Author Spotlight: Lee Rowan

Please welcome historical m/m author Lee Rowan. I loved Lee's book Ransom, so I was thrilled to learn that one of the new Running Press titles, Tangled Web, was penned by her.  Running Press, by the way, is a print publisher who has launched a line of historical m/m novels aimed at the romance market. It's a project I'm excited about and I hope you'll support it as well.

Here's a blurb for Tangled Web.  And don't miss the link to an excerpt a the bottom of the post.

England 1816:

Brendan Townsend fell for Tony Hillyard's seductive ways when they were college roommates, but out in the real world Brendan is dismayed to find Tony's youthful indiscretion has turned to dangerous recklessness.  When Tony's thrill-seeking behavior at a private club for gentlemen of unusual inclinations puts them both at risk for sexual blackmail, or worse, Brendan can't confide in his family. His only hope is his brother's old commanding officer Major Carlisle, who has a near-legendary reputation for solving impossible problems.  But Brendan finds himself in even deeper trouble when he is smitten by the handsome older man the moment he lays eyes on him.

Society ladies with eligible daughters lament that the widowed Philip Carlisle buried his heart with his wife.  Carlisle lives what appears to be a quiet life, but unknown to Society, he is actively assisting the authorities in solving a case of smuggling and murder in a sleepy Kentish village. His knight-errant instincts are touched by Brendan's dilemma, and he soon discovers the appealing young man is useful to have at his back in a tight spot. Neither of them expected to find love in a tangle of blackmail, smuggling, and murder.. and neither can be sure where the deadliest danger lies.  

What gave you the idea for this story?

I really enjoy Georgette Heyer's Regency romances (though I don't like all of her heroes), and I've wanted to try writing a Regency for some time. I was at the Queer Lit festival in Toronto a couple of years ago, and many of the gentlemen who stopped at the booth asked if I had anything that wasn't about war, or any stories that featured older men.  So when Running Press asked if I'd like to submit a book proposal, I thought this might be a chance to do something a little different, and contrast the emotional extremes of a younger man versus the steadier, more realistic attitudes of a man who's had more life under his belt.   I've researched Britain's old Molly Houses, clandestine establishments of the day where men could meet other men, but since the only record we have of these places is mostly from prison records – those who were caught and couldn't evade prosecution – I speculated that there might have been the occasional very discreet, high-class establishment that passed unnoticed.  But anytime you have secrecy, you have the opportunity for blackmail… so enter the naïve Brendan  and his randy, idiotic boyfriend Tony, who doesn't understand the meaning of discretion and probably couldn't spell it if he tried.   

Who has inspired you, and how?

An elderly lady who used to be one of my massage clients.   She ran away from home to join the Army Air Force when she was 18, had a long, eventful life, a marriage that ended too soon when her husband died suddenly, and some horribly painful health problems – but she was always brave, interested in life, and funny.  I want to be like her when I get that old.  Lots of other people have inspired me, but she really stands out. Someday I'm going to fictionalize her life and give her a happier ending.

What do you like about m/m?

The equality.   I have never much liked gender roles – Man Is Brave, Woman Is Soft, etc…  I think we all have many qualities in different measure, and m/m lets the characters define themselves.

If there were one misconception about m/m that you could clear up forever, what would it be?

That every same-sex love story is automatically porn.  Or, even more basic, that there's something drastically different about same-sex love as opposed to opposite-sex.  There isn't—I know this from experience.  Love is love.

If you could change one thing about the publishing industry, what would it be?

The same thing I'd change about all business… the idea that every piece of creative work has to make enormous profits or it isn't worth doing.   Not every book can be a best-seller.  There's nothing wrong with modest, sustainable profit. 
 

Do you now write, or have you ever written, fanfic?  If so, what fandoms, pairings, etc?

I started writing Man from UNCLE fanfic at about 12, and have gone through many different fandoms .  Oddly, though, I wrote very little slash, or even het romance—just adventure stories, like unfilmed episodes.

What is your proudest moment as an author?

Winning the Eppie for Ransom, and being able to acknowledge how much my wife has done to help me – materially, as well as moral support and inspiration.

Kirk, or Spock?

Spock.  (Of course, Spock—I'm married to a mathematician!  And I don't think Kirk is very good spouse material.)   

Behind the link below is a lovely excerpt from Tangled Web.  Please note: this excerpt contains mature subject matter.  By clicking the link below, you certify that you are eighteen years of age or older.

He must be insane!

Brendan Townsend cursed his own stupidity in accepting Antony Hillyard's invitation to the private gentleman's club, The Arbor. He hadn't understood what was so hilarious about the name until they were within its luxurious walls, and Tony explained that the name was short for Arbor Vitae--and not the classical "tree of life," but thieves' cant for the erect male member.

