I'll admit to being a little giddy this morning. I mean, come on, Lillian Grant is here. On my blog. With me. I know, right?!
We're gonna get down and dirty about her new release, Go With The Flo, and talk about loud neighbor sex, Avon and Irish strippers. Sounds like a party to me!
Let's get to it, shall we?
Tell us a little about your new release, Go With The Flo.
Florence is a bit hair brained. She has delusions that her
life is like the movies. Added to that she has an over active imagination that
turns the mundane into something bizarre. More than once she has called the
cops to arrest people because she let her imagination get away from her.
Fortunately her best friend Nelson is around to keep her safe even when her
latest exploit sees her taking off to find her missing ex boyfriend, who has
also become her own personal flasher.
Mmm, Nelson. He's yummy! Just look at him! What is it about
motorcycle ridin’, leather wearin’, men that gets us all revved up?
In one of my books my heroine says she loves a man with
something big revving between his thighs. I have nothing to add to that comment :)
I definitely agree! Big...revving...you sure do know how to distract a girl!
LOL! Okay, carrying on. What, or who, was your inspiration for Florence and Nelson,
the main characters of Go With The Flo?
I have no flipping idea. Really these strange people just
appear in my mind and demand I write about them. I did get the idea for the
story after watching the movie Edward Scissorhands. I wondered what I could do
with a heroine who wanted to find her own Edward so much she joined Avon and
sold it door to door. Of course then I needed a hero to be the Edward she never
realized she had. The rest was just my own usual brand of crazy.
I think the readers will agree that we love your brand of crazy! Which leads me to ask, how much of your personality is in Florence?
I have to say I have never thought my life was a movie, nor
have I called the cops because I thought my neighbors were beating each other
up when they were having noisy sex.
However, I did sell Avon in my teens…very badly. And I have been known
to have the odd disaster in my life.
Your books are filled with yummy men. Tell us about your
“ultimate” hero. Feel free to be specific!
I have just had a book contracted by Liquid Silver Books
called Hot Male and I have to say the Irish stripper who is the hero of that
book is undoubtedly my ultimate hero. He’s irreverent, funny, a terrible flirt
but has a wonderful depth once you get to know him. And believe me I have. The
man is my current muse and tells me he has no intention of going anywhere. I
even made a website for him. www.michael-monaghan.com
Love the website, by the way. Hot Male...Michael...mmmmm. Sorry. Where were we? Oh, right. Interview! :)
Love the website, by the way. Hot Male...Michael...mmmmm. Sorry. Where were we? Oh, right. Interview! :)
What’s the one thing you can’t live without?
I should say my husband but I am inclined to say red
wine…and no I don’t have a drinking problem. I like drinking and it’s not a
problem :)
What’s the best thing about writing erotic romance?
You can imagine all the things in the world you like even
though at my age and with my lack of height a lot of them would be physically
impossible.
What’s the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of
research?
Nothing. I hate research. I usually avoid writing anything
that requires much more than a search of the internet. I did borrow a book from
the library once about Brazil but going there would have been more fun.
Who inspires you?
My critique partner Sofia Grey and if inspiration isn’t
working she is not averse to nagging and beating if it gets the job done :)
Give us one little known fact about you.
Despite being a petite 4ft 10 I am a registered builder and
used to work alongside my husband on the building sites back in the day.
Do you have anything else to share with us today?
Only to thank you for the interview. It was fun and so much
cheaper than seeing a shrink :)
You might want to wait until you get my bill...LOL! KIDDING! It was great having you here today and I hope you'll come back again!
In the meantime, here's a tasty look at Go With The Flo!
Nineties girl Florence Spring joined Avon to find her
Edward Scissorhands but instead ends up trying to rescue his porno alter ego.
When Florence notices
her eccentric ex-boyfriend, Eddie, isn't putting on his usual show in the front
window on Friday night, she decides to investigate. She asks her best friend,
Nelson Tyler, to help but he seems more interested in seducing Florence than in
finding her personal flasher. Florence has no idea when she embarks on the
adventure she will accidentally shoot an undercover policeman, or that her
actions will lead to Nelson's kidnapping. Now with two men missing she has no
choice but to continue and thwart the plans of a psychotic soon-to-be divorcee.
She needs to rescue Nelson because life without him is unbearable, especially
since she's discovered his long sensitive fingers are far more erotic than
scissorhands.
Want more? Okay, okay. Settle down. Read on my little monkeys!
Excerpt of Go With The Flo:
Florence
Spring trudged down another empty street. A bag full of lipstick, foundation,
eye shadow, and all manner of items designed to make a girl of the nineties a
sight to behold, swung from her shoulder. The tote banged against her hip,
aggravating an already aching bruise. Even though drizzle soaked her face, she
resisted the urge to wipe it off. She knew it was her duty to represent the
products she sold to the best of her ability. The handbook for sales 101 read,
better to appear damp, than smudged.
This
wasn’t how she’d envisioned life as an Avon representative. Where was her dark
castle? Her mysterious hero? When would she find a beautiful man with a
penchant for leather and rubber? She joined up to find her Edward Scissorhands.
The closest she’d come was his porno alter ego, Edward Penishands.
