Following is a short interview with my guest today, G.D. Ogan… DD

Q: Can you tell us a little about yourself?

A: I’m a retired Air Force Major. I have a pair of graduate degrees unfortunately not in English or Literature. I’m also retired from a second “calling” as a psychologist with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice where I evaluated inmates for various treatment programs and in another area of work actually wrote treatment programs for overcoming addictions.

Q: Did you ever imagine yourself writing novels?

A: In my youth, I’d written articles on various long distance running events I participated in. Then, in the military, I did a great deal of technical writing and continued technical writing in my work for the Prison System in the State of Texas. I’d also written many articles and sent pictures about car shows I attended; however, if anyone had said I’d someday write adult paranormal-romance novels, I would have laughed at them. I, like most men, I believe, didn’t realize how encompassing the romance genre was, or how extremely interesting most of the books were! I think men misunderstand what “romance” means – they (and I include myself before I saw the light) believe it is a narrow tear jerker about “all that mushy stuff” women like…how wrong that is!

Q: You have already released two books: Immortal Relations  and Immortal Relations, Love and War, and a third coming soon. Could you tell my readers what prompted you to write a series?
 
A: This is a little bit hard, but like they say, “The truth will make you free.” When I was little, my mother said some things that I didn’t understand, things like, “He is over there with that woman.” At one point she even asked me what I would think if she divorced my father. I think all little boys are defensive of their mothers, and I told her if he hurt her she should. As I grew I “forgot” all about that as they never divorced. Now that I look back on it, they probably stayed together “for the children” or in the case of our family “the child” since I had no siblings. Being young, I never thought it odd that they slept in separate rooms. I had retired from the Air Force and was working for the State of Texas about four and a half hours away from where they lived when I got the call that my father had died. Knowing my disabled mother needed care, I set in motion my retirement from my job in Huntsville, Texas and went to care for my mother who stated that she wished to remain in her home. I was the single care giver for her for her for the next five years. She had given me life and cared for me all those years, I felt honored that I could do something for her. After she passed away from Alzheimer’s I had the daunting task of going through all the many, many file cabinets my father had. These weren’t the small light weight cabinets found at discount stores; these were tall and deep, seven drawer, lockable, government style file cabinets stuffed to bursting with papers back as far as the 1930s.

When I finally got the last drawer cleaned out, I had over 50 of the largest heavy-duty trash bags overflowing. Looking into the bottom drawer I saw one small item. Yellow from age with coffee cup half and full moon stains an abandoned envelope was all that remained. Grabbing it, I felt that it had something inside it, something flat, small and lightweight. Had I just thrown it in the trash, I wonder if my life might have gone on without ever writing a novel, let alone a series. Being curious, I opened the envelope finding a very old photograph of my father as a younger man standing in front of a strange-looking building with a large clock face on the outside. I flipped the picture over and saw my father’s handwriting, “Prague Czechoslovakia.” Had I just glanced at it and threw it away… Oh well, I didn’t. Instead I looked closely and saw the feminine handwriting on the lower half of the photo which said, “I’ll always be waiting here.” Suddenly, what my mother had said all those many years before came rushing back and the photo proved that my late father had an affair while stationed in Czechoslovakia, or the Czech Republic as it is now known. This event is what started me writing the novels, and the photograph shown on page two of “Immortal Relations” is what spurred me to start the series. My character travels to where “his” father had worked and had the tryst and there he meets a captivating lady. It doesn’t take long before he realizes she isn’t “normal,” nor is love long in blooming between the two (and like they say, “love conquers all”). The story is full of action as the man trades in his human life for that of a guardian vampire.

Q: In what way is your vampire series different from other vampire stories?

A:  These are not the “Bram Stoker” type of vampires, Rather than attacking humans they are dedicated to protecting the innocent from the out of control type of vampires, human criminals and self-serving politicians seeking only continuation and increases in power.

Q: That is a different concept. How do your vampires sustain their existence? Do they consume blood? If so, how to they get it?
 
A: The good vampires have corporations. One owns funeral homes. Under funerary law, the deceased’s blood is drained (not by anything horrific but by professional means). The blood is then mixed with a special anti-coagulant and quick frozen to be used by the good vampires.

Q: Did you draw upon your military background in writing the series?

