I would like to thank Angel Martinez for stopping by on her tour for Finn and talking about 10 Things. Check out Teresa’s review of Finn here. There is also a giveaway, so stay tuned for that.
Author: Angel Martinez
Publisher: MLR Press
Cover Artist: Lex Valentine
10 Things You Don’t Know about Angel Martinez
Or maybe you did but didn’t want to admit it…
- I’m absolutely terrified of speaking in public. This may come as a surprise for folks who’ve seen me do a reading and joke around with the audience, or host a panel, or give a class. But it’s true. My stomach is in knots the entire time. I keep waiting for someone to call me out and tell me I suck. The adrenaline is still with me two hours afterward.
- I never met either of my grandfathers. They both died when my parents were children. Neither one of my grandmothers got to see us kids grow up, either. I’m truly grateful that my son has a full set of grands he was able to get to know and have been able to watch him become an adult.
- We had a number of pets growing up—fish, hamsters, lizards, dogs—but no cats. Yet I’ve had cats since my early twenties (and lizards and mice and…you get the idea.)
- My mutt heritage shows more when you see my siblings and me together. I had dark hair when I was young (I know, it’s hard to tell now) and my eyes are quite dark. Both my sibs are blond/blonde and have light gray/green-gray eyes. We used to hear it all the time growing up: “Oh, you can’t be related! You don’t look anything alike!” Thanks for pointing it out. We would never have noticed.
- I can drive a stick shift, operate a jet ski, lawnmower, segway, and I’ve even flown a plane (for a short distance.) But I struggle with “user-friendly, intuitive” technology as if it was developed by alien minds.
- My eighteenth birthday was spent at Fort Dix, New Jersey. I was in basic training (Army National Guard.) By the time I was finished with basic and my AIT, my first semester of college was three weeks along. My mom had been going to class and taking notes for me. That was an interesting year.
- Did you know deer snort when they’re angry? They do. When I was a teenager, I worked a couple of summers at one of the local state parks. Sometimes, I would get a ride to the parking lot and then hike in to the park office at the back of the park. One morning, I came to the edge of the woods and found a dappled fawn lying across the path. Of course I knew better than to touch, and was trying to edge around, when I heard snorting and the sound of hooves clattering toward me on the right. Mama deer was charging me. I leaped the fawn and ran.
- I’ve snorkeled off Hapuna Beach, ridden horseback through the Waipi’o Valley, stood at the feet of the giant Buddha of Leshan, woken to roosters and coquí at an old coffee plantation in the Puerto Rican mountains, but I think my favorite spot in the world is still a strange, lonely house on the northeast side of Prince Edward Island, where the wind never stops and the stars are heart-breakingly bright.
- Here’s one you’ve probably never heard before. I fell asleep on stage at a concert once. Not kidding. Not a big concert, mind you, it was the old 930 Club in Washington DC (I don’t expect many people to know what I’m talking about – so it was a club designed to look a bit like a cavern – dark and cozy, lots of punk and alternative bands played there. Anyway…) We’d gone to see the Fleshtones but there was, of course, an opening band. Always a bit hit or miss. Because I was tired and it was a standing room kind of place, I’d perched up on the left corner of the stage by the wall, kind of next to one of the big amps. The opening band, The Neighborhoods, were bleeding awful. I fell asleep out of boredom, I think, or maybe because I would fall asleep at any excuse back then. I woke up to the crowd yelling at them to get offstage and the singer yelling that we were all fucking rude and pointing to me saying. “Look! That one even had the nerve to fall asleep!” Yes. My finest moment.
- I have the world’s worst sense of direction. GPS was invented for people like me. On a business trip to Dallas, armed only with a map and vague directions to the hotel, I became hopelessly lost downtown, driving in aimless, upset, convoluted circles. Finally, exasperated and out of options, I stopped at a bar and asked directions. The hotel was on the next street up.
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.
From the Publisher:
Finn: 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.
About the Author
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.
Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martinez.author
June 2: Tara Lain
June 3: Parker Williams
June 9: Prism Book Alliance
June 11: Fallen Angel Reviews
June 12: The Novel Approach
I have a number of paperbacks, most of which are signed, to giveaway. Over the between now (11 Mar 2017) and 31 Mar 2017, every comment on the blog (this post and all other new posts), will be entered to win 1 of these paperbacks. There are also some misc swag items, so there will be a few packs of these to give away as well.
Thank you so much for your support over the last 4 years. Prism will be closing its doors on 1 April 2017. All content will remain available, but no new content will appear after 31 Mar 2017. As such all request forms have been turned off. Again Thank you,
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