A.F. Stewart's Blog, page 89
June 10, 2014
Service and Sacrifice: A Poem for Moncton
The following is a poem written in honour of the fallen Moncton RCMP officers, and for all those who gave their lives in the line of duty...
Service and Sacrifice
Now come, the gathered sea of red,the tribute paid, bitter tears shed.Fallen in crimson, words unsaid.Grief falls within the gloam,speak farewell to the honoured dead,the pipes will play you home.
Service and Sacrifice
Now come, the gathered sea of red,the tribute paid, bitter tears shed.Fallen in crimson, words unsaid.Grief falls within the gloam,speak farewell to the honoured dead,the pipes will play you home.
May 9, 2014
Short Story Month And A Friday Read: Free Speech
Today's story offering is some sci-fi, a tale I wrote a while back...
Free Speech
The university auditorium was full. A large crowd had turned out to listen to Professor Astor, the head of the peace group Utopia Mission and controversial scholar of socio-economic culture. I had settled into a good spot early to hear his speech; I wanted to avoid the throng and the omnipresent security. I was never one for being hemmed in by the crowds.The campus, hell the whole city, had been erupting with his supporters and the opposing protesters for weeks since the announcement of his coming. That’s why the university had spared no expense to protect the professor from the radicals and the loonies. They had motion eyes, laser grids and several squads of campus police. They took those death threats seriously, I guess.A hush fell as the Professor stepped up to the podium. I studied him; he was a short man, grey hair, frail looking. You would never imagine the hatred he incurred.“Welcome everyone. I am pleased you joined with me this afternoon to discuss the flawed direction in which our civilization is headed.”The frail little man faded, as the fire of conviction filled him. His deep voice resonated with passion and principle.“As you may be aware, I lead the Utopia Mission, a group dedicated to peace. Not, as some would portray us, a group seeking to dismantle our laws, but a group committed to the advance of our society, of our future, through co-operation and an open government. Governments that are free of hidden agendas, of corruption, governments that are honest with their people.”“Have not our leaders abused our trust with laws that rip away our freedoms under the guise of safety? The Militant Seizure Law has seen hundreds of innocents imprisoned under the guise of defence of country! Some have died, others went missing, their assets confiscated by greedy officials! The Big Brother Statute was supposed to protect us in this digital age, but was misused by your government to gather information about law-abiding citizens!”The professor paused for a moment as applause, cheers and murmurs, as well as quite a few jeers and boos, rose from the crowd.“It is the latest and the worst of these abuses, the Border Shield, which needs immediate action. Are we, as a decent people, going to permit that heinous law? A shoot to kill order for any persons -citizen or illegal- that may be perceivedas a threat! How many blameless people have been murdered simply because they questioned the border patrols? Is it not time to voice our concerns, to voice our outrage? We must influence change, achieve a revolution of liberty!”A cheer rose with his words, and I looked over the crowd. The professor was inspiring them with his speech, his captivating presence. He had a rapt audience; even his critics were silent. I leaned over and picked up my briefcase. It was time to begin.I ran a hand over the synth-leather; the new upgrades had been worth the money. The case’s smart scramblers and holographic overrides manipulated the security scans without a problem and my forged ID gave me full access to the building. It wasn't difficult to suss out this isolated vantage point after that.I unpacked the laser rifle from the case, connected the sections, powered it and made the target adjustments in the digital scope. With a little patience to line up the perfect angle and a squeeze of the trigger, I took the headshot. Professor Astor went down, lifeless, just another radical dissident removed. I slipped out unnoticed in the panicked confusion, to meet my government contact and receive the transfer of payment for the job.
Free Speech
The university auditorium was full. A large crowd had turned out to listen to Professor Astor, the head of the peace group Utopia Mission and controversial scholar of socio-economic culture. I had settled into a good spot early to hear his speech; I wanted to avoid the throng and the omnipresent security. I was never one for being hemmed in by the crowds.The campus, hell the whole city, had been erupting with his supporters and the opposing protesters for weeks since the announcement of his coming. That’s why the university had spared no expense to protect the professor from the radicals and the loonies. They had motion eyes, laser grids and several squads of campus police. They took those death threats seriously, I guess.A hush fell as the Professor stepped up to the podium. I studied him; he was a short man, grey hair, frail looking. You would never imagine the hatred he incurred.“Welcome everyone. I am pleased you joined with me this afternoon to discuss the flawed direction in which our civilization is headed.”The frail little man faded, as the fire of conviction filled him. His deep voice resonated with passion and principle.“As you may be aware, I lead the Utopia Mission, a group dedicated to peace. Not, as some would portray us, a group seeking to dismantle our laws, but a group committed to the advance of our society, of our future, through co-operation and an open government. Governments that are free of hidden agendas, of corruption, governments that are honest with their people.”“Have not our leaders abused our trust with laws that rip away our freedoms under the guise of safety? The Militant Seizure Law has seen hundreds of innocents imprisoned under the guise of defence of country! Some have died, others went missing, their assets confiscated by greedy officials! The Big Brother Statute was supposed to protect us in this digital age, but was misused by your government to gather information about law-abiding citizens!”The professor paused for a moment as applause, cheers and murmurs, as well as quite a few jeers and boos, rose from the crowd.“It is the latest and the worst of these abuses, the Border Shield, which needs immediate action. Are we, as a decent people, going to permit that heinous law? A shoot to kill order for any persons -citizen or illegal- that may be perceivedas a threat! How many blameless people have been murdered simply because they questioned the border patrols? Is it not time to voice our concerns, to voice our outrage? We must influence change, achieve a revolution of liberty!”A cheer rose with his words, and I looked over the crowd. The professor was inspiring them with his speech, his captivating presence. He had a rapt audience; even his critics were silent. I leaned over and picked up my briefcase. It was time to begin.I ran a hand over the synth-leather; the new upgrades had been worth the money. The case’s smart scramblers and holographic overrides manipulated the security scans without a problem and my forged ID gave me full access to the building. It wasn't difficult to suss out this isolated vantage point after that.I unpacked the laser rifle from the case, connected the sections, powered it and made the target adjustments in the digital scope. With a little patience to line up the perfect angle and a squeeze of the trigger, I took the headshot. Professor Astor went down, lifeless, just another radical dissident removed. I slipped out unnoticed in the panicked confusion, to meet my government contact and receive the transfer of payment for the job.May 7, 2014
Short Story Month: Into the West
Another offering for May's short story month, a tale of treachery in the Old West...
