Hi there. Thanks for having me!
Thanks for being her. Let's start with you telling us a little about yourself, your genres, any other pen names you use.
I’m an Alaskan with a degree in English literature
and a day job that has nothing to do with that. As Regan Summers, I write
romantic urban fantasy/paranormal romance and science fiction romance. I’ve
also published short fantasy fiction (including Recession of the Divine in the
CARNIEPUNK anthology) as Hillary Jacques.
Tell
us a little about your latest or upcoming release.
FALLING FROM THE LIGHT, the third book in the Night
Runner series, came out November 24th. The series features Sydney Kildare, a
human whose work as a courier for vampires has drawn and dragged her deeper
into their world, and Malcolm Kelly, a vampire trapped in a contract of service
to a powerful and not always nice vampire master. Coerced into dangerous
situations, they each have to figure out how far they’re willing to go, and how
much they’re willing to sacrifice for the other.
It’s the darkest of the three books, sometimes
difficult to write. But I think the reward is worth the struggle.
Are
you a mom?
I am. I have a six year old son.
Do
you find it hard to juggle writing and parenting?
I find it difficult to juggle parenting and everything else, but with writing it’s
especially tough. I also work full time, and when I’m home and writing, I often
feel like I’m stealing that time directly from my child. I mostly write at
night, after he’s gone to bed, but there are times – especially on weekends –
where I need to put him off for an hour or two and that’s hard. I have to
constantly remind myself that I need writing, and that I deserve to have my own
time. That’s what most writers have to do, I think – claim this action as a
part of yourself. And I really try for the time we spend together to be full.
Not just hours spent alongside each other, but really interacting and exploring
together.
Which
romance book or series (or other genre, if you don’t write romance) do you wish
you had written?
The Darkest London series which is written
beautifully and brilliantly by Kristen Callihan. It’s historical, paranormal
and sumptuously romantic, with some shockingly original twists. Actually,
scratch that. I’d never have been able to accomplish what she’s done with it.
Of
all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?
It’s got to be Sydney. She has a number of
characteristics that are beyond my ability to even work up to. She’s brave,
loyal, and relentlessly optimistic – three things that make it impossible not
to root for her.
What
book are you reading now?
I’m cringing my way through THE HANDMAID’S TALE by
Margaret Atwood – not because it’s bad. It’s the opposite. It’s so good, a
troublingly possible dystopia.
Falling from the Light
Night Runner
Book Two
Regan Summers
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: 11/24/2014
Number of pages: 250
Word Count: 94,500
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Book Description:
Phoenix, AZ
All Sydney Kildare wants is a minute in the slow lane, some time to decide where she’s going with her vampire lover, Malcolm Kelly. But after sitting out the last battle, the powerful Master Bronson is giving orders again, and he isn’t above blackmailing his former courier to get what he wants.
With Mal sent to track a vicious killer, Syd is forced to infiltrate a pharmaceutical company responsible for a drug that turns vampires into real monsters. She’s unprepared and alone, but fiercely determined. If her investigation doesn’t satisfy the Master, Malcolm will pay the price. A wrong turn throws her into the middle of a vampire power play. Caught between twisting forces, with their freedom at stake, she’ll have to decide what’s more important: love, power or revenge. But choosing what feels right might turn out all wrong.
Excerpt 1
Goya’s
warehouse sat on the other side of the parking lot from the office campus.
Instead of grass, it was surrounded by scrubby dirt. Instead of fountains, it
had banged-up box trucks. And, instead of a soaring lobby, there was a yellow
metal cage outside the side door where, presumably, the warehouse folks could
trap people and watch them cook to death for their own amusement. Luckily, it
was early so it was only really hot rather than fatally hot.
I tossed my fake
hair away from my neck and aimed my face at the camera, hoping my murderous
glare was softened by a pink smile and midnight-blue eyeliner.
“You the new
person?” a voice asked through a tinny speaker. I couldn’t tell if it was male
or female.
“That’s me,” I
said, trying to make the alias sound natural, “Andrea Franklin.”
The door clicked
open.
“You’re late.” It
was a woman, her voice low and rough from years of smoking.
