wide-eyed and panting.
Diego hurried to switch it off. “Sorry. Should have warned you.”
“Is it some sort of small dragon?”
For a moment, Diego stared in blank surprise before he caught himself. At least the nature of Finn’s delusion was becoming clearer. He might even share his history later when he had the energy, perhaps some tragic story of an exiled prince. For now, Diego thought it best to play along.
“Not a dragon. Just a machine. It blows out and sucks in air with great force.”
“Ah.” Finn seemed disappointed, but waved a hand for him to continue.
Mattress inflated, Finn dressed and installed in bed, Diego thought he should get something in him before he drifted off. He tried tap water first but Finn jerked his head away, the color draining from his face.
“Tainted,” he gasped. “Great Dagda, it reeks.”
Diego sniffed above the glass, puzzled. New York City water, piped in from the mountains, was cleaner than most but it was treated. Chlorine. Fluoride. Maybe Finn had an allergy to one or the other.
Bottled water produced a less violent reaction. Finn smelled it, nose crinkled, but he downed half the bottle in desperate gulps before Diego could take it back from him. Hydration, at least, wouldn’t be an issue.
The hurdle of food remained. Starvation often did terrible things to the body’s ability to accept nourishment. Not the best time to offer a hamburger and fries. Diego decided he should start with the foods one was supposed to give sick kids: bananas, rice, applesauce and toast, minus the applesauce, since he didn’t have any.
Finn wouldn’t touch the boiled-in-tap-water rice. He nibbled a corner of the toast and set it aside with murmured apologies. The banana completely stumped him. He turned it over and over in his hands and finally tried to bite through the skin.
“You eat these?” He handed it back to Diego with a grimace.
All right, so his reality doesn’t include New World fruit. Diego peeled the banana for him and handed it back. “You don’t eat the skin. Try the inside.”
Finn took a careful bite and his eyes widened. “That’s not bad.”
Diego could only watch anxiously, praying his guest wouldn’t choke, as the rest disappeared in three bites. With a contented sigh, Finn handed the peel back, gathered the covers into a circle in the center of the mattress, and curled into a tight ball inside his nest. By the time Diego brought an extra comforter to cover him, Finn was fast asleep.
Clean and at rest, his face had a childlike quality with his hair tucked behind one finely-curved ear. Diego wasn’t certain it was a handsome face, almost unearthly in its delicacy, and though Finn stood six inches taller, he had the odd feeling he could scoop that long frame up in his arms without much effort.
He backed out and closed the door as quietly as he could, confident Finn wouldn’t die on him. Tomorrow he would see about finding the right agency to take his guest, preferably one that wouldn’t hand him right over to immigration.
A few hours of peace while Finn slept should let him at least get through the current chapter he was writing.
The moment he sat ready at his desk, fingers poised over the keys, the phone rang.
While Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres, she writes both kinds of gay romance – Science Fiction and Fantasy. Currently living part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware, (and full time inside the author’s head) Angel has one husband, one son, two cats, a changing variety of other furred and scaled companions, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martinez.author
June 2: Tara Lain
June 3: Parker Williams
June 4: Kimi-Chan, Jade Crystal, Talon SO
June 5: Book Reviews, Rants, and Raves, MM Good Books
June 6: Nephylim, Hearts on Fire
June 9: Prism Book Alliance
June 10: Love Bytes, My Fiction Nook
June 11: Fallen Angel Reviews
June 12: The Novel Approach
June 13: Amanda C. Stone, Velvet Panic
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