Wednesday, September 20, 2017

An Interview with Gemma Snow


Today, I'm pleased and excited to welcome Gemma Snow to Paranormal Romance and Beyond. Like me, Gemma writes the steamy stuff (a girl after my own heart). And I'm lovin' this cover btw. Let's give her a hearty, pink handcuffed round of applause and settle in to learn more about her life, passions, and works. Let's begin with the interview...

Where are you from? Tell us a little about yourself.

I’m a Jersey girl, if the amount I swear is any indication. I went to college up in Boston, where I studied journalism and creative writing, and then moved back here about three years ago. I’m a car lover, Harry Potter geek (#RavenclawPride!) and want to spend the rest of my life traveling around the world.  

What made you want to be an author?

For me it was never really a conscious choice. I was a writer, before I could write, a storyteller. It helps to have a family who loves and supports your dreams and artistic endeavours, and there was never a point where I thought I couldn’t do it, couldn’t chase after the dream, at least. I officially started chasing it my senior year of college, with the Amazon self-publishing programs, and suffice to say I’ve learned an incredible amount since.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least?

I love the percolating part, where a story idea or the second book in a series comes to you and you get to discover the characters and the plot. Writing the first draft is a crazy experience and a lot of no-holds-barred fun, because you know you’ll do all the editing later. But I’m a writer, and not a marketer. The hardest part of being a professional author is where you have to work to promote and share your books, and that can end up sucking a huge amount of time.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer?

Definitely, 100%, don’t leave anything to chance plotter. I have outlines and story arcs and full notebooks with character analysis, background details and setting information. A lot of that stuff changes, of course it does, that’s the nature of writing. But I’m a prolific writer, and if I don’t have a road map, I’ll find myself at the end of a 60,000 book with no substance.

What influences your writing? And why?

A little of everything, to be honest. Writers are inherently curious creatures. We listen to conversations, read books, watch weird space documentaries (or so I’ve heard.) I’ve gotten story inspiration from places I’ve been and people I’ve met, but also from a house I pass on the street or a conversation my mom and I share on the way to our yoga class. The trick, I think, is being open to whatever comes.

Concretely, however, my writing is significantly feminist. I intentionally work to create real, independent and flawed female characters, ones that feel like the kind of women we have in our lives, our sisters, our friends, our neighbors, ourselves. Some are traditionally feminine, some defy the rules, but it’s very important to me that they’re feminist and progressive. Since intersectionality is a pillar of feminism, I’ve been working toward more representation in my stories, not only through characters of color, but also through member of the LGBTQA communities, and those facing physical and mental challenges as well.

Name one thing readers don’t know about you.

Ooh! Usually my go to is that I lived in a castle in Europe, but that’s in my bio. I worked as a summer camp counselor for two years and the very first romance I wrote was a summer camp romance. It was a trainwreck, but I clearly loved it.

Are love scenes easy/difficult for you to write?

I love writing erotic scenes. One of the most important things to note about erotic romance is that the sex is directly related to the character’s personality. In BDSM, for example, a powerful character giving up control is a study in choice and the role they play in their daily lives. Seduction en Pointe, my latest release, involves exhibitonism and vouyerism, and since both of my characters are in the entertainment industry, it relates back to their deeper personalities and wants. Folks love to diss this genre as mommy porn or smut, but sex is rarely ever just about sex, and finding out what that other is – power, escape, choice, control, revenge, it’s fascinating and challenging.

Do you have another career besides writing? What is it?

I’m also involved in a start up company, so I’m the official queen of knowing how to work too hard for literally no money. The start up is actually a project my dad and I have been working on for several years, and if you’re interested in the classic car hobby, let me know and I’ll share everything about it!

I freelance and run social media accounts and the like, but I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have a family that supports this madcap dream, and we’ve been living with my folks for awhile. I’m excited to be on my own again, but I know how lucky I am for the chance.

What hobbies do you enjoy when not writing?

