Interview with Casey Wyatt, Author of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Casey Wyatt and Dead GIrls Don’t Sing. I’ve got to check this one out!
What inspired this particular story, Casey? My main character, Cherry Cordial aka Charity Belmont is a former vampire stripper who ends up living on Mars (see Dead Girls Don’t Cry). In the first book, Cherry finds her true love, Ian and they settle an undead colony on Mars. I don’t want to say more (spoilers!) but, while that adventure ended, Cherry’s past was an unexplored treasure. I had so many unanswered questions about Cherry’s family. I knew Jonathan (her maker and first husband) had to be holding things back. Did her brother and her sisters go on to live quiet, mortal lives? And who were the visitors that appeared at the end of book one? I needed answers!! And so, Dead Girls Don’t Sing was born. I may have answered those questions, but there are more for Dead Girls Don’t Lose.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books? I want my readers to have fun and to go on an exciting adventure. I write the kinds of books that I like to read too. My eyes gloss over if a book is “important” or has dense walls of descriptions because I’m the kind of person who gets impatient reading long greeting card prose. I’m all about dialogue. Banter is the best, and so is a story that makes me stay up half the night wondering how it’s going to end.
What do you like to do when you are not writing? I love to read but my favorite activity is to go to museums with my younger son (and sometimes my older son too). We enjoy museums so much that I created a website, Museum Maniacs (museummaniacs.com) and a Facebook page too (https://www.facebook.com/MuseumManiacs/). At the moment, the website is bare bones (the day job and writing consume most of my day) but the Facebook page sees more action. I’m also a crafter (knit, crochet, embroidery, cross stitch) and I’m a lapsed artist. I grew up drawing and painting mostly from life and now I’m learning Manga/Anime styles. I recently bought a HUION Kamvas digital drawing tablet and CLIP Studio Paint to “help” me learn. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it J.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do? First off, you’d never get the time machine or the cloak of invisibility back. Because seriously, I’d want to see everything. The past, the future, even the present (I’d probably sneak onto movies sets and Doctor Who). I totally get why Doctor Who stole the TARDIS. I have a degree in anthropology and I have no idea where I’d start first. So many choices!! But if I have to choose, I’d visit Heron of Alexandria (and that famous library).
Thank you so much for hosting me today. I love to chat so if anyone has any questions or comments, fire away! My social media contacts are listed toward the bottom of the page.
Click on the cover to read more or buy!
A peek between the pages of Dead Girls Don’t Sing!
Tiny pokers stabbed my eyes.
Another body, warm and hard, spooned against my backside.
Ian always felt so good, comforting and real.
His hand wrapped around my waist, cupping the underside of my breast. A cool sheet slid off my bare shoulder.
I was naked and in bed. A snippet of memory interrupted my appreciation of my husband’s hand.
Wasn’t I running from something . . .?
Fingers trailed along my spine, heading south. The touch was wrong, unfamiliar and rough.
Hold on. That wasn’t Ian. I shouldn’t feel the warmth of sun against my skin either. We lived on Mars, where it was colder than a witch’s tit.
If not Ian, then who was touching my inner thigh?
My eyelids snapped open like a shade on a spring. Bolting upright, I bared my fangs and grabbed the man’s wrist.
Oh, holy hell. I was in bed with another man. I rolled away and slammed into a different body. Shit, make that two other men. Two eye-poppingly gorgeous men.
Hey, I might be dead, but I’m not dead dead.
“Mistress? Have I displeased you?” said the man whose wrist I was about to shatter. Stunning blue-gray eyes. Dark stubble lined his chiseled jawline. His dark hair was mussed and complimented his swarthy skin tone. Dried blood smeared his neck. A red trail led to puncture marks.
The other man’s brown muscled chest rose and fell in rhythmic sleep. His body was fully exposed on the white sheet. Puncture marks lined his neck, his groin and his very erect penis.
My cheeks heated like a furnace. Clearly, we’d had a good time.
“No. Leave me. Both of you go to your rooms.” I dropped his wrist. The man woke his drowsing companion, and they left as I’d commanded.
Damn. I wished I could get the other men in my life to be so compliant.
Other men? There were other people important to me. Why couldn’t I remember them?
I’d kill Jonathan if he was messing with my mind again.
But yet… that idea didn’t feel right.
Somewhere in a dead corner of my memory, this moment seemed familiar. Jonathan, sensing my unhappiness with our “arrangement,” had spent the early years of our relationship attempting to please me.
This must have been my slut phase, where we’d bring home gorgeous men and I would feast and fuck while he watched. I enjoyed knowing it bothered him that I wouldn’t sleep with him. Only the mortals that we found in gaming dens, brothels, even at society events. The only other thing I would take from Jonathan besides his money was his blood, and only out of necessity.
Fucking hell. Ian’s go-to phrase—I remembered him now—helped resurface the reason why I was reliving this not-so-proud moment in my past.
The plague. The Lost Ship. The time stream. My daughter.
Oh, dear God. I hoped she was safe.
“Good morning, my pet.” Jonathan read a page of the morning newspaper while sipping tea from a dainty cup. He sat on the balcony situated outside my bedroom. From his vantage point, he could view the bed and my doings in Technicolor glory.
My heart lurched at the sight of his arrogant beauty. I had forgotten how full of life he’d been, especially in this time period. And, oh, how handsome he was. His raven hair glossy with blue highlights sparkled in the early morning sunshine. The strong line of his jaw and perfect Roman nose coupled with full lips made it hard not to stare at him. He hadn’t yet acquired the weariness that having a Family would place on him.
In later years, after much bitterness between us, I no longer saw him anymore. The beauty was tarnished, and we became as passionate as two coworkers passing the time until their shift ended. He had become someone I had to endure rather than enjoy. Not that I ever really “enjoyed” him because of the circumstances surrounding our sham marriage.
The horrid image of his death, when he’d knelt, offering Thalia his head, shattered the peaceful moment. With a plaintive look, he commanded that I accept his fate and mine. We both knew that Thalia, the dead queen’s heir apparent, was a vindictive bitch. She blamed me for her mother’s death and Jonathan refused to bow down to her. So, he did what he always did. He protected his Family by sacrificing himself so we could escape. In his last moments, regret had filled his eyes. The wish that we could have been different together had been silenced forever.
Seeing Jonathan again and remembering was worse than reopening a wound and rubbing salt in it with a lemon juice chaser. If only I could apologize to him for how awful I’d been. I hadn’t been blameless in wrecking our relationship. I could have tried harder to accept my fate instead of punishing him at every turn.
The temptation to blurt out the truth bubbled inside, until I had to force myself to look away from him. Would this Jonathan be willing to help me? Or would he use my current predicament to his advantage?
No. I couldn’t, wouldn’t chance it. Not with the entire colony’s lives hanging in the balance.
Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve. Sew it on a patch and you’d have my life’s motto.
Yup. Regrets sucked.
Jonathan placed the teacup down and smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed a bit surprised when you awoke.”
Surprise didn’t cover how I felt. That word was too puny, too inadequate. After a few seconds, I found my voice again.
“Yes, we had a good time. Thank you.” It sure looked that way.
He acted like finding his wife in bed with other men was no big deal. It wasn’t like I would keep them. To him they were more like pets or meals with legs.
But now, with a century of wisdom tucked under my belt, instead of relishing in his annoyance, I realized something. He was sad. With himself or me, I wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. I had a mission to accomplish. A future to save.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Casey Wyatt, Dead Girl's Don't Sing, Time travel, Urban Fantasy by Tena Stetler with 8 comments.