A: Definitely, in the first book, an evil vampire gang is thwarted in their attempted frontal assault on the guardian vampires’ compound and a secondary attack on military units to gain “converts” and heavy weapons to use against the good vampires is foiled by Czech forces with the aid of our vampires. Then the guardian vampires gain the support of the British Army and Royal Marines to keep the evil vampires from capturing nuclear weapons, followed by Russian Federation troops crushing the evil vampires attempt to steal biological weapons to be used to blackmail human governments into allowing them to feed unmolested. As you will see, I use the tactical and strategic knowledge gained during my military career in both books. The second picks up where the first leaves off by offering one of the heroes of the first book the chance to beat the cancer threatening his life by becoming a vampire himself.

Q: Is there anything else you would like to tell us?

I offer a comment by one of those who bought the book. His name is Richard Rasmussen, and I wish I knew how to contact him (since he appreciated the first book so much, I’d send him copies of the other books in the series): “Being a bit of a vampire-phile, I find myself constantly searching for the next vampire series to reach out and grab, or, more appropriately, bite me. I believe I have found my holy grail of vampire novels. You see, the Vlad books are typically a bit gory for my tastes, while the Twilight series is campy, sophomoric, and I feel, is most appealing to teenage girls. Mr. Ogan has delivered a tale at breakneck speed, one that jumps out of the starting gate and never loses steam. A tale filled with life lessons, love, sex, action and adventure. Complete with new insights into the powers of the immortal vamps, and fresh takes on the complex inner workings of their existence. From page 1 until the very end, Immortal Relations promises to have you on the edge of your seat and begging for more…”

Excerpt from Book One:

The sky was starting to clear and looked as if the day would be clear and bright. At that time of morning, since it was Sunday, there were very few vehicles on the road. My driver slowed to a stop and pointed out the Old Town Hall through his windshield. Then he said, “Hotel…very soon,” and in seconds he had stopped his cab at the curb by the hotel’s front entrance. I got out with my bags and held out paper money and coins to pay for the trip. He took what he needed; I thanked him and waved as he drove off.

At the front desk, I arranged for a room and took the stairs to the third floor. I was still very early, but I wanted to start looking around, so I just dropped my bags by the bed, went back to the first floor and walked the short distance back to the Old Town Hall. The sidewalks were deserted; the only traffic I saw, as I walked, was a cab and an almost empty bus.

Getting out my picture, I looked everywhere for other pedestrians, but it seemed too early, and I saw no one else anywhere in the area. I held the picture up high, walking around, and closely compared both the architecture and the angle from which the photograph had been taken. As I looked at the windows, I noted one that gave me a reflected view of the other side of the road. There, on the opposite side which had been empty only seconds ago, someone was suddenly standing; but I was sure there hadn’t been anyone there a second before.

Seeing her, dressed like a high fashion model, in a light blue, lacy, scalloped, and layered, yet shape-hugging haut-couture, dress, I gasped; My God she was stunningly beautiful! I’d seen pictures of “Hollywood starlets” and “super models” and I knew the Czechs had several of  these, such as the lovely Paulina Porizkova and Petra Nemcova, and I thought this had to be one of them. But just as suddenly as she appeared, she vanished! I thought she might have moved, and I’d missed it, so I turned to look and found myself starring into a pair of eyes with nearly black irises. Automatically, my head jerked back; the vision of loveliness I’d seen across the street was mere inches from me. She said, “Excuse me; I didn’t mean to startle you!” Then she smiled the most brilliant smile I’d ever seen, my knees felt like rubber as I started to fall back, but her hand shot out, grabbing my arm to keep me upright. The power in her arm surprised me, and my heart raced, but I couldn’t tell if it was from almost failing or the close proximity of such a beauty. After I felt like I could stand on my own, she introduced herself as Magdalena Dvora’k, saying she had seen me looking at a photograph and asked if I’d been to Prague before.

When I told her the picture was taken of my father standing near this building many years before, she asked to see it and I handed it to her. Without skipping a beat, she said “Doug Logan.” If my legs had been rubber before, now they were Jelly! Dazed, I staggered back with her hand back on my arm, and I leaned against the wall of the building. Her gaze transfixed me as she looked deeply into my own brown eyes. It seemed as if she were God’s own angel assigned to test and weigh my soul, but for how long I didn’t know.

Once I’d regained some composure I said, “How…how could you know my father’s name?”