Author Interviews

Interview with Scarlet Blackwell on 19-October-2015

Author's Interview

Let's start with you telling us a little bit about yourself, Scarlet.
I have been a writer for many years and my first M/M stories were published in 2009. I don’t write full time but still dream of doing so.
What would people be most surprised to learn about you?
I can’t sing, draw or dance.

When did you start writing, is it something you've always been interested in, or did it develop later in life?
I started writing when I was 13 and at the time it was fanfiction. I’ve written steadily every year since then. I completed my first original novel at 25 and my second a couple of years later. Both of these are unpublished. I then wrote 2 books for another publisher. They were both rejected and I subsequently lost them both.

Has it been everything you thought it would be or not?
No. I had a very bad experience with a publisher who owed me a great deal of money. This has soured my love of writing considerably.

How did it feel when you realized that your very first book was going to be published?
It didn’t seem real. A hobby suddenly became paid work. I had given away my work for free for years before I realised someone might actually want to pay me for it.

What's your favorite part of writing a book?
About halfway through when I am in full flow. I hate actually writing that first line.

Do you get time to read for pleasure? If so, which books do you enjoy?
Yes I do. I love horror and crime thrillers. The very first authors I read when I graduated to adult fiction were Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and James Herbert (RIP) and I still read these guys now. I love a serial killer book and I’m also totally addicted to Lee Child and his Jack Reacher series.

Are there any other genres you'd be interested in writing?
I’ve always wanted to write a horror novel but despite that genre being my first love, I haven’t managed more than two short stories.

Please tell us a little about your most recent release.
The Captain’s Man is an updated version of the book first published 4 years ago by Totally Bound. It has extra scenes and has been overhauled with new cover art and ISBN. It tells the story of an insecure young man, Josh, who ends up going on a Mediterranean cruise on his own after being dumped by his long-term partner. He falls head over heels for the captain of the ship, Kane, a man who seeks fun during work and no ties afterwards. But Kane hasn’t bargained on how instantly drawn he is to Josh and how a 2 week fling doesn’t seem to be enough.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?
The updated sequel to The Captain’s Man will follow and then after that I will be concentrating on submitting brand new work to Pride Publishing.

Anything you want to say to your readers?
I appreciate those readers who have stood by me despite my less than prolific output over the last two years. I hope you enjoy my new material when it arrives.

Scarlet Blackwell's recent releases:
Stand and Deliver
When Lucien Mayer is held captive by dangerous but seductive highwaymen, does he escape, or does he give in to his heart’s desire?

Lucien, Earl of Ravensberry, has the looks, the title, the house and all the money in the world. What he’s lacking in his humdrum life of loneliness is someone to warm his sheets at night. When he’s kidnapped by five highwaymen one night, things start looking up. This is the most exciting thing to happen to him in forever.

But Lucien’s life is in danger. Dante, the tough, self-appointed leader of the band, doesn’t have a lot of time for captives and vows to kill him—after he’s used Lucien’s body as he desires. Then there’s Ambrosius, Dante’s best friend, a damaged, reclusive individual who appeals to Lucien from the outset. The feeling is mutual, and Lucien is soon braving a whirlwind of emotions. He had never thought to fall for an outlaw, and he is torn between escaping and satisfying the needs of his heart. All he knows is, life will never be the same again…

The Captain's Man

The Captain always goes down with his ship.

Josh Addison is recovering from a broken heart on a two week cruise of the Mediterranean.

Enter the captain of the ship, the dashingly handsome Kane Kessler. Josh is determined not to fall for him and convinced Kane won't look twice. That's not what his crazy neighbours Erik and Freddie think—and neither does Kane himself.

He wants to make Josh the Captain's Man.


Protecting Kayden

When falling in love with the man he's trying to protect is taboo, what's a desperate man supposed to do?

When narcotics detective Mason Pearce is assigned to protect federal witness Kayden Cole at a top-secret location, they are instantly drawn to each other. Shy, geeky Kayden likes birdwatching and has an unsavoury past. He's really not Mason's type, so Mason can't explain why the chemistry between them soon rages out of control.

But any relationship is doomed. Kayden's a wanted man and Mason can't risk the witness' life by getting close. Can they find a way to be together, despite the federal red tape and danger surrounding them?

Excerpt from Protecting Kayden:
As Mason Pearce crawled along the road in his car, squinting at hotel signs on the never-ending residential street, his phone shrilled. He snatched it up. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?"