If
Eddie Cain wiggled his dick in his front room window one more time as she
walked past, she would take the gold-handled nail scissors, on special this
week for two dollars with any order over twenty dollars, and snip the little
worm off. Bad enough she’d gone out with him once—once, and only once. The
relationship had been doomed from the start. After his mother died, Eddie
became most odd. Their one date had confirmed her belief that he was strange.
Snuggled
together upstairs at the back of the number forty-six bus, he had whispered
that he would like to handcuff her to his bed and whip her with a riding crop.
She hadn’t even had a chance to answer before he let out a low moan and spontaneously
ejaculated, leaving a noticeable stain on the front of his gray gabardine
pants. She’d graciously lent him her jacket to carry in front of him as they
climbed from the bus and entered the movie theatre. When he unzipped his fly
and pulled the worm free at the first on-screen kiss, she excused herself and
fled. She never did ask for her jacket back. It was her favorite too, genuine
faux leather and fur. Never mind. She doubted even the dry cleaners would have
been able to get the spunk stain out.
Cautiously,
she approached number ninety-two Stoffer Street. The curtains hung open,
however the front window stood bare. Eddie appeared to be out. She checked her
watch. Bang on time. Eight p.m. as usual. She passed by every Friday night. He
lived on the most direct route from her allotted sales patch to Nelson’s house.
Eddie always waited for her. This time of the year he was usually silhouetted
by the living room light. He’d never missed an opportunity to wiggle his wanger
at her before. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the little bugger;
the wanger, not Eddie. She needed a good laugh after the dismal sales she
usually mustered and Eddie always managed to add some element of humor to the
whole sordid show. If only he learned to do the comedy act without the nudity
he could take his show on the road. Of course, he could take it on the road
with the striptease if he wanted to appeal to a whole other audience.
Truth
be told, seeing him semi-naked once a week was, she suspected, the closest
either of them had come to dating lately. If only she could find her prince
charming, all dark, mysterious and quiet. She had a thing for silent movies.
Everyone knew men of few words were sexy. You could imagine all sorts going on
in their heads. Plans to show you the world, slay dragons, and win your heart.
No one wanted to deal with the truth of them wondering if your boobs were real
or if you had tissues stuffed in your bra, or calculating how long it would
take them to wrestle you out of your underwear.
With
a shrug, Florence tugged her jacket collar up in a feeble attempt to protect
herself from the steady precipitation. She hated winter. Every year her mother
reminisced about her childhood in England, telling Florence about the huge
family Christmases they had which broke up the long cold months. Nothing
happened in winter in New South Wales. Florence only had her mother’s
secondhand memories of chocolate box celebrations. Although, Grandma Wilson did
her best to break up the monotony of endless gray days with her Christmas in
June party. Florence recalled the last outrageous family event only six weeks
ago. What had that been beneath the mistletoe with Nelson? She shivered, even
though she wasn’t cold. She needed to push that memory right out of her head before
she reached her destination.
With
a dismissive toss of her head, just in case he was watching, she left Eddie to
his own sordid devices and continued on her way—her ego a little deflated. Even
the local flasher had lost interest.
She
turned the corner and a feeling of contentment swept over her. Her best friend
Nelson’s home was her bolt-hole from reality, away from her parents and the
madness at her house. The small, rundown, two-bed town house might look in need
of TLC to some. To her it stood out as an oasis in a horrible sales jungle. A
lamp lit vision shrouded in mist. The tiny house was a cottage by the sea, a
cozy little shack in the woods, anything her imagination fancied.
Not
bothering to knock, she turned the handle and stepped inside. A blast of motor
oil and male musky-scented air greeted her, along with Nelson’s cat, Killer.
She lifted the undersized ginger fur ball to her face and rubbed him against
her cheek, giggling at his loud purr. He waited for her every week, as did
Nelson. She always popped in to warm up before he escorted her home.
A
shout came from the kitchen. “That you, Squirt?”
She
put the cat down and dropped her heavy bag on the side table. After tugging off
her sodden woolen gloves and damp jacket, she tossed them on the banister to
dry.
“Yeah,
it’s only me.”
She
secured the front door so Killer couldn’t escape, and sauntered the length of
the threadbare carpeted hallway, glancing at the shiny new bolt and padlock on
the basement door. She stopped on the threshold of the kitchen and stared at
the vision before her.
Nelson
glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor. His eyes were hidden by his
tousled dark hair. A huge grin spread across his face. “Hot chocolate’s by the
stove.”
She
stared at the red and polished chrome monster currently taking up half the
floor space. “What are you doing?”
Purchase Links:
Liquid Silver Books
Amazon
ARe
Lillian Grant Bio:
Purchase Links:
Liquid Silver Books
Amazon
ARe
Lillian Grant Bio:
Born and bred in the UK, my whole life was turned on its head when, at the tender age of eighteen, I met and fell instantly in love with my darling husband. I knew the minute I met him I was going to marry him and, fortunately, he came to the same conclusion less than six months later.
My husband has shown me the world, starting by bringing me to Australia. The country we now call home, and where we have raised our two boys. It didn’t take me long to turn native, becoming a citizen and dropping the British accent. However, our wanderlust didn’t stop there. We have moved from state to state, always ready for a new adventure. We have also visited many destinations around the world.
My stories reflect my love for travel and exotic locations, along with my quirky British sense of humor. Well, you can’t give up all of your heritage now can you?
For more information about Lillian Grant:
