Welcome back for the first Word-Slingers in February. Geez, can you believe we're already in February? Holy moly, this year's going just as fast as last year. Where on earth does all that time GO?!
1) How long have you been writing?
Since this past summer.
2) How many balls do you juggle on a daily basis, and how do you manage to keep them all in the air (usually), (ball = work, writing, family, etc.)
Juggling balls. Yeah I do that. Let’s see, I run my husbands business, I do at home chart audit work, I have two kids who always need me to do stuff, and occasionally I write.
3) What can you tell us about your release, Gabriel. What I’m looking for is the story about how the story came to be, not just the blurb and what not. J
Gabriel started with a ‘what if?’ scenario. I took the summer off from nursing to be with my kids, take care of my nieces/nephew, and play neighborhood mom host. I had always wanted to write a book, I just didn’t think I could. I was reading a book that I stopped about a quarter of the way through, it just wasn’t grabbing my attention. I’m an avid reader so I was a little shocked. The problem wasn’t the authors story it was me. My story wanted to be told. I saw Gabriel in my mind first, then Calla. My biggest problem was finding a good protagonist, one that wasn’t used a million times. I realized quickly everything has been told. The difference is how you tell it. So I made up a race of demons ‘Kematians’. Next I had to figure out why they were bad and wanted they wanted. It really was a series of ‘what if’ questions.
4) What is it about the paranormal romance genre that you like so much?
I love to read paranormal romance. I read around two hundred books in 2011. I like not only a boy meets girl story, but I like the little something extra paranormal romance gives it. Like what if, a boy asks a girl on a date, and there’s a full moon. And said girl is a werewolf and that’s why she told him no a hundred times, but gave in because he was making easy at Susie Jones.
I don’t know. *laughs* I really like crazy stories with a romantic element.
5) Do you think you’ll move to another genre, and if yes, what to and when?
I’ve thought about writing YAPR, young adult paranormal romance. I’ve really thought more about since Evernight started the Teen line. My problem is most YA bore me. It’s not the writing it’s just I like something with a little more kick. Okay I like it to be a little spicy. So I’m not sure if I’ll be able to, but I’m going to give it a try in the near future.
6) Sweet or sour?
7) Chocolate or vanilla?
Hmm. I love white chocolate and French vanilla. I couldn’t choose between the two, but if we’re going with plain jane chocolate and vanilla… chocolate.
When Tina Pollick isn’t writing paranormal romance about Heavenly hunks, and smart, sassy women, this RN enjoys a quiet home life with her husband, children, two horses, two dogs, cat, chickens, guineas, well sort of quiet.
Tina has just finished her first Urban Fantasy novel, GABRIEL, A Kematian Hunter Series and is working on the first book of another Urban Fantasy series, SOUL BROKER.
When demons sunder ancient bonds, a love-match between a valiant archangel and a selfless nurse brings humanity's last hope -- but demon-taint may destroy them both.
The prison the archangels have guarded, housed deep within the earth is destroyed, releasing Kematians (demons) to feed upon humanity. The angels are losing the battle again as the Kematians ability to regenerate hampers the angel’s ability to destroy them. Gabriel is stabbed by an Angel Killing Sword; he’s accepted his fate that he will die; only to be revived by Calla’s ability to heal.
Calla Stevens, RN, tries to find who or what is killing the victims that are coming into the ER, only to be infected herself when she comes face-to-face with the Kematians. Calla has saved Gabriel once, is she’s willing to trade her life for his this time?
“Are you kidding me? You weigh maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. What do you think you’re doing walking alone at night?” She noticed Eric looking down at all five feet three inches of her, scowling. “Let me give you a ride home.”
Eric’s radio went off. “Shit. I have to go, Calla, another attack. Call a cab, please.”
He hurried away. Calla walked in the opposite direction, towards her house. She took this path three to four days a week on her way home from work. There wasn’t any way she was going to call a cab.
She heard footsteps closing in behind her. Alarmed, she wrapped her hand around the can of mace in her pocket and picked up her pace.
The footsteps were gone. Had she imagined them? Calla turned her head to look but she was alone. “Get it together, chicken. You’re scaring yourself now.”
She rounded the corner nearing an alley. A trickle of red blood flowed from it, creeping onto the sidewalk. Calla stopped in front of a pathway as uneasiness washed over her. Fear and ethics battled within her. Ethics won, but her legs felt like lead, and they weren’t moving. She forced herself to take a few steps and spotted a mound lying next to the wall.
After several tense seconds, she tightened her grip on the can of mace and slowly made her way towards the heap on the ground.
This is exactly how all the stupid girls are killed in the movies. They go walking right into danger, and boom, they’re dead.
Approaching the mound, she trembled. As she moved closer she saw a tanned foot sticking out from the trench coat. Calla bent down, her chest heaving, hands shaking as she reached the foot and gave it a quick shake, but nothing happened. Relax, before you hyperventilate and end up on the ground, too. Breathe, Calla, breathe.
She stood, crept forward, and reached for what she hoped was the head. She knelt down and pulled back the thick trench coat. His head turned to the side, face badly beaten, eyes cracked to reveal a glimmer of the brightest green she had ever seen.
“Holy shit!” She jumped back, startled.
The man didn’t move. She bent down again this time reaching for his neck. The pulse was weak. She had already used her gifts twice this evening, and her body still ached from the two previous failures. “Focus. You can do this.” She struggled to turn the man onto his back. When she finally rolled him over there was a knife, with a green hue as if the metal was oxidized, protruding out of his chest.
“Of course there’s a knife,” Calla murmured to herself.
“I’m going to try to help you,” she whispered in his ear. She knew she might not be able to save him, but she had to try. If she could pull the knife out in a quick motion she could heal him. She placed her hands around the hilt of the knife and pulled. Nothing happened. “Maybe if I get some leverage.”
Calla straddled the man, planting one tennis shoe on each side of his limp body. She bent down and wrapped both hands around the hilt and pulled with everything she had. The knife began to move—barely—but it was moving. It felt like pulling a rubber boot stuck in thick mud. After a few more attempts the suction released, and the knife was freed.
She collapsed on his chest and sat up, placing both palms on the bleeding wound. “Please, oh please let this work.” Calla focused on the wound, gathering energy. Then her hands began to glow. Sweat dripped matting blonde hair to her forehead, and her vision began to dim. “I won’t let you die,” she promised.
Then darkness embraced her.