Ooh, I bake. I’m a baker. It gets really bad sometimes. I also work out a lot, and go on long walks to listen to audiobooks. I run and practice yoga and zumba too. Inside, I’m a giant nerd and mostly read and watch documentaries.

What is your writing genre?

I seem to have a problem pinning one down, so I just say historical and contemporary romance and erotic romance. I like a little of everything, and I look forward to dipping my toes into the fantasy pool at some point too.

If you could be any supernatural creature, what would it be and why?

Mermaid! I love the idea and lore surrounding mermaids and sirens. Water is so vast and terrifying and complicated, and it seems like it’d be quite the rush to not fear the depths of the ocean.



If you had one take away piece of advice for aspiring authors, what would it be?

You’re only a writer if you’re writing. Everything else needs to be secondary because nothing else matters if there’s no book and you can’t get to be better if you never write. Dancers dance, actors act, musicians play. Write.

Do you have any future project that we can look for?

Yes! I’m very excited about The Lovin’ Is Easy, book one in the Triple Diamond series, coming from Totally Bound for general release in September and available from their website on August 29th. It’s my first Montana ranch series, spiced up with some ménage lovin.

Tell us more about Seduction en Pointe
When successful TV star of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, Nicco Castillo, finds his boyfriend in bed with another man, he goes full-on Hollywood trainwreck that lands him in ER. Next thing he knows, the producers are shipping him off to Paris to shape up and learn to dance for the next season’s story arc. But his incredibly tempting Parisian ballet instructor, Isabelle La Croix, makes that all too difficult, especially when he learns about her decadent desires--desires Nicco is all too pleased to indulge in. Against the ballet barre, the balcon railing, and wherever and for however long Isabelle is willing to have him.

Seduction en Pointe was definitely my most difficult book to write! It started as a spin-off for a novella, but the company that owned the novella went out of business, so I scratched that story and started again. And again. And again. I must have rewritten this book four times in full. At one point, I had this big white board laid out in the foyer with each scene written out in explicit detail. Let’s just say that my mom is one patient woman.

Do you have an excerpt for us?

And walking through the door to his producer’s office, he stopped dead. In that moment he absolutely believed that everything happened for a reason.

She faced away from him, but even at a distance he could see the smooth curve of her neck, the beautiful line of her back, arching against the chair. She was a small woman, but a shadow of muscles adorned her shoulders and upper arms where they weren’t hidden behind the waves of white-blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She was something from an erotic fairy tale, all subtle power and ephemeral beauty.

And it wasn’t just that—though there was plenty of that. But it was the way she held herself, too, full of strength and self-possession and confidence. This woman knew exactly who she was in a way that Nicco envied and respected all at the same time.

He schooled his features and checked in with the receptionist for his appointment with the French production team before turning around to face her. If he’d thought her beautiful from the back, he hadn’t been prepared for her face, for the expression in her pale-blue eyes, for the softest, sweetest curve of dusky-rose lips as they parted slightly.

She read a magazine, and Niccolo cursed himself for having let his written French lapse, because he didn’t have a clue which glossy it was.

Still, never hurt to try, and something about this unknown woman made it impossible for him to walk away or pick one of the seats at the far end of the waiting room. She called to him, a modern-day siren, all enticing and impossible to ignore. So he sat beside her, catching a hint of her scent. She smelled like lemons, sweet and fresh, and that seemed to fit her, as did the pointed sharpness of her neck, which grew considerably more rigid once she realized he planned on talking to her.

“What is it you’re reading?” he asked, thickening his Spanish accent. As long as he’d been chasing lovers, the Spanish charm had always worked wonders. Hell, it did wonders for getting him starring roles too.

“Who wants to know?” Her accent was light, as though she’d learned English alongside her French, studied in Sweden or London or New York City. But for all of the softness that came spilling out of those pale-rose lips, there was a steel core that told Nicco she wasn’t having any of his charm. Her words came out strong, self-possessed, and confident, and they made him curious about the woman below the slight frame. Despite appearing so soft, she held her head at a tilt that signified power, kept her neck straight, her shoulders arched. Everything about her stance told Nicco exactly how she felt at his intrusion into her space. Normally, he took his cues and left the obviously uninterested alone, but this woman was enchanting and mysterious, and Nicco found he couldn’t quite look away from her, even as he knew that he tempted the serpent, perhaps because he did.

