I’ve done a lot of blog interviews over the years, each time offering a little view into my writing process or my personal history. I just assumed the interviews would be up forever, because the internet is forever, right? Well, sort of. Blogs go cold or end entirely, which means one wouldn’t get a chance to read the interview ever again!
This post is the first of a series where I re-post my old interviews from other people’s blogs. I thought it might be fun for my readers to get to know more about me, and for me to see how far I’ve grown and changed as a writer. Most interviews are done as part of book promotion, so I’ll note which book I was promoting at the time.
This first post has a sorrowful note. Francesca Hawley was a fellow member of the Naughty Literati. She passed away unexpectedly in 2019.
The interview was originally posted on her blog “Francesca’s Mindstream” on Wednesday, December 3, 2014. I was promoting my male-male kinky erotic short “On the Eighteenth of January ’78, or A Night at Valley Forge” when I did the interview. The Naughty Literati had just published Naughty List, our first anthology.
Good Morning everyone! Today, I’m thrilled to welcome Regina Kammer to my blog. She’s a fellow member of the Naughty Literati and her short story, “On the Eighteenth of January ’78 -or- A Night at Valley Forge” is part of the great boxed set, Naughty List.
Here’s an opportunity to get to know Regina and then I’ll share the short blurb for her story and an excerpt!
Which person in your life influenced you the most with your writing?
Chris Baty,the founder of National Novel Writing Month. Chris believes anyone can write a novel and challenges people to write 50,000 words of a novel during the thirty days of November. I took up that challenge back in 2006 and have been having fun as an author ever since. Every time I see him, he is super encouraging, as well.
Is one of your books your personal favorite? Why?
The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale is my favorite. It’s both erotica — with the sexual journey of the heroine — and romance — with a Happily Ever After, plus it’s an adventure story with a lot of history. It is the epitome of what I set out to write when I decided to become a writer. It’s also self-published so there are some naughty scenes that I’m certain most publishers would balk at.
What’s coming up next for you in your writing?
Besides the Naughty List anthology I’m in with another American Revolution-set short story, I’m hoping to explore Steampunk a little more. The genre dovetails very well with the Victorian era, which I love writing, but there is freedom to add little twists to technology and the historical timeline.
What’s your favorite guilty pleasure?
A steaming hot bath with a cocktail and romance novel. This is so much more guilt-inducing when performed in drought-stricken California.
Where would you like to visit and why?
I’d love to go back to Turkey. I’m an art historian and Turkey is one of those “crossroads of civilization” places. Neolithic, Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Seljuk, Ottoman art and archaeology abound. Plus the food is amazing.
In a nod to the Actor’s Studio, what’s your favorite curse word and why?
“Bollocks” for Brits, “Shit” for Americans. I love using these in my historicals! They suggest massive disappointment in one terse word.
“On The Eighteenth of January, ’78; or, A Night At Valley Forge”
During the infamous winter of ‘77-‘78 at Valley Forge, two soldiers fanboy over their charismatic leader, General George Washington.
Copyright © Regina Kammer, 2014
“I saw him today,” Zeb said quietly.
Him could only refer to one man. Zeb held General George Washington in something more than high regard. He worshipped the man, hoping for a chance to see him every day, blushing and fawning like a virgin miss at an assembly hall during a country dance whenever the general happened across their squad. Barn wasn’t sure if it was endearing or unseemly.
Yet, it was too easy to fall under the spell that was “GW”. The general had an allure, a magnetism that drew all in, making women swoon and men want to serve. If the notion of independent states, the freedom to rise above circumstance of birth, the prospect of taxes building a nation rather than filling a king’s coffers did not attract the sons and daughters of America, then GW the man certainly did. Just his very presence got one’s blood to boil against tyranny, set one’s pulse beating to the rhythm of liberty, urged one’s feet to march for freedom.
GW was the sole reason why twelve thousand American soldiers camped on a plateau above a captured Philadelphia, keeping a watchful eye on the British while enduring freezing rains and the privations of civilized life, lacking proper clothes, nourishing food, suffering the pains of amputation and the stench of death.
“He was on foot,” Zeb murmured. “His great height the equal of mine own, yet I felt so small before him. His blue eyes penetrated my soul as he asked such simple questions—”
Zeb’s cock sprang to life in his clothes, pushing into Barn’s left butt cheek. Barn stifled a sigh.
“Did we have enough tools? Was there enough wood?”
Barn reached around and slowly unfastened the buttons at the fall of Zeb’s breeches. As always, Zeb gave no protest.
“He seemed very concerned our hut had not yet been constructed.”
Barn snorted. “Yeah, well, with Alex and Johnny laid up with dysentery and Zack dead, it’s been slow going.”
Zeb did not respond. He merely adjusted himself to allow Barn’s questing fingers better access at the placket of his drawers. Barn struggled to contain his zeal.
“He took off his hat to speak to me. His gray hair was still tinged with a touch of the auburn of his youth.”
Freed from its prison of clothes, Zeb’s magnificent manhood bobbed impetuously. Barn gripped the hard flesh, closing his eyes as heat from the intimate connection seeped through his fingerless gloves to course through his body.
“His timbre was melodious, almost enchanting. I could listen to him talk about felling trees all day.”
Barn chuckled. “And not do any felling yourself, hmm?”
Again Zeb ignored him, instead steering the conversation to his favorite topic. “How do you think he guards against the cold all alone in his tent?” There was a poignant earnestness to his question.
Barn twisted around to face his companion, the adulation and concern in Zeb’s expression softly illuminated by the dying campfire outside. “I’m sure his greatcoat keeps him plenty warm.” Zeb’s devotion to GW spawned a fragility that impelled Barn to want to protect his tent mate, to comfort him in the only way he knew how.
[UPDATE: “On the Eighteenth of January, ’78; or, A Night at Valley Forge” is available as a bonus story in Winter Interlude: An American Revolutionary Novelette]