Tell us a little about yourself!
Tinnean has been writing since the 3rd grade, where she was inspired to try her hand at epic poetry. Fortunately, that epic poem didn't survive the passage of time; however, her love of writing not only survived but thrived, and in high school she became a member of the magazine staff, where she contributed a number of stories.
It was with the advent of the family's second computer – the first intimidated everyone – that her writing took off, enhanced in part by fanfiction, but mostly by the wonder that is copy and paste.
While involved in fandom, she was nominated for both Rerun and Light My Fire Awards. Now she concentrates on her original characters, and recent novels have received honorable mention in the 2013 and 2014 Rainbow Awards.
A New Yorker at heart, she resides in SW Florida with her husband and two computers.
Ernest Hemingway's words reflect Tinnean's devotion to her craft: Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.
You can find Tinnean here:
In Thirty Things, Nate and Finn check of a list of 30 things to do before Finn turns 30. What would be on your list?
A place on the NYT best seller list. :-) I'd also love to travel to the cities that I've written about: Washington, DC, Boston and Cambridge, MA, Savannah, GA, San Francisco, London, and back to NY.
Tell us about something you've already checked off your list. Was it everything you thought it would be?
I've visited DC twice, and both times were fun. I loved all the monuments and museums. As for NY, I lived right across the river in Queens, and we'd often take the subway into the city. I've visited the Museum of Natural History (sensing a theme here?) the Central Park Zoo, Radio City Music Hall, and I've seen plays on Broadway. (although I have to say that unlike Simon and Garfunkel, I never saw the whores on 7th Avenue.)
While traveling the country, Finn and Nate visit some amazing places. Where have you been that has stuck with you?
I love visiting anything old: cemeteries--the older sections of Arlington, battlefields--Gettysburg, buildings--Smithsonian and Museum of Natural History, areas of the city--Greenwich Village, and that's why I've been to DC twice and NY numerous times.
If you could only do one of the things on your list, which would it be?
Okay, I'd love to have one of my books on the New York Times Best Seller list. That would be so nifty!
What items would be on your writing bucket list?
I have four more books that are in the Strange, Strange World series, two more in Mann of My Dreams (formerly Spy vs. Spook), a western that takes place during the Civil War era, and then some free short stories.
Tell us a little about your newest book.
They Come By Night was released on Jan. 16. It's a paranormal that takes place on an Earth just a bit different from ours. It took me six years to finish, but I love the characters. (the picture is one Ty's pup, Mina, is based on.)
Imagine an Earth just a bit different from ours. It may be 2014, but in this world, normals unknowingly share the planet with vampyrs. Most vampyrs rely on bagged blood, supplemented by the blood of sabors—valued individuals whose blood contains an element needed for the survival of the species.
Tyrell Small has always felt different. He doesn’t know he is a sabor, but he has the birthmark to prove it. When his father reveals that he’ll be required to feed vampyrs, Ty decides to run away. Slipping out of his bedroom window, he finds the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen sitting on his roof. Adam Dasani is a vampyr, equerry to the vampyr king, who has given Adam the task of guarding Ty. The blood of the two most powerful saborese families in the shared history of vampyrs and sabors runs through Ty’s veins. And some vampyrs intend to use him to gain power, something Adam isn’t about to allow. Adam insists that Ty can’t escape his destiny, but they both find that destiny can take unexpected turns… and following those turns may put those Ty loves—including Adam—in danger.
Birthdays sucked, for me at least. Each one meant another year where I didn’t grow any taller, didn’t look any older than the year before, and it had been like that since I was ten. Rather than sugarplums, visions of me still being carded when I was thirty danced in my head, and always at the worst of times.
Take today, for instance. It was my sixteenth birthday. All my friends were talking about going for their driver’s licenses, or going for their road tests, or going to choose their first car. Not to say I couldn’t do those things too, but would I even be able to reach the gas pedal or the brake? Without those blocks of wood taped to them so my feet could reach them?
On top of being such a runt, there was that birthmark on the side of my neck. Shaped like a tea stain but too dark for a strawberry mark, it looked like someone had cut my throat and I’d bled all over myself. Turtleneck shirts and sweaters had helped at first, but they were a bitch in hot weather. Cover-up worked better, but when I sweated, it ran, and the results were it looked as if I hadn’t bothered to wash my neck.
And if that wasn’t enough, there was the fact that since my tenth birthday I’d been unable to tolerate anyone touching me.
So here I was at sixteen, no sign of puberty in sight, no girlfriend, no boyfriend, or a desire for one, but at least the choir mistress of our church was happy because my voice was still in the soprano register.
I sighed and let myself into the house where I lived with my dad. It had been the two of us for as long as I could remember. Not that my mother was dead, or anything like that. The one time I’d got up the courage to ask about her, Dad had said it was because one day she’d just decided she didn’t want to be married to him, and she’d left with my four older siblings.
Dad was a good man, and plenty of the moms would watch him with interest when he showed up for parent-teacher conferences or any of those occasions at school that called for parental involvement. To tell the truth, so did some of the teachers, although I wasn’t supposed to know anything about that.
So I couldn’t see anyone not loving him. I thought maybe it was just that Mom didn’t want me, and since Dad did, she’d left us both.
There was nothing I could do about that, so… I just didn’t think about it.
I was real good about not thinking about some things.
Dad loved me, and that was all that mattered to me. He made sure I had a good lunch in my lunchbox or money when we were having pizza at school, a clean handkerchief in my pocket, and milk money until we realized I was lactose intolerant. Then he made sure I always carried lactase, the enzyme supplement, with me.