Into the West
The squeak of the pointlessly spinning wheel echoed in the desert. Sunlight faded on the horizon, throwing shadows against the remains of the overturned stagecoach and the crumpled bodies that sprawled among its ruins. The dust of the robbers swirled in the distance, as those murdering varmints fled into the hills with their ill-gotten spoils, the payroll meant for the miners of Cedar Gulch...
Davy slurped back his whiskey. “Somethin’ happened to the stage, Roscoe. It ain't like Joe to be this late. It’s mornin’ for heaven’s sake and he was due last night.”The bartender nodded. “I know, but it could be they just had a broken wheel or somethin’. Don’t mean there’s trouble. `Sides, the Marshall and his posse rode out to see.”“It’ll be bad news, Roscoe, you’ll see. Bad news.”
An hour later, one of the men who rode out with Marshall Collins came back to town. Davy watched the man ride to Ed’s, the undertaker for Cedar Gulch, and he kept watching, seeing the man leave town later, accompanied by Ed, his two helpers and their large wagon.Davy burst back into the saloon. “I knew it! It’s bad! One of the posse just came and got the undertaker! Them that was on the stage is dead!”A burly man jumped to his feet. “Tarnation and spit! What about the payroll!”“Now, now, simmer down Uriah, we don’t know nothin’ for sure.” Roscoe chided the man and he sat back down. “There ain't nothin’ we can do but wait and see.”He motioned Davy over to the bar and poured him a drink.Davy took the whiskey. “Poor Joe.”
Cedar Gulch was in an uproar by the time Marshall Collins rode back into town, two days later and empty handed. He had pursued the robbers into the hills only to find more dead bodies and no money. This lackluster homecoming had him facing angry townsfolk and frustrated miners, and a grilling at a hastily called town meeting.“What happened, Marshall?”“Where’s the payroll?”“Are there killers on the loose?”Questions bounded at him like a cold north wind and Marshall Collins shouted above the din. “Quiet down now, quiet down! I’ll tell you all what I know.”He waited until the voices subsided and continued. “As you all have heard, the stage was robbed of the payroll a few days ago and four good men were killed. Their families have my sympathies.” He nodded solemnly at the widows.“Me and my men chased after those rotten miscreants, four men in all by their tracks. We followed them into the hills, only to discover more dead men.”A gasp rose from the gathering.“It looks as though there was a falling out among the thieves that led one man gunning down his three confederates in their sleep. Near as I can figure, that last thief made off with the cash. Unfortunately we lost his trail and he’s in the wind.”Angry cries soared from the crowd and the Marshall spent the next several minutes placating the multitude and dispersing the crowd before it turned into a mob. The citizens disbanded, shuffling slowly to their homes and businesses, but a feeling of discontent hung still over the town.
Inside his saloon, down in his basement, Roscoe patted the not so empty barrel where the stolen payroll lay hidden and smiled. He knew the Marshall would keep looking for the last robber, but he also knew that man lay buried in the desert outside town with a bullet in his head.Served him right for trusting me.Now Roscoe didn't have to split the money with anyone, and no one could rat him out for being the mastermind behind the stage robbery. In a few months, he’d give them all a sob story about kin back east being sick. Then he and the money would disappear, and leave Cedar Gulch behind.He chuckled to himself and went upstairs to serve the duped townsfolk their whiskey.
Into the West
The squeak of the pointlessly spinning wheel echoed in the desert. Sunlight faded on the horizon, throwing shadows against the remains of the overturned stagecoach and the crumpled bodies that sprawled among its ruins. The dust of the robbers swirled in the distance, as those murdering varmints fled into the hills with their ill-gotten spoils, the payroll meant for the miners of Cedar Gulch...
Davy slurped back his whiskey. “Somethin’ happened to the stage, Roscoe. It ain't like Joe to be this late. It’s mornin’ for heaven’s sake and he was due last night.”The bartender nodded. “I know, but it could be they just had a broken wheel or somethin’. Don’t mean there’s trouble. `Sides, the Marshall and his posse rode out to see.”“It’ll be bad news, Roscoe, you’ll see. Bad news.”
An hour later, one of the men who rode out with Marshall Collins came back to town. Davy watched the man ride to Ed’s, the undertaker for Cedar Gulch, and he kept watching, seeing the man leave town later, accompanied by Ed, his two helpers and their large wagon.Davy burst back into the saloon. “I knew it! It’s bad! One of the posse just came and got the undertaker! Them that was on the stage is dead!”A burly man jumped to his feet. “Tarnation and spit! What about the payroll!”“Now, now, simmer down Uriah, we don’t know nothin’ for sure.” Roscoe chided the man and he sat back down. “There ain't nothin’ we can do but wait and see.”He motioned Davy over to the bar and poured him a drink.Davy took the whiskey. “Poor Joe.”
