Thanks so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to be with us today, Bryl. Will you begin by telling us a little bit about yourself and your background?
My name is Bryl R. Tyne. I currently reside in Upstate, SC with Sugar Daddy and the last of seven kids we’ve raised together. I’m an editor for Noble Romance. I’m a writer. I enjoy what I do.
Was there a defining point in your life when you realized that sharing your stories was what you were meant to do?
Months prior to graduating with a Bachelor in Communication, the joy of writing came back to me as if it had never left. For nearly three decades I’d forgotten or had misplaced my priorities or maybe life happened (I’m still not entirely sure), but I had this epiphany moment when I read the first story I’d written in twenty-eight years and said, “I’m supposed to write…I knew that.”
How long did it take for your first book to be published?
Nine months from the day I first submitted it to a publisher.
Do you typically outline your plots before you begin the writing process, or do you write in a more freestyle fashion?
I always outline my plots, at least with a rudimentary outline. I need a roadmap to see where I’m headed. Once the characters take over though (and they always do) the entire story usually changes, and then I just go with the flow.
What has been the most difficult topic you’ve ever approached in your writing?
Teen suicide. Forsaken started out as a single short story about this angel, Zagzagel, saving a gay youth from committing suicide. I’d based it on life experience from over a decade ago, but writing it, bringing that all back up, really took its toll. I went on to write 5 more stories in that series, each stemming from a topic I knew intimately… I wanted to write more but was afraid it would eat away at my insides until I had nothing left.
Of all the characters you’ve created, do you have one in particular who stands out among the others as a favorite? If so, who and why?
After three years, I’m still in love with my yet to be published PI from Daytona Beach, Jesse Wolfe. I think he’s my favorite because his character really resonates with me. He’s assuming but totally in the dark that his actions/reactions are hurtful toward others.
Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, do you have any routines or exercises you use to get beyond it?
Yes, I suffer. And no, I have no solutions. If anyone has definite ways that work, please let me know what they are!
When someone reads one of your books for the first time, what do you hope they take away from it?
It is always my hope that a reader closes his or her first book of mine with a smile and one thought, “Wow.”
When did you begin writing in the Male/Male genre? What about it interests you the most?
I started out writing about men in love in April of 2008 when I put pen to paper for the first time in twenty-eight years. My only “interest” is that I leave all readers of my books knowing that love is love is love.
Do you generally have the titles of your work planned before you begin writing, or does that occur later on in the writing process?
I’ve only not had a title once. Most times, the title helps guide the direction of the story for me.
What is the question you’re most frequently asked by your fans?
It’s more of a statement than a question, but my fans most common inquiry is “Tell me that you have more on the way!”
Do you have any new projects coming up that you’d care to share with us?
I’m working on a series with Author Brita Addams called Johan’s Quest. It’s got a neo-noir feel, late 60s, New Orleans. The first book is titled The Soulless Man and will be out this Fall.
How much of yourself, your life experiences, and the people you know manifest themselves into your characters?
Most all of my characters’ personalities come from people I know or have known. Some have similar traits to my own. The most intriguing ones to me though are those characters who take me by surprise. I’ll re-read my WIP to get going each day and find myself questioning, “Who is this guy?” because he will be one of the most fascinating characters I’ve ever read, and I’ll have no clue where he came from.
If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
If time travel were possible, what time period(s) would you most like to visit? Why?
I would travel back to the days of Daniel Boone. Why? Because my Skaggs relatives explored and trapped with the man. I think I would enjoy reliving some of their adventures.
If we were to look around the desk where you sit to write, what would we find there?
Quick inventory: A jar of pens/pencils, a stack of bookmarked paperbacks that I am working my way through, a pile of spiral notebooks, gum, chapstick, vitamins, a cup of coffee, a liter of water, a pile of bills, and a peppermill.
How would you describe your sense of humor? What makes you laugh?
My sense of humor is sarcasm, and I will always laugh at a dirty joke.
What’s your biggest pet peeve?
Do you have a favorite personal mantra, quote, or saying that describes your outlook on life and the way you approach each day?
Yes. I learned this from an old friend who whenever I see her is always happy: “Expect the worst. Take what you get. That way, you’ll never be disappointed. “
Of all the modern conveniences, which one would you most likely say you couldn’t live without?
The Internet. I would surely die (at least my brain keeps telling me that every time I loose connection).
Thank you again for spending some time with us, Bryl. Will you tell us where we can find you on the Internet?
And we’d love if you’d share a favorite excerpt from one of your books with us.
From Rite of Passage, coming June 8th from Dreamspinner Press:
Rite of Passage (c) 2011 Bryl R. Tyne
SO WENT my first week and a half in Divide. Stacking hay at the center—arms, neck, and back aching—some research. I hadn’t gotten any closer to the wolves, and every day went home exhausted. Spent an hour or two with Chad Hardy each night, a few moments hoping for another show from the neighbor, and the remainder with Jim or Jack until oblivion took me. Last night had been my worst.
With my headache, five bales might as well have been six hundred and fucking fifty today. I groaned, tossing another one into the barn as high as I could; I’d stack them better and higher, later. Right now, I was more concerned with unloading the flatbed because Pat wanted to haul in another load for me to finish before day’s end.
Why’d I do it?
A similar scene from one of my novels would read: he knew the consequences of his actions before he took them, and yet, nothing ever seemed to steer him from self-destruction, no matter how obvious.
Though, nothing would deter me from finishing a job I’d started, either. Call it will or plain stubbornness; even though I wasn’t getting in to observe those wolves, I knew why I showed up to the center each morning and why I now busted my ass in spite of this hangover from hell. For some dumb odd reason, I wanted to impress one Mr. Pat Smith.
I knew the answer, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. What was this? Day ten of my sworn to solitude life, and already my dick was doing my thinking again, looking to hook up with someone—anyone. My stomach lurched as I released the next bale, and I grabbed for the side of the barn, and turned, one hand on my knee to steady myself as I upchucked.
I looked up to find a set of yellow eyes staring at me through the fence, and immediately started kicking dirt over my mess. “What are you looking at?”
The owner of said eyes didn’t answer, just tilted his head to one side as he sniffed the air, his gaze never leaving mine. Jesus, he looked so majestic, legs stiff, shoulders back, his silvery white coat tousled with leaves and twigs from a night under the stars. How’d he pull it off, when I’d spend hours getting ready to show my mug in public and still find flaws? Well, I hadn’t done that today. No.
Today, I’d rolled out of bed, clutching my head and, realizing I’d thrown my alarm clock against my bedroom wall and shattered it, had barely enough time to grab a cup of coffee before heading out the door. I had brushed my teeth, though, and I had wits enough about me to smack a swipe or two of Speed Stick under each arm.
My solitary friend broke eye contact to turn his head and hold his nose high.
“You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Rub what in?”
At the accompanying chuckle, I spun, regretting my move—my sudden stop and the glare of the morning sun causing me to squint. Pain throbbed through my head as I shaded my eyes and focused in on Pat in all his morning marvel, standing up the hill on the other side of the barn. Silhouetted by the sun at his back, one hand on his hip and the other on his hat, he looked like a god—a cowboy god.
“Oh. Hey.” I closed my eyes as I lowered my head, took two steps back to the flatbed, and grabbed a hold of another bale, wishing the invading thoughts away. I was here to work, and in the meantime, to gather knowledge on wolves for my next book.
When I looked up, Pat stood near the other end of the flatbed. “If you’d like, I can stack while you toss ’em, or you can. I’m pretty versatile.”