Welcome to my weekly Author Spotlight. I’ve asked a bunch of my author friends to answer a set of interview questions, and to share their latest work.
Today: Toni V. Sweeney has lived 30 years in the South, a score in the Middle West, and a decade on the Pacific Coast and now she’s trying for her second 30 on the Great Plains.
Since the publication of her first novel in 1989, Toni divides her time between writing SF/Fantasy under her own name and as the pseudonyms Tony-Paul de Vissage, TS Snow and Icy Snow Blackstone.
Currently, Toni has written 98 novels, with 94 of them having been published. This includes several series.
Find out more about Toni:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Welcome-to-the-ToniVerse-1900908046884512/
Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BLQBB8
Twitter: @ToniVSweeney
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/epicfantasywriter
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/579429.Toni_V_Sweeney
Thanks so much, Toni, for joining me!
J. Scott Coatsworth: When did you know you wanted to write, and when did you discover that you were good at it?
Toni V. Sweeney: I wrote my first novel when I was 7 with a toy typewriter I got as a birthday gift. It was about a horse. I wrote my first actual novel in 1974 and it later became the sword and sorcery novel GodChosen. This was mainly because I love to read and at that time I couldn’t afford to buy books and a library wasn’t available, so I wrote books to have something to read. I shared them with other readers in the medical clinic where I worked and someone dared me to submit one to a publisher, so I did. It was rejected but they asked if I had any children’s novels. I said I did—I lied. I had nothing, so I wrote one in two weeks (based on stories I used to tell my son about the adventures of our 4 poodles) and sent it in and they accepted it. It was published in 1989. It’s since been reprinted as Hot Diggity Spacedogs! by Wordwooze Publishing. That was the shortest one; the longest took me six months because I had to do so much research.
JSC: Do you use a pseudonym? If so, why? If not, why not?
TVS: Since I write in several genres, I’ve had several pseudonyms. Lately, though, with some of books being re-published, I’ve either used my own name or limited myself to only one other, that of Tony-Paul de Vissage which I used for my paranormal/horror /MM novels.
JSC: How long have you been writing?
TVS: All my life if you count the one written at age 7. LOL. Otherwise, I officially started writing in 1974, so…what’s that? 51 years?
JSC: Are you a full-time or part-time writer? How does that affect your writing?
TVS: Since I’m retired, I’d call it full time. I allow about 8 hours a day for writing which would constitute a full-time job if I got paid by the hour. I’m at the computer typing away most of the day. In the morning, I do a quck run to the gym, then back for breakfast, and by 10:00 AM, on to the computer. Around 5:30, I stop for dinner, watch a little TV and then it’s beddy-bye time.
JSC: What tools do you feel are must-haves for writers?
TVS: Having a good knowledge of grammar and spelling, and the good sense to check facts. When in doubt, check it out. Good o’ Google is there to help.
JSC: What were your goals and intentions in The Nightman’s Odyssey, and how well do you feel you achieved them?
TVS: Vampire stories are always set in the past or the present. Offhand, I don’t know of many—if any—that reach into the future, so I wanted this novel to show that the story can just keep going, and going. I also wanted to give an idea of how someone who lived so long might feel. Would he miss those who’d died? Envy them? Feel angry because they were no longer with him? Would he marvel at all that Mankind had achieved and think of all he’d witnessed. Would he be bored beyond belief after so many years? And most importantly, would he feel lonely?
JSC: What was the hardest part of writing this book?
TVS: I had to do a great a deal of research because this covered a long sweep of history from the period of the Black Death through the several eras into present and then the future. I wanted to make certain that my fact were correct as far as I could ascertain. The future was the easiest section to write because I was able to make my own predictions of how that’s going to be.
JSC: Were you a voracious reader as a child?
TVS: Oh yes! Every summer from second grade through the seventh in elementary school, I got a certificate for ready 25 books. I once was a member of 4 book clubs so I always had a novel handy to read. I still have some of my childhood books, and currently I have 12 bookcases in my apartment. In all I guess I must own at least 500 books at last count. When I’m not writing, I’m reading, only now it’s on my Kindle.
JSC: What other artistic pursuits (it any) do you indulge in apart from writing?
TVS: I have a degree in Fine Art and a diploma in graphic Art, and I like to do sketches of things that catch my interest, and oil paintings—sometimes I take photographs of flowers or scenes, then transfer them to canvas. I have a closet full of paintings and drawings, some of which hung in my apartment when I lived in California. I’m not too good with watercolors because I find it difficult to judge the amount of liquid to put in the color. They usually end up dripping off the paper.