Cedar Gulch was in an uproar by the time Marshall Collins rode back into town, two days later and empty handed. He had pursued the robbers into the hills only to find more dead bodies and no money. This lackluster homecoming had him facing angry townsfolk and frustrated miners, and a grilling at a hastily called town meeting.“What happened, Marshall?”“Where’s the payroll?”“Are there killers on the loose?”Questions bounded at him like a cold north wind and Marshall Collins shouted above the din. “Quiet down now, quiet down! I’ll tell you all what I know.”He waited until the voices subsided and continued. “As you all have heard, the stage was robbed of the payroll a few days ago and four good men were killed. Their families have my sympathies.” He nodded solemnly at the widows.“Me and my men chased after those rotten miscreants, four men in all by their tracks. We followed them into the hills, only to discover more dead men.”A gasp rose from the gathering.“It looks as though there was a falling out among the thieves that led one man gunning down his three confederates in their sleep. Near as I can figure, that last thief made off with the cash. Unfortunately we lost his trail and he’s in the wind.”Angry cries soared from the crowd and the Marshall spent the next several minutes placating the multitude and dispersing the crowd before it turned into a mob. The citizens disbanded, shuffling slowly to their homes and businesses, but a feeling of discontent hung still over the town.
Inside his saloon, down in his basement, Roscoe patted the not so empty barrel where the stolen payroll lay hidden and smiled. He knew the Marshall would keep looking for the last robber, but he also knew that man lay buried in the desert outside town with a bullet in his head.Served him right for trusting me.Now Roscoe didn't have to split the money with anyone, and no one could rat him out for being the mastermind behind the stage robbery. In a few months, he’d give them all a sob story about kin back east being sick. Then he and the money would disappear, and leave Cedar Gulch behind.He chuckled to himself and went upstairs to serve the duped townsfolk their whiskey.
May 5, 2014
Short Story Month of May
The month of May is Short Story Month, so I thought I would post a few random bits of short fiction this month in honour of the short story. First up is a a story I wrote for a prompt over on Facebook, I hope you enjoy it...
House of Wyndham
Would you like to know about Wyndham House on Sycamore Drive?It imposes a presence over the neighbourhood, doesn't it? The house is old world architecture, with its stone façade and strong timbers, nestled at the far end of the street. It is tucked back from the asphalt, apart, but the house still looms in the minds of the area residents.Why you ask? Because everyone knows its history, of course. Death seeps out of each pane, rafter and stone.It started with the designer and builder of the house, Josiah Wyndham. He was the first to die, shot over his unfaithful wife in 1902. His murderer died next, apparently poisoned by Josiah’s wife, who confessed all in a letter before drowning herself in liquor and the bathtub.Josiah’s oldest son inherited the house, but he died a year later at the hands of his youngest sibling, who stabbed him during a heated argument. After that, the house passed from relative to relative, all of whom died tragically. Eventually no Wyndham would go near the place and it sat abandoned for years, until it sold in 1922. And the legacy of the house continued for decades, bouncing between owners, deaths and realtors.I've heard it said the house is cursed, that Josiah condemned it with his dying breath. Perhaps he did, but the real truth of the matter lies with the house itself. Somewhere, somehow the house is alive. Yes, alive. Not breathing, heart-beating alive, but aware nonetheless.Don’t laugh, it’s true.And worse, it collects people. All those poor souls that died within the walls of Wyndham House, well they never left. Their ghosts still roam the corridors and rooms, their phantom eyes still peer out the windows.You may scoff, I wouldn't blame you. I scoffed too, before I bought the house, before I died here. I believe now, as the days turn to years and I keep wandering the house, as my spirit stays trapped and I welcome the newly dead to our ghostly ranks.So welcome, you poor fool, to Wyndham House.
House of Wyndham
Would you like to know about Wyndham House on Sycamore Drive?It imposes a presence over the neighbourhood, doesn't it? The house is old world architecture, with its stone façade and strong timbers, nestled at the far end of the street. It is tucked back from the asphalt, apart, but the house still looms in the minds of the area residents.Why you ask? Because everyone knows its history, of course. Death seeps out of each pane, rafter and stone.It started with the designer and builder of the house, Josiah Wyndham. He was the first to die, shot over his unfaithful wife in 1902. His murderer died next, apparently poisoned by Josiah’s wife, who confessed all in a letter before drowning herself in liquor and the bathtub.Josiah’s oldest son inherited the house, but he died a year later at the hands of his youngest sibling, who stabbed him during a heated argument. After that, the house passed from relative to relative, all of whom died tragically. Eventually no Wyndham would go near the place and it sat abandoned for years, until it sold in 1922. And the legacy of the house continued for decades, bouncing between owners, deaths and realtors.I've heard it said the house is cursed, that Josiah condemned it with his dying breath. Perhaps he did, but the real truth of the matter lies with the house itself. Somewhere, somehow the house is alive. Yes, alive. Not breathing, heart-beating alive, but aware nonetheless.Don’t laugh, it’s true.And worse, it collects people. All those poor souls that died within the walls of Wyndham House, well they never left. Their ghosts still roam the corridors and rooms, their phantom eyes still peer out the windows.You may scoff, I wouldn't blame you. I scoffed too, before I bought the house, before I died here. I believe now, as the days turn to years and I keep wandering the house, as my spirit stays trapped and I welcome the newly dead to our ghostly ranks.So welcome, you poor fool, to Wyndham House.
April 30, 2014
A Poem To Close Out National Poetry Month
I've been celebrating National Poetry Month over on Facebook (with one of my poetry groups), but I thought I'd do a last hurrah here as well. So for your enjoyment, a dark poem to chill your soul...