“Niccolo.” He extended his hand. “Here for a meeting with Monsieur La Montagne.” According to the terms Parker had laid out, Nicco would be working alongside La Montagne’s office on a PR tour of Paris while he took his dance classes, giving a few interviews here and there, a signing or two, onward and upward.

The woman beside him, however, appeared abjectly unimpressed. He liked that, liked that she didn’t buy into his bullshit the way everyone else did, the way he’d been doing for so long.

“That is a remarkable coincidence,” she replied, her eyes taking on a sardonic glint he knew came at his expense, “given that you are in his office, after all.” Feisty, this one. She obviously enjoyed goading him, and Nicco felt a wash of something dangerous at the thought that men probably attempted to charm her quite often. For some reason, his visceral reaction to this strange, nymph-like woman grew stronger each time she stabbed him with her barbed tongue. That was inconvenient, to be certain, but it didn’t stop him from wanting more.

But there was something about his—well, he wouldn’t necessarily call it just an attraction—to this woman that went deeper than lust. Nicco had had lovers, more than his fair share of them since everything with Antonio had gone so royally tits up, and he’d never lacked for a partner if he wanted one. No, whatever had him suddenly desperate to learn more about this mysterious woman went deeper than that, to some fundamental part of himself that might even long for redemption.

“I’d heard about the French,” he said. He should just turn around and leave her to her magazine, but he just couldn’t seem to do so. “Seems the rumors about witches and the smell of cheese aren’t so terribly off.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he took some satisfaction in the small quirk at the corner of her mouth that told of a repressed smile. He’d bet a week’s pay that her smile would light up the city, and he promised himself that at some point, he would be the cause of it. He didn’t know how or why, just that it would happen one way or the other.

“American, is it?” she asked, ignoring his slight.

“Mostly,” he replied. “Spanish sometimes. Occasionally English.”

From her confused expression, Nicco wondered if he had been spending too much time in California. Normally, folks didn’t question his various origins. Of course, the French were reputedly distrusting of anyone who wasn’t French. Still, he had to admit that there was something simple and altogether enjoyable about flirting with a woman who didn’t want to sleep with him just because he was a celebrity or because she angled to get her face in the papers. It felt good to just be himself for what seemed like the first time in a very long time.

“Of course,” she replied, breaking his train of thought. “All that ego can’t be exclusively American, can it?”

Nicco almost laughed out loud.

“You already know me so well,” he said. “Would you care to know me better? Dinner, perhaps?” It was bold, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, Nicco knew it had been too audacious. Something flitted across her eyes, and he could almost see her folding into herself. No, he didn’t like that, didn’t enjoy seeing this confident person turn into something else so quickly. He might be an ass about recognizing the signs in his own life, but someone or something had clearly hurt her—recently, if the ache across those beautiful pale-blue eyes was anything to go by.

“No smart remark,” he commented, hoping to bring back some of the devil he’d seen in her expression. “I’m surprised.”

She squared her jaw, and Nicco found himself happy to see even a little of the fight fill her eyes, even if it was at his expense. And, as he had anticipated, she turned a cold tongue in his direction, murmuring low under her breath.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, so I’ll ask you kindly to take a walk.” Fury, for all it was leashed and low in her whisper. And it made him ache, made him feel some of the hurt in his own chest, because the first week after he’d discovered Tony with his lover, Nicco had lashed out at everyone and everything, taking the whole wide world down to his level of hurt and sadness.

He didn’t doubt that he was nothing more than the proxy for her fury, and it made him feel bad, made him ache for her and for himself a little too.

“Miss La Croix?”