JSC: What action would your name be if it were a verb?
TVS: “Plodder.” Once I begin something, I just keep going and going and going until I finish whatever it is I’ve started. It may take a while but I get there eventually. I’m kind of an octogenerian Energizer Bunny.
JSC: What are you working on now, and what’s coming out next? Tell us about it!
TVS: Another paranormal tale. Path of the Wolf will be coming out in September, preparing everyone for Halloween. It’s written under my pseudonym Tony-Paul de Vissage and is being released by Epic Publishing. Set in Renaissance France, it’s a werewolf tale about an egotistic artist, his neglected wife, and the captive loup-garou he is using as a model for what will become his most famous painting. It’s been likened to Hammer films’ Curse of the Werewolf in that the werewolf is the sympathetic character in the story.
Here’s the blurb: In war-torn 15th-century France, the most dangerous creature isn’t the beast, it’s the man who claims to own him.
Isabeau de Montaigne never asked for a husband, much less one like François, a self-absorbed artist more devoted to his canvases than to her. She’s grown used to his long absences and strange moods, but he turns her world upside-down when he returns from his latest journey with a strange, fur-covered creature in tow. François claims he purchased the “wolf” from a gypsy camp. Certainly he looks and moves like a beast, but he also looks at Isabeau with undeniably human eyes.
Claiming the creature as his new muse, François prepares to immortalize him as Saint Jean in the Wilderness. As Isabeau grows closer to the captive creature, she begins to see the humanity in him and questions the monstrousness of the men around her. Realizing she’s as much a captive as he, she finds the release she needs in his arms. It’s then she realizes she must escape François’s cruelty or die trying.
A sensual historical fantasy about captivity, desire, and the blurred lines between man and myth, Path of the Wolfchallenges what it means to be civilized, and what it takes to reclaim your freedom.
And now for Tony’s latest book: The Nightman’s Odyssey:
…Immortality with a vengeance, never apologizing for what he is, and loving every century of it.
Limousin, France, 1249: In one night, Damién, son of le Marquis la Croix, loses his soul as he willingly chooses the kiss of a sansmort rather than perish of the Plague. Once risen as a vampire, Damién takes his betrothed into the dark with him but something goes wrong and Antoinette perishes. Thus, the fledgling vampire begins his solitary walk through the corridors of eternity, searching for that one person to take his beloved’s place. Through Mankind’s long centuries, many cross his path, respond to his enticements, and are forced to make the choice. None survive to become his companion in the darkness and so many have been lost that now Damién asks himself the question: Is there no one who will love me for who I am, in spite of what I am?
…for when the Nightman cometh, Death is never far behind.In The Nightman’s Odyssey, Tony-Paul de Vissage spins a chilling tale of love twisted by the hunger for immortality, filled with savage battles, forbidden desires, and heart-stopping twists.
Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Excerpt
“’Toinette. Sweetheart?” he called to her.
To his relief, there was movement within the bed. Something pale turning toward the sound of his voice. He willed his wings to collapse; with a liquid whisper, they obeyed. He felt the flaps of flesh on his back close over them.
“Damién? Is it you?”
Her dear voice had never sounded so sweet as in that moment.
“Oui, mon précieux.”
Hurry, we’re wasting time. Ask me in. What if she refuses? What if her chasteness prevents her from bringing me inside?
“You shouldn’t be here. Why have you come?” She didn’t raise her voice above a whisper but he heard its quaver, as clearly as if she shouted.
“How could I stay away? They told me you were dying.”
“I-I am.” The tremble in her voice shook him as well as her bravery in admitting it. “And now, you’re…”
“I don’t care for myself. Antoinette, may I come in?”
She hesitated, nodded. He didn’t move, willing her to say it aloud.
“Please, Damién. Come in. I’ve no wish to be alone. Not now. No matter if ’tisn’t proper. What does propriety mean to the dead?”
That made his heart sing. She’s begun to question also? Even this late?
He stepped into the room and again hesitated. There was another barrier, stronger than that keeping him from entering. He could feel it, sending out its invisible stabs of holy fire. The crucifix around her neck. Taking a deep breath, Damién ran to Antoinette, forcing himself to ignore the pain encircling him as he took her in his arms.
“You don’t have to die.” He kissed the pale lips, ignoring the bloody streaks on her face and arms, the foul odor of death from the eruptions leaking pus onto the coverlet. Carefully, he avoided pressing her body to his. “You can live, and we can be together.”
“I know, my love. We’ll be together. In Heaven.” She misunderstood.
That trash again.
“Non, that’s not what I mean. You can live. Now.”
“They’ve found a cure?” Hope gleamed. “What? How?”
“No cure, chérie, but a way to escape the Plague and live forever.”
“Damién,” she pulled away. “You talk in riddles. There’s only one way to live forever. Through belief in our Lord Christ and his Salvation.”
“There’s another way, my darling.” He had to speak quickly, get it over with. The pain was getting worse. Soon, he was certain he might burst into flames. “’Toinette, I died tonight. If you survive until morning, you’ll be told of my death.”
“B-but how…” She stared at him as if he’d gone mad. Even he admitted it sounded that way. “What are you saying?”
“Hush. Just listen. Will you do something for me?”
She nodded. She was scowling, confused, but her love held her still compliant.
“Take off your cross. I wish to kiss you again and it…” He affected shyness, looking away. “…I feel odd doing so while you wear that.”
She didn’t argue, but unclasped the chain and dropped it on the table. A bloodied cloth lay there. To wipe her brow, no doubt. Damién dropped it over the cross.
Immediately, the pain ceased.
“Now…” He sat beside her on the bed, and told her all that had happened the night before.
As he spoke, her confusion and fear faded away, replaced with a new emotion…hope.
“…and you wish me to follow you into the dark?” She grasped his invitation quickly enough, and to his surprise, accepted it as calmly. There was a faint shrug, a moue of cynicism he’d been unaware his Antoinette would ever possess, and a surprising eagerness. “Why not? If it saves me from the charnel pit. I love you, Damién. I’ll gladly give my soul to stay with you. What must I do?”
“Only two things, my darling.” He’d expected protested, his having to further convince her. This quick capitulation was startling, but would make it easier. “Accept and wish to live. I’ll do the rest.”
She sat up, sliding her feet over the side of the bed. She was wearing a sleeping shift, something Damién and Armand, in their blatant masculinity, had refused to utilize. At sight of her breasts half-shadowed by the fine fabric, even befouled with the plague’s deadly smears, Damién felt his desire and his hunger spring to life.
Ma petite… How small she was, how delicate. Can her body hold enough to quench my thirst and make her mine? He wanted the pleasure of tasting that pure, sweet, blood. I’m so hungry and she’ll be so delicious. It isn’t only hunger, it can’t be. She’s my Antoinette, my beloved, my wife.
As he reached for her, she shied away, hands coming up. One final moment of doubt, fighting that last vestige of what the priests taught? She reached to the table, fingers scrabbling for the crucifix on its golden chain.
“Put it down. Put it down.”
She didn’t move, and he made his voice soft, a whisper spoken between eager lips, forcing himself to be calm so she wouldn’t be afraid.
“Put down that ornament, beloved. Think of me. Of our being together. What joy we’ll have through the centuries. Think of living, amour, of survival and nothing else.”
The cross slid from her grasp. It fell to the floor, bounced under the bed.
DamiĂ©n darted forward, lifting her off the floor. Her flesh was so sweet, so thin against his tongue. He could almost taste the blood through the skin, though it pulsed slowly. He licked away the dried befoulment, let his tongue linger as if searching for the right spot. He drove in his fangs. Blood spurted onto the front of the white nightgown, a crimson rosette…
Damién drank, one long, continuous, deep swallow, then stepped back, leaving her lying on the bed, still living. Even barely breathing, she didn’t want to let him go, hands clutching at his sleeves. He had to pull himself from her arms.
Desire won out over hunger now. He had to possess Antoinette before he took her through the Veil. Take that precious maidenhead while she lived, not later. She mustn’t be chaste through eternity.
She gave a quick, whispery sigh, and coughed, spattering blood. He didn’t bother to undress, simply threw himself back upon her, pushing aside his doublet and shirt, parting the front of his stocks.
His cock burgeoned forth like the weapon it was.
My sword into your sheath.
The irony of those words he’d written to her came back to him. He hadn’t intended them this way.
“Antoinette, look at me.”
She opened her eyes. They met his and he was shocked by the naked, blazing desire in them.
My precious, we will be so good together.
Damién kissed her, tongue claiming her mouth as his body claimed hers. He felt her maidenhead tear, his cock plunged deeper.
She scream and bit. Blood flowed from their lips, dripping to the spot where their bodies joined. His stiffened dagger, her naked mound soaked in their blood. Damién pulled his bleeding tongue from her mouth, seeing her convulsive swallow as his blood slid down her throat.
He began to thrust against her as he sank his fangs again into her neck.
Antoinette died as he came.