Ashen
Path of stones, pale bonesto carry them downHear the wild wind howl
The crow caws, give pauseShadows shift aroundHear the wild wind howl
Wolf in white, need bitesavagery unboundHear the wild wind howl
A scream lost, in frostcountless echoes soundHear the wild wind howl
None to save, buried graveThe dead, in the groundHear the wild wind howl
Ashen
Path of stones, pale bonesto carry them downHear the wild wind howl
The crow caws, give pauseShadows shift aroundHear the wild wind howl
Wolf in white, need bitesavagery unboundHear the wild wind howl
A scream lost, in frostcountless echoes soundHear the wild wind howl
None to save, buried graveThe dead, in the groundHear the wild wind howl
April 29, 2014
Thrilling Thirteen: A Book Spotlight
Today I'm putting the spotlight on a unique boxed set of thrillers just released for readers, called the Thrilling Thirteen (some of you may remember the teaser I posted a while back, well this is what that post was all about). So here's the cover, a short blurb, and the links to check out this fabulous set:
The Thrilling Thirteen
The Thrilling Thirteen includes ten thrilling novels, two page-flipping novellas and an action-packed short story collection from the minds of today's bestselling and award winning authors. That's nearly 750,000 words for just a buck for a limited time only.These thrillers have received more than 500 five-stars and over 1,000 reviews.
A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series) - Gary Ponzo
Russian Hill (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) - Ty Hutchinson
Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall Series) - Ethan Jones
Look For Me (Rachel Scott Adventure) - Traci Hohenstein
The Last Horseman - Frank Zafiro
The Diplomat (Justin Hall Series) - Ethan Jones
The Recruiter (A Thriller) - Dani Amore
Mark Taylor: Genesis (Mark Taylor Series) - M.P. McDonald
In the Shadow of El Paso - Frank Zafiro
Don't Close Your Eyes (Stephanie Chalice Thriller) - Lawrence Kelter
Quicksilver (Forensic Geology Series) - Toni Dwiggins
Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery) - Debbi Mack
Absence of Light (Charlie Fox Thriller) - Zoë Sharp
You can find this fabulous book set at:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JUPQVX6/?tag=httpethanjone-20Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/thrilling-thirteenBarnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/thrilling-thirteen-ty-hutchinson/1119284010?ean=2940149605347
April 25, 2014
Interview With Author Aaron Galvin
Today I have another interview for you, with new author Aaron Galvin. He stops by to talk about writing, his debut book, Salted, and his other passion, filmmaking. Enjoy.
Interview With Aaron Galvin
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.I remain wonderfully confused at both who I am, and who I am meant to be. The larger part of me will always be Peter Pan, yet becoming a father has forced me to grow up somewhat. I’m a country boy who can pass for a city guy when/if needed. The actor in me enjoys being the center of attention, while my author side prefers the quiet escape of a hermit’s existence.My wife is a saint for tolerating me.
Can you tell us about your debut book, Salted, a YA urban fantasy novel?Definitely! Salted follows a crew of Selkie slave catchers charged with recapturing an elusive runaway. When their target leads them to deeper, darker secrets, the Selkies face a moral quandary. Secure their own freedom, or return empty-handed to face the grisly consequences.It also features a unique take/twist on mermaids. Most books I've seen about Selkies and mermaids are of the paranormal romance sort. Mine has little/no romance involved. I wanted to write a story about merfolk and Selkies that male readers could enjoy too.
Why do you find most appealing about the fantasy genre?
Anything is possible. You can go to Hogwarts and learn magic, journey to Mordor with hobbits, elves, and dwarves, or even transform into a seal and swim in the realm beneath the waves. Fantasy has always been my favorite genre. I don’t see that ever changing.
You also dabble in writing thrillers and horror. What difference and similarities do you find between the three genres?That’s a great question. The easy answer in how they’re different is fantasy contains magic, paranormal, and/or an imaginary world/universe. Thrillers promote suspense and/or excitement. Horror is, well, scary. I’m not fond of breaking them down like that, however, because I think it’s limiting. I especially don’t like the stigma associated with the horror genre that it must contain gore. Gore can be frightening, sure, but to me it’s often thrust into a story like an annoying kid trying to draw attention to themselves. The best horror lives with you after the book/movie is finished. Better yet, if you couldn't finish because it scared you that much. As for their similarities, I think the best stories contain a blend of all genres. No one does this better than Stephen King. Take my favorite King novel, The Stand, for instance. The idea of Randall Flagg embodies a twisted blend of fantasy/horror. Flagg also makes you nervous for the characters aligning and defying him, which builds the suspense all the way up to the final glorious end.That’s the kind of writing I aspire to create.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?I’m not sure where my ideas originate, honestly. I could be out to dinner when a new voice pops into my head, or even rocking my daughter to sleep. Ideas come to me all the time. The trick is learning which ones to pursue and which to let go. Most times I don’t have a choice. The voices demand to be heard.As for my writing process, I like to script a loose outline first. It could be a single sentence, paragraph, or even thirty pages, but I almost always need one in place. That doesn't mean I stick to it. Sometimes a new character’s voice will become stronger that takes me into unknown territory. My character Chidi (pronounced Chee-dee) for instance. In my initial outline, she was a background player only. As I continued writing, however, I found that I couldn't contain her spirit. She burst onto the pages until I gave way. I can’t imagine the story without her now.For routine, I like to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then, I reread the previous chapter to get me in the right mindset. If nothing is happening, I stare at my computer screen until something does.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?My prose. I’ll improve, but no one will ever consider me the next Cormac McCarthy.
