Hello beautiful people. Today, I’m having (yes, I like that expression, especially today!) Ryan O’Leary, a ladies ‘man… did you check his wall on Facebook? Because if you did, you’ll know what I’m talking about! So, are you ready to learn more about him? I know I am!
The morning, you are tea or coffee?
I drank tea for the longest time. In fact, I used to get powerfully annoyed when I went through the drive-thru in the morning for a cup of tea and a muffin and they’d give me a coffee instead, I’d dump the damn thing out, the smell used to disgust me. Then one day, I just decided that I’d try coffee, if so many people swore by it, then maybe I was missing something. So I gave it a shot and I developed a taste for it. I still don’t own a coffeemaker, but I’ll grab a large double-double if I’m at the drive-thru in the morning.
What kind of books do you write?
Erotic ones. Gasp! I know, I’m a sex pervert in many people’s eyes, but my books are full of love and romance, the sex just happens to be more, ‘descriptive’, shall we say. I don’t hold back, I write the sex how it is in real life, or at least, how it should be; passionate, sweaty, loving and intense. Here a pant, there a moan, everywhere a whimper.
Why did you choose this genre?
Because I like the idea of writing about relationships and sex. I’m a flirt by nature and what is romance if not flirting, so I get to exercise my romantic muscles when I write a story where the husband/boyfriend goes to extraordinary lengths to prove his love for his woman. What could be more fun? Oh, and I like writing the reward he gets for going to such lengths.
When you write, are you keyboard or paper?
I have notebooks where I write down ideas and endless scraps of paper with a line or 2 on them, but writing a full story with a pen and paper isn’t something I’ve done in a long time. I wrote a movie script when I was 21 and wrote it out by hand, then edited it, wrote it out by hand again and that took forever, so I use a computer now. Besides, my handwriting is crap, I probably wouldn’t be able to read it after.
Are you more motivated to write when the sun shines or when the weather is gray?
Tough one. My motivation comes and goes, not many outside things effect it, but I think we all feel better when the sun is shining.
Where do you find your inspiration?
A picture, a movie, an overheard conversation. Whatever. But mostly it comes from in my head. My mind never seems to turnoff. It’s always running and one thought will spinoff into a thousand others and somewhere in there I’m usually struck with an idea that I can expand on.
When you start a book, do you already have the whole story in your head, or is it built progressively?
When I start a book, I have the ending in my head. That’s how I work, I have the ending first, and then I have to work towards it, so I rarely ever have a plan of attack going in. Outline? What the hell is an outline?
How do you feel before the release of a book? Fear, joy? And after?
Relief. Relief that it’s over. 99.999999999999% of writers will tell you that before their current book is done, they’re already writing their next book in their head. With me, I finish it, edit it and let it go. Sure, I have my doubts, but I’m not one of these writers who frets over a single line, day and night for weeks and agonizes every single sentence. I finish, release and move on. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve lived with the characters in the story for so long by that point, read and reread the story so many times that I’m usually sick of them and glad to see them go.
Between your first and last novel, do you feel a change? Do you write differently?
I’ve gotten better. Practice makes perfect after all.
They say that writers project themselves into the skin and into the head of his hero / heroine, is that the case for you?
You leave a piece of yourself in every single word you write, so I’d say that is a fair assessment. But I don’t pattern my male characters after myself, they don’t look like me in my head, they are better looking and they don’t necessarily have my characteristics. The females are women I’d be drawn to in real life.
You define yourself more like a bookworm, a city mouse or a country mouse?
Country mouse. I lived in the country during high school and I loved it, you have total freedom to do whatever you want and lots of land to do it. I’m back in the city now and I hate being crowded. I can’t even sit in my backyard and read without having to listen to someone else talking on the phone or playing with their kids. I like my space, so hopefully I’ll get back there one day.
Molière said: “Writing is like prostitution. First we write for the love of it, then for a few friends, and in the end for money.” What do you think about it?
Can’t wait for the last part. I could agree. The saying I’ve always heard is, “If you want to make money writing, be prepared to write what sells, not what you want.” Which is part of the reason I picked the erotic genre to make a go of it with. I don’t want to completely sellout and write something I absolutely hate, just to make money and writing erotica gives me that sense of fulfillment while also giving me a shot at making some money. Everyone has their definition of success, some define it by money, others by what they get out of it. I doubt there are many rich poets out there, but they still do it because they love it. I write books for women, books to let them escape into a fantasy and hopefully be turned on and if my words can somehow strike a chord in them, make their hearts flutter or bring a flush to their skin, then I’m successful. Sure, I’d love to buy a yacht one day with the profits from my books, but material things aren’t really my goal, the reader’s enjoyment and ‘pleasure’ is.
Your books have already been translated?
Not that I know of.
Do you pay attention to literary criticism?
I’m sure any criticism I may receive could be seen to have merit, but you can’t please everyone, so fuck em. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but it doesn’t mean I care what their opinion is.
The days are 25 hours. You spend that extra hour in the garden or in the kitchen?
I’d spend it on the ice playing hockey if I could, but out of those 2, I’d probably choose kitchen. I like to cook good food, but I hate that we need to eat every day, cooking gets so repetitive, almost like a chore, so an extra hour might give me the chance to make better food.
What is the book you would bring with you on a deserted island?
Needful Things by Stephen King. Because it’s long and I could read it over and over again.
In the evening, do you turn off the light directly or do you take the time to read?
Lights go out and Ryan isn’t far behind.
J's Closet: Volume one
J was already riled-up after our little ride to class and I could tell that just like it had affected me, the retelling of our first meeting had her blood running hot. When Eleanor went to the washroom I pulled J onto my lap. She put her hands on my thighs and wiggled in my groin. My cock spiked with electricity and I momentarily forgot where we were. I pulled the nape of her shirt down and kissed her back. J melted back into me and let out a sigh.
I felt her hand make contact with her mouth a second later. "Oh shit."
Her little moan of excitement had gotten the attention of Daria and Tamara in front of us and they had turned to see what was going on.
"Sorry," J said.
She had her hand over her mouth and the stiffness in her back expressed how mortified she was. I think Daria had a little crush on me and she gave J a bit of a look, but I could tell Tamara thought it was funny.
"Should we get out of here?" I asked in J's ear.
"If we have to."
"Leaving before dinner is ready?" Sharon asked as we moved past her in a hurry.
"Save us a plate," J said with a wave.
I'm not sure, but I think I might have broken the elevator down button, I jabbed it so hard. I stood there with J at my side. She was bouncing back and forth, rubbing her legs together so hard I was worried she might catch fire.
"Come on!" I called out and jabbed the button again. "Screw this." I stepped left with J's hand in mine and headed for the stairwell. I slammed the door open and dragged her into the sterile grey corridor.
I caught her before she went careening down the dingy, concrete steps and pulled her close to me. We were both panting and I backed her into the wall. I pinned her there with my body and she looked up into my eyes. I swear they'd gone from chestnut brown to fire red; I could only imagine what mine looked like.
She moved to kiss me and our lips came together. Our teeth scraped and I withdrew. But J wasn't having it, she bit my lip as I pulled back.
"I'm so ready for you, Travis," she said with my bottom lip stretching from her bite.
I felt the first metallic sting of my own blood on my tongue and moved back into her. My hand slipped down to her pussy and felt her heat pulsing through her clothing. I scrunched the hem of her dress up quickly, but stopped when I heard a door in the stairwell below us open.