Friday, February 14, 2014

GUEST: @Angela_Fiddler @pumpupyourbook #RomFantasy

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

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 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 Fiddler
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 needed a bigger edge to contain everything inside of it. “Have you eaten?” Patrick asked.

  “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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