You've also worked in film, as an actor, producer and writer. Do you find the two creative endeavors (novel writing and filmmaking) complement each other? Are there certain aspects in common to both disciplines?They’re both great creative outlets, but two very different animals. I love filmmaking because it physically brings your ideas to life. The tradeoff is you lose autonomy. Unless you’re James Cameron, (and even he probably experiences this), there will be others who have say in the final product. Now, not only are you trying to do justice to what the characters in your head want, there are physical voices added into the mix; the director, producers, and actors who bring their own insight to the characters/world you've created. Filmmaking also limits you with budgetary constraints, schedules of the players involved, and length of time you have to tell the story. When I produced an indie feature film, I was frustrated at times by how long everything took for completion. I had to accommodate other’s schedules. As an author, I only have to look in the mirror if something isn't being done and needs changed. It’s all on my shoulders to sink or swim. I enjoy that freedom immensely.
Who has inspired you as a writer and author?Stephen King, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Lloyd Alexander, J.K. Rowling, and George R.R. Martin have all been major inspirations to me as an author. I've also been inspired by J.J. Abrams, Damon Lindelof, Vince Gilligan, and I am in awe of how well David Benioff and D.B. Weiss have translated GRRM’s Song of Ice and Fire series into HBO’s Game of Thrones.
What’s next for you?I’m currently working on Taken With A Grain of Salt, the sequel to Salted. I’m around 10k words in and it’s flowing well. I can’t wait to share the story with readers.
About the Author:
Salted is Aaron Galvin's debut novel.
He first cut his chops writing original stand-up comedy routines at age thirteen. His early works paid off years later when he co-wrote and executive produced the 2013 award-winning indie feature film, Wedding Bells & Shotgun Shells.
He is also an accomplished actor. Aaron has worked in Hollywood blockbusters, (Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, and Clint Eastwood’s Flags of Our Fathers), and starred in dozens of indie films.
Aaron is a proud member of SCBWI. He lives in Southern California with his wife and daughter.
You can find more on Aaron and his writing at these sites:
Website/Blog: www.aarongalvin.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/saltseries
Twitter: https://twitter.com/aarongalvin5
Salted is available here:
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00JSKYEB4
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/427935
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21528339-salted
Interview With Aaron Galvin
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.I remain wonderfully confused at both who I am, and who I am meant to be. The larger part of me will always be Peter Pan, yet becoming a father has forced me to grow up somewhat. I’m a country boy who can pass for a city guy when/if needed. The actor in me enjoys being the center of attention, while my author side prefers the quiet escape of a hermit’s existence.My wife is a saint for tolerating me.Can you tell us about your debut book, Salted, a YA urban fantasy novel?Definitely! Salted follows a crew of Selkie slave catchers charged with recapturing an elusive runaway. When their target leads them to deeper, darker secrets, the Selkies face a moral quandary. Secure their own freedom, or return empty-handed to face the grisly consequences.It also features a unique take/twist on mermaids. Most books I've seen about Selkies and mermaids are of the paranormal romance sort. Mine has little/no romance involved. I wanted to write a story about merfolk and Selkies that male readers could enjoy too.
Why do you find most appealing about the fantasy genre?
Anything is possible. You can go to Hogwarts and learn magic, journey to Mordor with hobbits, elves, and dwarves, or even transform into a seal and swim in the realm beneath the waves. Fantasy has always been my favorite genre. I don’t see that ever changing.You also dabble in writing thrillers and horror. What difference and similarities do you find between the three genres?That’s a great question. The easy answer in how they’re different is fantasy contains magic, paranormal, and/or an imaginary world/universe. Thrillers promote suspense and/or excitement. Horror is, well, scary. I’m not fond of breaking them down like that, however, because I think it’s limiting. I especially don’t like the stigma associated with the horror genre that it must contain gore. Gore can be frightening, sure, but to me it’s often thrust into a story like an annoying kid trying to draw attention to themselves. The best horror lives with you after the book/movie is finished. Better yet, if you couldn't finish because it scared you that much. As for their similarities, I think the best stories contain a blend of all genres. No one does this better than Stephen King. Take my favorite King novel, The Stand, for instance. The idea of Randall Flagg embodies a twisted blend of fantasy/horror. Flagg also makes you nervous for the characters aligning and defying him, which builds the suspense all the way up to the final glorious end.That’s the kind of writing I aspire to create.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?I’m not sure where my ideas originate, honestly. I could be out to dinner when a new voice pops into my head, or even rocking my daughter to sleep. Ideas come to me all the time. The trick is learning which ones to pursue and which to let go. Most times I don’t have a choice. The voices demand to be heard.As for my writing process, I like to script a loose outline first. It could be a single sentence, paragraph, or even thirty pages, but I almost always need one in place. That doesn't mean I stick to it. Sometimes a new character’s voice will become stronger that takes me into unknown territory. My character Chidi (pronounced Chee-dee) for instance. In my initial outline, she was a background player only. As I continued writing, however, I found that I couldn't contain her spirit. She burst onto the pages until I gave way. I can’t imagine the story without her now.For routine, I like to make a fresh pot of coffee. Then, I reread the previous chapter to get me in the right mindset. If nothing is happening, I stare at my computer screen until something does.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?My prose. I’ll improve, but no one will ever consider me the next Cormac McCarthy.
You've also worked in film, as an actor, producer and writer. Do you find the two creative endeavors (novel writing and filmmaking) complement each other? Are there certain aspects in common to both disciplines?They’re both great creative outlets, but two very different animals. I love filmmaking because it physically brings your ideas to life. The tradeoff is you lose autonomy. Unless you’re James Cameron, (and even he probably experiences this), there will be others who have say in the final product. Now, not only are you trying to do justice to what the characters in your head want, there are physical voices added into the mix; the director, producers, and actors who bring their own insight to the characters/world you've created. Filmmaking also limits you with budgetary constraints, schedules of the players involved, and length of time you have to tell the story. When I produced an indie feature film, I was frustrated at times by how long everything took for completion. I had to accommodate other’s schedules. As an author, I only have to look in the mirror if something isn't being done and needs changed. It’s all on my shoulders to sink or swim. I enjoy that freedom immensely.