Sometimes, though, I’d looked up from my homework to ask him a question, and found him watching me with the saddest look.
He’d smiled and shaken his head. “You’re growing so fast, Ty. Before we know it, you’ll be in high school. Now, what did you want to know?”
I’d smiled back at him and asked my question, but inside I’d felt cold, because I hadn’t been growing.
What was Dad really worrying about?
“I’m home, Dad,” I called. Because of the time, I knew he’d already be home from the construction site where he worked.
“You’re late, Ty.” He appeared in the front foyer. A single glance, and our relationship was obvious to anyone who cared to look, from the cleft in both our chins, identical straight noses—although Dad had a bump in his from the time he’d broken it back in the day—and high cheekbones, down to the blue-black hair and midnight-blue eyes. The biggest difference was in our size, because while he was six feet tall, I was still four foot nothing. “I was starting to worry. It’s getting dark.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Coach kept me after practice.”
“Dunno. He gave me a note for you.”
“Ty, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing, Dad. Honest.” I wasn’t concerned, not really. I was a good runner, and I made good grades, unlike some of the jocks, so Coach wasn’t worried I’d be put on detention just before a big meet and ruin the team’s chances of rising up in our division.
Dad grinned at me, but he didn’t ruffle my hair like most dads would. “Give me the note.”
I pulled it out of my backpack and handed it to him, then went into the kitchen to pour myself one of the protein shakes Dad kept in the fridge for me. I was hoping they’d help me grow, but so far no luck.
I’d almost finished chugging it when I heard, “Ah, damn!”
“Dad?” Before I could bolt to the front part of the house, he came into the kitchen. His face was pale, and the muscle in his right eyelid twitched rhythmically. I set down the glass. “Dad, what is it?”
“Your coach saw you while you were in the shower.”
“You’re not saying Coach is perving on me, are you?” I tried to smile at my little joke, but my stomach felt as if I were on a roller coaster going down a 456 foot drop at 128 mph.
“Of course not.”
Of course, “of course not.” Coach was a great guy, after all. But why had he felt the need to send a note to my father?
“Tyrell, you’re not stupid. You’ve seen the other boys.”
“Today’s your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way.”
I blinked, totally confused. “Oh, thanks, Dad.”
“Your gift is in the living room.”
Probably another pair of Nikes. That was what he always got me for my birthday. I didn’t outgrow them, but they wore out from all the running I did.
“Anyway, didn’t you ever wonder about it? You’re sixteen now and yet your voice hasn’t changed, you haven’t had that growth spurt, and your chin and chest and… and groin are still hairless.”
I was relieved he didn’t say anything about my dick not growing, either. “I… I never stopped to think about it.” To tell the truth, I’d been afraid to think about it, afraid I was some kind of freak.
I’d hoped if I ignored it, it would go away.
“Your coach wants me to take you to see an endocrinologist.”
“Yeah, Dad?” I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to see a doctor, any more than I wanted to know what was wrong with me, certain it was incurable and that I wasn’t going to live to see sixteen. Well, seventeen, now I’d actually reached that momentous birthday.
“And a dermatologist.”
He came to me and raised his hand. In spite of myself, I flinched. He’d never struck me before, and I couldn’t see him striking me now, but for the past six years I hadn’t liked being touched. More than that, it could be downright painful.
Dad knew that. If he thought it was necessary… The shake I’d downed felt like it was going to make a return appearance.
He settled his fingers settled just under my right ear, then lightly ran them down the side of my throat over the mark I’d had since the day I was born.
“Oh. That.” I shivered and backed away a step. No one ever touched that mark—it kind of freaked them out.
“I’m not going to take you to see anyone.” He stared down at his fingers, then closed them in a tight fist.
“It’s time for me to explain the facts of life to you.”
I could feel my face going up in flames. “I know them, Dad,” I mumbled.
He didn’t pat my shoulder, even though he might have wanted to. “You may, for the average person.”
I was too embarrassed to question his emphasis of average. Much as I loved him, the idea of talking about sex with him—blowjobs, hand jobs, fucking—just skeeved me.
“First off, there’s nothing wrong with you. And I’m not saying that because I’m your dad and it’s my job to tell you things like that. You are normal. You’ll go into puberty when your body recognizes the time is right.”
“Y’see… The thing of it is….” He didn’t seem to know where to begin, and I felt my gut clench and my sphincter tighten. “You’re just not a normal.”
I stood there frozen. Oh God, this was going to be bad. I knew it. I was a freak. I was a--
“You’re a sabor, Ty.”
I’d opened my mouth to scream a protest, but that stopped me dead. “Huh?” I blinked and swallowed again. “A what?”
“A sabor. Come and sit down, Son.” He tugged on my shirtsleeve until I sank down on a chair beside him.
“Is that, like, French or Italian?” I frowned. “I thought we were Romanian, way back when.” I tried to smile, but it wasn’t successful.
“Oh, Ty.” He was so solemn.
I swallowed for a third time. “What’s a… what’s a sabor, Dad?”
“The literal translation isn’t important—it’s what the word actually represents. Give me a minute to gather my thoughts, okay?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind,” he muttered. “Okay, this is the way it is. And don’t say anything until I’ve finished, okay?”
“Okay. First off—” The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” I volunteered hastily.
Thanks so much for giving me this opportunity! I hope your readers will look into They Come By Night. :-)
And if anyone is interested in reading some freebies, stories about secondary characters in the Spy vs. Spook/Mann of My Dreams universe, they can be found here: http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/tinnssinns/MoMD.html
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