Hey, all, and thanks for joining me on this lovely Sunday morning. Today I have fellow Silver Publishing author Julie Hayes with me, and she's got a great blog for you all on the evolution of werewolves and how she added her own twist on the legend.
On the Evolution of Werewolves
When I was growing up, a werewolf movie usually involved someone who looked like Lon Chaney Jr—big, scary, and hairy. Or the product of insanity, like Oliver Reed in the The Curse of the Werewolf. Or creepy, as in Werewolf in a Girl’s Dormitory. And who could ever forget the classic comedy, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, which not only features the hairy creature, but Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster as well, with a special guest appearance by the Invisible Man.
1981 saw a different type of werewolf film, when An American Werewolf in London was released. This was true for two reasons—the creature was CGI and not a guy in a rubber suit, and the unfortunate victim of the curse was actually cute. What a great concept—a werewolf doesn’t have to be old, ugly and hairy, he can be hot!
Flash forward to the present day. Nothing new on the werewolf film front per se, but the novels, oh the novels! Werewolves (and their close cousins the shapeshifters) have become extremely popular, especially among the authors of m/m romance, with the result that you can’t shake a literary stick without running into buttloads of them. What makes them different than their previous counterparts is that these gay werewolves are also hot hunky droolworthy guys that are definitely easy on the eyes.
Have you come a long way, baby!
Now they have packs, and forever mates. They’re heroes, not villains. And they have abs that are to die for!
The new werewolf has stepped into the shoes, or maybe he’s pushed the previous occupant out of the shoes, of the once king of the supernatural sweethearts—the vampire. Perhaps that is because of a glutted market filled with vampire tales. Some would say, quite cattily, that it’s Twilight’s fault, that it left a bad taste in people’s mouths. I would argue that point—perhaps the films did, but the books were good (even if the last one could have been better, especially if it had been split in two). Be that as it may, werewolves are here, and many of them are queer, and they’re jonesing for the attention of the reading public.
A few years ago, when the most popular werewolf around was Remus Lupin of HP fame, I heard a voice in my head who said he was a gay werewolf. I ended up writing his story. His name is Max Montague, and that story became To the Max, which was published March 26th, 2010. Max continued to talk to me, and I’m happy to say that a sequel was born, with the continuation of Max’s story, carrying on where the first one left off. The second book is For Love of Max, and is available today from Silver Publishing.
Max is not your typical werewolf hero. He’s not an alpha, and he’s not a candidate for the cover of a men’s magazine (although Richard would argue that point, but I suspect he is biased). He’s forty-four years old, has a large heart, and a lot of strange friends and family, not to mention a longtime lover, Richard. Despite being a werewolf, which is only a once a month stint, he is a very human, very likeable guy, who is often loath to speak up to defend himself. Like a lot of people. The conflicts of the first book have been happily resolved. Well, not all of them, there are some ongoing problems to be dealt with. And new ones rear their ugly heads. But that’s life, right?
I hope you enjoy reading about a werewolf who isn’t your typical steroid case with the desire to bash skulls at the least provocation. Max Montague is a gentle sensitive soul. But sometimes even nice guys can reach their limits.
No matter what kind of werewolf you prefer, they’re all fun, and that’s what counts. What will the next supernatural darling be? Perhaps dragons. That would be interesting!
Thanks for having me, Heather! Have a great day! I’d love to hear from all of you! What do you think? Do you have a favorite type of werewolf, and what is it?
Excerpt: For Love of Max
Now, where were we? Oh yes, Richard and I have our lips locked together like a couple of love-starved fools, and we're crying and laughing at the same time, and I've just agreed to marry him….
Yes, I did say marry, and I know there are those who will look upon us askance. Gay marriage is far from an accepted lifestyle in this country, even in this supposedly enlightened day and age. In fact it is not only frowned upon, but largely banned. And mostly by people who are afraid of us. Why? Good question. I won't even get into religious ethics, or a discussion of the Bible, nor Christian precepts. Let me just say that disliking or hating someone on the basis of their sexual orientation is just as wrong as hating them for the color of their skin, or for their religious beliefs. And forbidding people to legally wed for the same reason is simply wrong. Where do you draw the line? Mixed race couples, mixed religion couples? What happened to loving one another, regardless of who they are? We are not sinners, we are simply human….