"Two minutes away. Still looking."

"Christ, I already told you, it’s a blue sign with birds on. Sparrows or something."

A second voice piped up in the background. "They’re barn swallows, you philistine. Hirundo rustica."

Mason lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "That your witness?"

"Yeah, it’s him," drawled his partner. "He’s got a big mouth. How about you get over here before I strangle him? And, oh"—he lowered his voice—"he’s kind of cute. Might be just your type."

Mason stiffened. "Mickey, don’t push it." He hung up, shaking his head. Really, how unprofessional did his partner think he was?

He slammed on his brakes as he saw the distinctive swallows on the blue sign. Even he recognised the steel-blue back and forked tail combined with the red throat. Mickey really was a philistine.

Mason huffed, then climbed from the car and retrieved a bag filled with food, drinks and reading material. Night shifts in narcotics were not his thing. Especially night shifts spent looking after a junkie about to turn state’s evidence against a drug lord, when the US Marshals should have been watching him. It was co-operation all the way this time, manpower shortage and all that jazz, and Mason had drawn the short straw.

He glanced up at the hotel as he locked his car. It was a Victorian building with ivy climbing to the eaves and hanging baskets loaded with blooms. It didn’t look like a safe house hiding the chief prosecution witness in an ongoing trial—all power to the person who had thought it up.

He already had a key to the front door, which had been locked on police instructions. He let himself in, nodded politely at an elderly couple just leaving and headed up the stairs to the third floor.
Mickey took his time answering the door of room sixty-one. Probably drawing his gun, gesturing to the witness to get out of sight, checking the spy-hole.

"It’s me," Mason said, and stuck out his tongue.

Bolts rasped back. A key turned. The door swung open and Sergeant Mickey Saldana, six feet five of intimidating Italian, blocked out the meagre light from the room beyond.

"Come on," Mason grumbled, pushing past him. "Either you want to get home to Maria or you don’t."

"Yeah, okay, who got out of the wrong side of bed today?" Mickey cuffed him over the head as Mason glanced around.

It was a small room with twin beds separated by a night table. It featured a pine wardrobe, a dresser—complete with an electric kettle, two cups, a sugar bowl crammed with tea bags and instant coffee sachets—and a door leading to an en suite. The thin curtains were drawn. Sitting on the bed facing the window was a slight, narrow-shouldered man with short, dark hair.

He stood up and turned, and Mason’s glance became a stare.

It wasn’t like the guy was even his type. Mason liked them big, well-hung and brainless. He wasn’t interested in conversation beyond ‘Blow me, why don’t you?’ and picked men based on looks alone. He preferred blonds to brunets and muscle to bone. He liked to dominate—even better if there was a fight for domination with a guy bigger than him.

The witness was a little on the short side—barely five-foot-six—and perhaps in his late twenties. Lean and delicate in a clinging T-shirt too small for him and skinny jeans, he looked as though he needed a good meal, or as if he’d stolen his younger brother’s clothes. His hair—chestnut with copper highlights, shiny and poker-straight—fell into his eyes in a dense fringe. His eyes were virtually black and wary, mistrustful. A rosebud mouth was drawn into a sulky pout.

Mason swallowed with heart-stopping lust. Why? he asked himself, but failed to come up with an answer.

Mickey sidled up behind him, put his mouth to Mason’s ear. "Told you."

Mason turned to face him, cheeks burning. "Get gone, smart ass," he said.

His partner smiled slyly. "Mason, this is Kayden Cole. Kayden, this is your guardian angel for the evening, Detective Mason Pearce of Miami-Dade’s finest."

Mason scowled. He kept his back turned to the witness. "Go."

Mickey winked at him. "Sure. Now be a good boy and play nicely, Mason." He laughed as Mason shoved him out of the door, then slammed it shut.

Mason threw the bolts, turned the key, slotted the safety chain in place. Then, on professional autopilot, he went into the bathroom to check the access. A single window that no adult could squash through, and was locked anyway. Back in the bedroom, he had to squeeze past the witness to check behind the curtains, and Kayden shifted, a faint scent of alluring cologne following in his wake. The double window was locked, with no access to it from below without a ladder. Mason pulled the curtains firmly across.

Twilight was falling rapidly outside, and he crossed to the bedside table to flick on a lamp. The light bathed the pale, almost luminous skin of the witness in a peach glow. He stood there regarding Mason—somewhat forlornly, it seemed to him—in silence.


Contact Details