Which was precisely what Tony was displaying now. He'd had too much to drink, which Brendan might have expected and probably should have discouraged, but as Tony's guest here, he really had no right to tell him what to do and small hope that he'd have been able to stop him in any case. Along with plenty of his father's money, Tony had a total lack of common sense, and Brendan had known that before he'd agreed to come here.

So all he could really do now was thank God that the members of the Arbor, as well as their guests, were able to enter through a private door and to don black velvet masks before being allowed to meet anyone else in the place. Safely anonymous, they were admitted to the private rooms upstairs… to watch the show.

Tony had said "Oh, you must see the show, Bren. I promise, you've never seen the like."

He never would have believed Tony could accomplish understatement, but when the masked fellow at the front of the room had flipped back his cloak and revealed nothing beneath but an abundance of body hair, Brendan had been not only startled, but forced to confess the truth of the promise. He'd certainly never seen anything like that happen in polite company. Or anywhere else.

When the performer started fondling himself, Brendan had been repelled and begun edging back toward a quiet corner. But Tony, ever the attention seeker, had applauded the exhibitionist's efforts. His approval had been rewarded with an invitation to join in the fun, and to Brendan's utter mortification, Tony had done just that. Like a schoolboy promised a treat, he'd skipped up to the area set off as a stage. The naked fellow had seized him in an intimate embrace and immediately started unbuttoning his trousers.

"That's the boy, all balls and no brain. Let's have a seat now, shall we?" He dropped into a chair, pulling a laughing Tony down into his lap.

Brendan retreated immediately, getting as far away from the stage as he could, fetching up in a curtained nook where the shadows were deep and reassuring. But what was he supposed to do now? There was Tony, his host, the only son of a well-to-do merchant, lounging in a stranger's naked lap with his pantaloons puddled around his ankles and his cock being expertly manipulated by a total stranger.  

"Ah, there's a brave lad, look at 'im," the showman crooned. "More meat and potatoes than many a man ever sees on his plate, wouldn't you say so, gentlemen? And proud of 'em, he is, aren't you, boy?"

Tony grinned vapidly. He was drunk. Drunk, and stupid with drink. Watching his friend writhe around, Brendan slouched down in his chair and thanked Heaven that every eye on the house was focused elsewhere.  

The show didn't last long—Tony never did when he was in his cups. He shouted, pumped wildly against the hand that encircled his cock, and shot his load toward a piece of furniture that had a piece of muslin tossed over it—no doubt that he'd been aimed in that direction.

Brendan glanced around. He must be the only man in the room who was not enjoying the performance. Some of the men—respectable, well-to-do English gentlemen, from the look of their clothing—were practically falling out of their chairs as Tony lolled, limp and spent, in the stranger's arms.  

After a moment the performer patted him on the cheek, shoved him to his feet, and directed him through a doorway to one side of the stage as the audience applauded enthusiastically. One older gentleman went so far as to catch at Tony's hand on his way out, and say something that Brendan could not hear but could imagine. The man was old enough to be his father, for pity's sake; he looked very much like—

Dear God!

Brendan felt the blood drain from his face. I could be wrong, I could be mistaken… no, he was not mistaken, and he had better make himself invisible.  

The alcove he was in had a curtain that could be drawn across it; there for the convenience of members and guests, Tony had said, and now Brendan had a notion of what that meant. He drew the curtain shut and positioned himself where he could view the room without being seen.

At first he'd been afraid Tony would march right back to him; as it happened, he disappeared into what was probably some sort of area for performers to tidy themselves up. With the show over, the audience began to disperse, and the gentleman Brendan had recognized headed off to the adjacent card room where refreshments were being dispensed.

Brendan waited. And waited. After a barely-endurable stretch of what felt like hours, Tony came prancing out, very pleased with himself and ready to join the party once more. He surveyed the room as though he'd expected the audience to wait for an encore.

His patience stretched beyond its limits, Brendan shoved the curtain aside and seized his friend's arm. "We're going home."

"Home? But the party's just begun!"

"The party is over," Brendan said shortly. "You can stay if you like, but I'm going right now, and you're so damned drunk you need a keeper."

"But—you saw, that older gent invited me upstairs!"

Gritted teeth. "Yes, I saw, and that's why I must go before he returns. I am leaving. Now. I cannot be seen here!

Comments

[lee rowan]

Hi, Jessica, and thank you for the interview! And thanks, A. I think there are as many different reasons as there are readers... which works well enough, since there are so many different styles of writing in m/m.

[Jessica Freely]

Lee is a wonderful writer, A., and it's been a privilege having her here. And yes, I think she puts the intrinsic appeal of m/m for women quite succinctly. If its a topic that interests you, you might also like to check out my own more effusive thoughts on the matter under the category "Why We Like It":
http://www.friskbiskit.com/why-we-like-it/

[A Dean]

I love all of Lee Rowan's works. She is quite talented. I have always been interested what it is that attracts women to m/m romance. Lee gives her perspective in terms of equality. I second that.