I blinked as my
eyes adjusted to the darkness and, when I could see again, found myself inside
another metal enclosure. Maybe the entire world was just a series of cages laid
end to end.
“Nothing to say
for yourself?” The woman who stalked up was about my height. She wore a dark
blue shirt with the white Goya logo, a smudged oval with a couple of wispy
legs, over one small breast.
“I was told to
start at nine.”
“Pshhhh. Corporate
jackasses start at nine. We start at six, which means you’re late.” Her hair
sprayed from the top of her head to her shoulders like a fistful of wheat stalks.
Her face was a series of lines. Jagged lines around the eyes. Deep lines around
the nose and mouth. A soft, curved line where her first chin met her second,
even though she was thin. The uniform shirt billowed around knobby elbows.
“Well, I’m sorry
for that.” I showed her my nicest smile. “It won’t happen again. Unless you’re
planning to keep me in this cage.” That earned me a humph. She jabbed her thumb
against a button to open the door and gestured for me to follow.
“I’m Andrea,” I
said.
“I know.” She
sounded like she was regretting me already. “I’m Lil. No ‘miz,’ no ‘ma’am,’
just Lil.”
There were four
tall stacks of shelving covered in scabby orange paint that stretched to the
overhead doors at the far end of the building. Hazard chevrons had been painted
in what seemed like random squares every once in a while on the floor, places
to park equipment and places where equipment shouldn’t drive. The building was
noisy, with big fans fighting the hot air at the top of the building, and
bigger AC units roaring away on the wall.
On the main floor
two men worked a forklift, one spotting as the other pulled a pallet three rows
up. They paused and watched as we approached. When Lil looked at them, they
glared back for a moment before resuming work. Before the hair and the designer
clothes, the only time I got a second look was when I was in full runner gear
and makeup, and then I didn’t have to worry because even when people were
looking at me, they didn’t see me.
“I’m not only your
shift supervisor, I’m your direct superior.” Lil said superior like the title was a fact separating our worth. “You sick,
dying, or thinking of working somewhere else, you come to me first. The cages
are for visitors and drivers or anyone pretending to be a driver. We got
schedule-four and -five substances in here. You know who came up with the
schedules?”
Since I wasn’t
sure what she was talking about, I didn’t have a clever answer. “No.”
“The DEA. That’s
the Drug Enforcement Administration. Street junkies kill each other and a lot
of good people to get their hands on that shit.” She jabbed her thumb toward
the white cage. “You a junkie?”
“Uh…no.”
Lil peered at me,
hands on hips. I tried to look as unjunkie as possible.
“Do a lot of
people try to get jobs in places like this so they can steal narcotics?”
“They try.” She
sounded smug.
“But you catch
them and bury them where even the buzzards can’t find them?”
She grinned. Her
teeth were crooked and her mouth smelled of tobacco. “We do worse. Come on,
newbie. I’ll show you your office.” A couple of guys wandered out from the
stacks, one carrying a clipboard, the other moping along behind him. We veered
toward a darker area partially enclosed by a stack of empty pallets on one side
and a yellow metal cabinet on the other.
“Corner office for
the day. I hope it’s to your liking, Miss Andrea Franklin.” Lil dropped her
hand onto the back of a fabric chair, sending up a cloud of dust. A tiny combo
TV/VCR sat on the school desk in front of it, next to a stack of videotapes.
“Safety and
procedure training. Finish those tapes and bring any questions to me. Don’t ask
these people, ’cause they don’t know anything. You got any questions now?”
I wanted to ask if
the chair had been tested for hantavirus, but that would probably irritate Lil.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Shitter’s back
there.” She pointed vaguely toward a shadow far away.
“Great. I—”
“Don’t care.” She
scooted away and I blew out a long breath. I knew that spying might be
perilous. I hadn’t expected to have to deal with a shitter.
About the Author:
Regan Summers is the author of the romantic urban fantasy Night Runner series. As a native Alaskan, she’s used to long, cold nights but thinks they’re better with a helping of sexy vampires. Don’t Bite the Messenger, the first in the series, was a finalist for the 2013 EPIC eBook Awards in the paranormal category.
Website: http://regansummers.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Regan_Summers
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/6nFaH
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