Anyway, we are here and warm… and touching, and loving, and all of the bad air has been expelled, and all that is left is the love in our hearts, the love we bear for one another, which envelops us and cradles us gently. Now we truly begin….
Principessa, our darling King Charles spaniel and our only child, is running circles around us now, excited by our excitement. Her daddies are together again, and very obviously happy. We break the kiss to bestow caresses on our baby. She clambers in between us and we manage to cuddle around her.
"Max, I'm so sorry…"
"Shhh." I lay a finger against his lips. "No apologies, no regrets. Just us and the future. Our future. Together."
He nods solemnly. "I'll never leave you again, Max," he swears, "I'll never disappear without a word, I promise. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."
"And I am yours," I echo, "'til death do us part."
Our lips come together with soft sighs, and sensual shivers that run between us like electrical charges. We haven't touched at all since the ill-fated night of the last full moon, and the undischarged desire we bear for one another is enough to jump-start a dead car battery.
"I've missed you so much," he murmurs into my lips, "I need you, Max, I always will…."
"And I need you Richard," I reply softly. "Nights without you are far too long… and lonely…."
He moves closer now, his tongue seeking and receiving permission to enter my mouth, his fingers winding through my hair. We are content to let our lips do all the talking. No need to rush, we have all the time in the world—now that we are together again, never to be parted. Our eyes locked in mutual admiration. Our hearts bound in mutual bliss. Our puppy becomes bored with us, and our apparent inactivity, and settles down for a nap, watching us with those big, brown spaniel eyes. We stretch out together in the grass, oblivious to what we might be doing to our three-piece suits. Stains are made to be removed, are they not?
He rolls me over to take the dominant position above me—I love when he does that, for just between us he does dominate and I do tend to submit—it's simply the natural order of our lives. He catches my wrists in his strong grasp, pulling them over my head, holding them against the soft grass, showing me who’s in control—not that I don't know that already.
"Tell me what Max wants." He rubs against me suggestively; the material separating us only serves to enhance the friction between our hardening cocks in a delightfully maddening way.
"Max wants Richard," I respond promptly, predictably. "Max wants Richard to come back home, where he belongs… in Max's bed… their bed…."
"Our bed," Richard echoes, licking my chin softly, squirming against me.
God, I want him so badly.
"And by the way, who's been sleeping in Richard's bed while he's been gone?"
"Not the wolf," I chuckle softly, "that would be Rachel. She's been staying with me. I let her have the bed and I'm in the library, on the couch. All alone…."
"Not tonight, sweet thing." He moves his tongue along my jaw line, sending chills all through me.
"I hope Rachel doesn't mind, but she is officially dispossessed."
"She won't mind, now she can go back to Mark. I'm sure he'll be happy, too."
"I'm sure," he replies. "Max, you wanna take a shower?"
My cock twitches at his suggestion. "I think we can do that." I attempt to maintain an air of casualness, but I fail—miserably. I’m far too excited to be suave and detached.
He brushes his fingertips lightly over my cheeks. "Max could use a shave too," he observes. "I can do that for him, if he likes?"
If he likes? I purr warmly at his touch. Max the recluse hasn't been as diligent as he should have been in keeping the five o'clock shadow at bay. Not that it's much of a shadow, my hair is too light for that, but being a wolf does have its disadvantages. One of them is a tendency toward hirsuteness. But this works out, 'cause I love the way Richard handles a straight razor—deftly, surely, and very, very sensually. I’m about to tell him so, but Swan Lake begins. Damn, someone has horrible timing.
I try to ignore it, but some people don't take a hint.
"Max, go ahead and get it, they'll just call back," my lover points out, releasing my hands. With a sigh, I squirm, raising my hips so that I can pull the phone from my pocket.
"Max?" It's Juliet. Interruptus maternus. "You were supposed to call me…."
Silver Publishing: http://silverpublishing.info/index/typefilter/book_authors/book_authors_id/88
Wicked Nights: http://wickednights.info/?page_id=361
Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_222