Before she could say anything that might cut him to the quick—would most definitely cut him to the quick—the woman beside him nodded in answer to the receptionist and stood without another word. If he had thought the slope of her neck enticing, he wasn’t prepared for the way her long, powerful legs, visible below her light-blue dress, mesmerized him. She didn’t so much walk down the hall as glide, her body so completely under her command that it made him wonder about putting his body in her hands too. She didn’t give him a second look as she slipped away, and that made Nicco’s heart ache in a way he didn’t want to analyze.

Her magazine still sat on the corner of the table, one of the pages bookmarked with a thick, folded corner, as if she planned on going back to it. Thinking quickly, he pulled out a pen and scribbled a note down on the back cover.

If you ever need a stranger for a friend, give me a call. There are some things we don’t heal from so easily.

Below that, he jotted his e-mail address and then took a short jog down the hallway to catch up with her. The simple note, just like the few extra moments he had spent with his fans outside, felt like color returning to the black-and-white version of himself. He still couldn’t see the full picture, not yet, but just being out of LA helped him focus.

She looked surprised and not all that happy when he drew level with her.

“You left this,” he said, handing her the magazine but not letting go.

She pursed her lips. “And what do you want in exchange for it?” Her tone sounded almost resigned. Bored, almost. He knew better, though. Her expression had a fire—blue and burning—and he rather enjoyed inspiring a reaction in her, whatever it was.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, suddenly desperate to know. By the smallest amount, her expression softened, and Nicco had to wonder what she had expected him to ask. He’d never push a person to do anything they didn’t want to do. He had retained some standards over the last few months of going full-on Hollywood.

“The catch?” she asked, her lips still pointedly pursed in his direction. And what lips they were.

Nicco shook his head. “No catch. I just want to know your name.” He really, really did. She sighed and nodded, sending the white-blonde ponytail swishing across her shoulder. Then she squared her jaw and lifted her chin.

“Isabelle La Croix.” She offered nothing else.

“Isabelle,” he repeated, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing so. “A pleasure.” He handed her the magazine with his note facing down and watched as she gave a sharp nod and continued down the hallway, watched her far after there was nothing left to watch. What about this woman set his body to flame and his mind to far more carnal images than would ever be appropriate for a chance encounter in a producer’s waiting room and so, so much more?

Something hidden that came in bursts of emotion across her pale-blue eyes, something that came in the cut of her shoulders and the grace of her walk.

Miss La Croix. It fit her. She was so utterly French, petite, graceful, sharp around the edges and beautiful beyond the pale. Nicco trod in dangerous waters. He had only just left California behind, and already he panted after a woman he would never see again, unless her facade cracked and she actually decided to contact him. He could hope, kind of had to hope, because there was something about her that was so unlike anyone he had ever met. She had a self-possession, a self-awareness that almost made him envious, would have, if it hadn’t impressed him so.

The whole thing made him…a little relieved. He’d had lovers since Antonio, of course, men and women to waste the lonely nights with, to party with and get drunk with. But to actually find himself feeling a deep, intense connection—and with a person he had only just met—it gave him hope that he might not be on his own forever. Maybe Tony’s infidelities hadn’t completely destroyed who Nicco had been before, after all.

Where can readers find more about your stories, books, and you on the Internet?

Author Bio:

Gemma Snow is the author of several works of erotic and romantic fiction in both the contemporary and historical genres, and enjoys pushing the limits of freedom, feminism, and fun in her stories.  She has been an avid writer for many years, and recently moved back to her home state of New Jersey from Boston, after completing her education in journalism and creative writing.

In her free time, she loves to travel, and spent a semester abroad living in a 14th century castle in the Netherlands. When not exploring the world, she likes dreaming up stories, eating spicy food, driving fast cars, and talking to strangers.

Find her on:
or at GemmaSnow.com

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Before you leave, let’s do a fast five:

Angels or Demons? - Angels are dicks, demons!

Vampires or werewolves? Vampires

Coffee or Chocolate? EEK, mocha coffee?

Early Morning or Late Night? Early mornings

E-book or Paperback? Paperbacks (or audiobooks!)

Thank you for joining us today. I wish you much success in your writing career.

Thank you so much for having me!

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