Who has inspired you as a writer and author?Stephen King, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Lloyd Alexander, J.K. Rowling, and George R.R. Martin have all been major inspirations to me as an author. I've also been inspired by J.J. Abrams, Damon Lindelof, Vince Gilligan, and I am in awe of how well David Benioff and D.B. Weiss have translated GRRM’s Song of Ice and Fire series into HBO’s Game of Thrones.
What’s next for you?I’m currently working on Taken With A Grain of Salt, the sequel to Salted. I’m around 10k words in and it’s flowing well. I can’t wait to share the story with readers.
About the Author:
Salted is Aaron Galvin's debut novel.
He first cut his chops writing original stand-up comedy routines at age thirteen. His early works paid off years later when he co-wrote and executive produced the 2013 award-winning indie feature film, Wedding Bells & Shotgun Shells.
He is also an accomplished actor. Aaron has worked in Hollywood blockbusters, (Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, and Clint Eastwood’s Flags of Our Fathers), and starred in dozens of indie films.
Aaron is a proud member of SCBWI. He lives in Southern California with his wife and daughter.
You can find more on Aaron and his writing at these sites:
Website/Blog: www.aarongalvin.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/saltseries
Twitter: https://twitter.com/aarongalvin5
Salted is available here:
Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00JSKYEB4
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/427935
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21528339-salted
April 23, 2014
Never Give Up: A Guest Post by JoAnne Myers
Here's the second appearance of JoAnne Myers on the blog. Today she's here to share an excerpt from her book Loves, Myths and Monsters, and to talk about artistic passion, and never giving up on your dreams.
NEVER GIVE UP
For as long as I can remember, I have had an artistic flare-whether that be for writing, painting, sewing or drawing. I recall as a child how much I enjoyed drawing. The writing came later. My seventh grade English teacher was Mrs. Henderson-a young mother and wife. She gave us a writing assignment and after gifting me with an A+ told me I should consider writing as a career. She meant as a journalist. I did not take her advise and become a journalist (one of my many misgivings). My mind went toward other things as many young girls dream of-a husband, home, and family of my own. I put my love for writing and painting on hold for years. I unfortunately married a man who like my mother never encouraged me to be artistic. It was not until my children were grown and I no longer had a husband, that I went back to my first love-art. I got a late start, but always encouraged my children and others to partake of artistic endeavors. I now have six books under contract with two publishing houses. So my words to you all, is that no matter what road you choose, never forget your passion, and always keep it close to heart. Don’t let anyone or anything stop you from enjoying your natural talents. You might need to put art on a temporary hold, but never ever give up.
You can find JoAnne online at:
http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/
http://twitter.com/scooterismine/
http://www.facebook.com/joanne.myers.927
Loves, Myths and Monsters
Eleven fantasy tales entwined within the human world
Welcome To Anna
Little does 17 year old Zoe, realize, but the Chupracabra followed her to Ohio from South America. What happens next is a series of chilling mysteries, and unsuspecting friendships and love.
The Hunter's Bride
When all game warden Daren Abram, had to worry about was which lucky lady to woo, he comes to the realization that his town is being stalked by the reincarnation of the town's legend.
Moon People
For teenage mermaid Constance, coming to the quaint seaside town of Willowick, is heavenly, until she falls for mortal boy Drake. For the town to survive, Constance is forced to choose between her kind and the boy and town she loves.
The Pack
When young Lycan Sonny Red Blanket, a Shawnee Indian falls for mortal girl Drenda Way, he must save her from his fellow Lycan's and stop a werewolf uprising.
The Bidding
Apiologist 34-year-old Duncan McPherson goes to Circleville, Ohio, to investigate a series of mysterious bee attacks. What is uncovered proves to be more dark and sinister then anyone imaged.
The Agreement
Incarcerated in the abandoned Roseville jail, is the last thing rich college student and speeder Brice Conrad, needs. With an "agreement" between the town and a permanent demonic "guest", only the unfortunate ones know the truth, but do not live to tell.
For The Love Of Ginnie
Handsome bachelor and Scientist Alex Anderson from the thirtieth century, returns to the Civil War with time serum to save his beloved Ginnie Wade from a snipers bullet, while finding a roller coaster ride of joy and perils.
Is It Only A Myth?
When 32-year-old Vinton County Sheriff, James "Jim" Connors, discovers he has a Mothman hunting in his county, he stops at nothing to save his citizens.
The Proposition
The rough and ready cowboy John Queenie gets the shock of his life, when the ad to break a "wild filly" turns out to be a fiery Quaker girl named Tess. This is a story proving love conquers all.
The House On Shady Lane
A seemingly loving family turns out to be serial killers in 1873.
Love's Curse
When an Egypt love curse scroll is stolen from a Dean's office, persons begin dying in bizarre and grisly ways, with the college's mascot a Viking King statue jokingly blamed for it.
Buy links:
Excerpt from For the Love of Ginnie
I don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was because I was tired of bachelorhood. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia “Ginnie” Wade I had read about.
These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to the bar to meet my best friend Will.
Will’s favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route 93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place became a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The invention of the transporter also replaced many other primitive jobs such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.
“The Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A” clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.
I pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the baby-faced valet, by-passed the doorman with no questions asked. Just an exchange of large smiles between us. Will was also part-owner.
As I entered the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will immediately spotted me and motioned me toward the bar with his diamond embellished hand.
I loved sitting at the bar. It was the perfect place to see the shows. “Two double scotches and water,” Will said, as we shook hands, and I slid into my seat beside him, just as the tall, leggy waitress produced the drinks in an instant.
I immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife” robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially females.
“I don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said, cautiously sipping my drink. The immense emptiness of not being able to acquire a wife and soul mate, I felt at this age in my life, almost drove me to alcoholism, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my life and promising career.
“Because, dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”
“Ugh!” I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.
“Come on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another round of drinks. “You’re alive, so act like it. Don’t let your beautiful mind go to waste. This world needs people like you. People started treating me like a god once I became an entrepreneur, and I love it.”
I had to laugh. Maybe my self-pity stage had outlived its use. Only I can find a wife for myself. I certainly won’t ask Will to hook me up. His sense of values are as artificial as the women he beds.
The pain and loneliness I felt at times from yearning for a life-long partner and family wasn’t easy to accomplish. Scientific and Medical technology still could not reverse the sterilization effects on the female species.
Sure there were some human women to date. But most were either sterile, too old, too young, or there was just no chemistry between the two of us. I wanted that spark that unites between two people madly in love...like my parents. I never met any couple happier with one another then my beloved parents. That’s the kind of love I want…never ending.
The emptiness and frustration of not finding companionship at times made me want to die. But that was the loneliness talking. I know that now. I love life. I want to live, and I know who I want for a wife. It’s just that meeting her would be a little tricky.
Abruptly, I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”
“Are you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for hundreds of years, and failed.”
“Maybe they failed because they weren't Doctor Gabry and me.”
Will looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”
“We discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We believe this is the answer.”
“So who is to be the Guinea pig?”
“Me.”
Silence came from Will, then a gasp. “That could be suicide.”
“Or the biggest discovery of the thirtieth century.”
Loves, Myths and Monsters is available from:
Melange Books
In Paperback from Lulu.com
Or on Amazon Kindle
NEVER GIVE UP
For as long as I can remember, I have had an artistic flare-whether that be for writing, painting, sewing or drawing. I recall as a child how much I enjoyed drawing. The writing came later. My seventh grade English teacher was Mrs. Henderson-a young mother and wife. She gave us a writing assignment and after gifting me with an A+ told me I should consider writing as a career. She meant as a journalist. I did not take her advise and become a journalist (one of my many misgivings). My mind went toward other things as many young girls dream of-a husband, home, and family of my own. I put my love for writing and painting on hold for years. I unfortunately married a man who like my mother never encouraged me to be artistic. It was not until my children were grown and I no longer had a husband, that I went back to my first love-art. I got a late start, but always encouraged my children and others to partake of artistic endeavors. I now have six books under contract with two publishing houses. So my words to you all, is that no matter what road you choose, never forget your passion, and always keep it close to heart. Don’t let anyone or anything stop you from enjoying your natural talents. You might need to put art on a temporary hold, but never ever give up.You can find JoAnne online at:
http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/
http://twitter.com/scooterismine/
http://www.facebook.com/joanne.myers.927
Loves, Myths and Monsters
Eleven fantasy tales entwined within the human world
Welcome To Anna
Little does 17 year old Zoe, realize, but the Chupracabra followed her to Ohio from South America. What happens next is a series of chilling mysteries, and unsuspecting friendships and love.
The Hunter's Bride
When all game warden Daren Abram, had to worry about was which lucky lady to woo, he comes to the realization that his town is being stalked by the reincarnation of the town's legend.
Moon People
For teenage mermaid Constance, coming to the quaint seaside town of Willowick, is heavenly, until she falls for mortal boy Drake. For the town to survive, Constance is forced to choose between her kind and the boy and town she loves.
The Pack
When young Lycan Sonny Red Blanket, a Shawnee Indian falls for mortal girl Drenda Way, he must save her from his fellow Lycan's and stop a werewolf uprising.
The Bidding
Apiologist 34-year-old Duncan McPherson goes to Circleville, Ohio, to investigate a series of mysterious bee attacks. What is uncovered proves to be more dark and sinister then anyone imaged.
The Agreement
Incarcerated in the abandoned Roseville jail, is the last thing rich college student and speeder Brice Conrad, needs. With an "agreement" between the town and a permanent demonic "guest", only the unfortunate ones know the truth, but do not live to tell.
For The Love Of Ginnie
Handsome bachelor and Scientist Alex Anderson from the thirtieth century, returns to the Civil War with time serum to save his beloved Ginnie Wade from a snipers bullet, while finding a roller coaster ride of joy and perils.
Is It Only A Myth?
When 32-year-old Vinton County Sheriff, James "Jim" Connors, discovers he has a Mothman hunting in his county, he stops at nothing to save his citizens.
The Proposition
The rough and ready cowboy John Queenie gets the shock of his life, when the ad to break a "wild filly" turns out to be a fiery Quaker girl named Tess. This is a story proving love conquers all.
The House On Shady Lane
A seemingly loving family turns out to be serial killers in 1873.
Love's Curse
When an Egypt love curse scroll is stolen from a Dean's office, persons begin dying in bizarre and grisly ways, with the college's mascot a Viking King statue jokingly blamed for it.
Buy links:
Excerpt from For the Love of Ginnie
I don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was because I was tired of bachelorhood. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia “Ginnie” Wade I had read about.
These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to the bar to meet my best friend Will.
Will’s favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route 93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place became a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The invention of the transporter also replaced many other primitive jobs such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.
“The Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A” clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.
I pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the baby-faced valet, by-passed the doorman with no questions asked. Just an exchange of large smiles between us. Will was also part-owner.
As I entered the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will immediately spotted me and motioned me toward the bar with his diamond embellished hand.
I loved sitting at the bar. It was the perfect place to see the shows. “Two double scotches and water,” Will said, as we shook hands, and I slid into my seat beside him, just as the tall, leggy waitress produced the drinks in an instant.
I immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife” robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially females.
“I don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said, cautiously sipping my drink. The immense emptiness of not being able to acquire a wife and soul mate, I felt at this age in my life, almost drove me to alcoholism, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my life and promising career.
“Because, dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”
“Ugh!” I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.
“Come on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another round of drinks. “You’re alive, so act like it. Don’t let your beautiful mind go to waste. This world needs people like you. People started treating me like a god once I became an entrepreneur, and I love it.”
I had to laugh. Maybe my self-pity stage had outlived its use. Only I can find a wife for myself. I certainly won’t ask Will to hook me up. His sense of values are as artificial as the women he beds.
The pain and loneliness I felt at times from yearning for a life-long partner and family wasn’t easy to accomplish. Scientific and Medical technology still could not reverse the sterilization effects on the female species.
Sure there were some human women to date. But most were either sterile, too old, too young, or there was just no chemistry between the two of us. I wanted that spark that unites between two people madly in love...like my parents. I never met any couple happier with one another then my beloved parents. That’s the kind of love I want…never ending.
The emptiness and frustration of not finding companionship at times made me want to die. But that was the loneliness talking. I know that now. I love life. I want to live, and I know who I want for a wife. It’s just that meeting her would be a little tricky.
Abruptly, I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”
“Are you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for hundreds of years, and failed.”
“Maybe they failed because they weren't Doctor Gabry and me.”
Will looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”
“We discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We believe this is the answer.”
“So who is to be the Guinea pig?”
“Me.”
Silence came from Will, then a gasp. “That could be suicide.”
“Or the biggest discovery of the thirtieth century.”
Loves, Myths and Monsters is available from:
Melange Books
In Paperback from Lulu.com
Or on Amazon Kindle
April 22, 2014
Interview With Author JoAnne Myers
Today on the blog, I have the first of a two part appearance by author JoAnne Myers. To begin, I have for you an interview with her, where she chats about her books, and writing. And tomorrow she'll be stopping by with a guest post and an excerpt from one of her books. Enjoy...
Interview with JoAnne Myers
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.
I have been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and worked in the blue-collar industry most of my life. Besides having several novels under my belt, I canvas paint.
When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, I spend time with relatives, my dog Jasmine, and volunteer my time within the community. I am a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill's Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. I believe in family values and following your dreams. My original canvas paintings, can be found at: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com
You write in multiple genres and cross genres, such as true crime, mystery, fantasy and paranormal. What appeals to you about these genres?
I have a lot of interests.
With fantasy, you have myths, legends, fairy-tales, and your imagination to conjure up a story. With paranormal you have ghosts and the afterlife to play with, and I do believe in an afterlife. True crime is just that, factual details, that someone experienced. Writing mystery is fun because of the mystery and twists and turns involved. The writer must decide who are the good guys, the bad guys, and the type of mystery involved; whether that is a bank heist, a kidnapping, or a buried treasure to search for.
Can you tell us about bit about your books?
Murder Most Foul, is a detective/mystery. Wicked Intentions, is a paranormal/mystery. The Crime of the Century, is an actual homicide case from my area. Loves, Myths, and Monsters, is a fantasy anthology starring the Chupracabra, the Mothman, reincarnation, time travel, an Egyptian love curse, a demonic cellmate, a Quaker love story set in the 1700's, Werewolves, and a serial killer family from the 1870's.
You also write poetry. Do you find being a poet enhances your writing when penning a novel?
I think it might help with the romance within a novel. Poetry seems to bring out the passive side of a person, making them more receptive to love.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?
My monster anthology stemmed from my love for monster movies when I was a child; Count Dracula and the Wolfman. The paranormal anthology came from my watching real life paranormal stories on television, and from a newspaper article. Stories from others who claimed to have experienced ghost encounters and psychic dreams. I don't have a certain writing routine. I just write about what tickles my fancy at the time. Some of my stories took years to complete, others took a few months. I find true crime stories more difficult and time consuming. The writer must scour court documents, newspaper clippings, interview those involved with the case, which I found to be exhausting. With true crime the writer must get the facts straight, not just make up things as he goes along like I often do with fiction stories.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?
Becoming successful.
Who has inspired you as an author?
I have always been able to write and paint, even as a child. I love books by Gregg Olsen, Ann Rule, Ann Rice and Aphrodite Jones.
You are also a painter. Do you find that being an artist helps your writing, in ways such as being able to visualize scenes?
Yes I do believe my painting helps me as a writer. While I paint a scene, whether that be a beach or landscape scene, I often think “wouldn't this be a nice place to write about?”
What’s next for you?
My biography true crime anthology, Twisted Love, is being released May 10, by Black Rose Writing. Later in 2014, Flagitious, a detective/mystery novella anthology will be available through Melange Books.
You can find out more about JoAnne at her website: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com
or follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/scooterismine/
Interview with JoAnne Myers
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.
I have been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and worked in the blue-collar industry most of my life. Besides having several novels under my belt, I canvas paint.
When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, I spend time with relatives, my dog Jasmine, and volunteer my time within the community. I am a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill's Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. I believe in family values and following your dreams. My original canvas paintings, can be found at: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com
You write in multiple genres and cross genres, such as true crime, mystery, fantasy and paranormal. What appeals to you about these genres?
I have a lot of interests.
With fantasy, you have myths, legends, fairy-tales, and your imagination to conjure up a story. With paranormal you have ghosts and the afterlife to play with, and I do believe in an afterlife. True crime is just that, factual details, that someone experienced. Writing mystery is fun because of the mystery and twists and turns involved. The writer must decide who are the good guys, the bad guys, and the type of mystery involved; whether that is a bank heist, a kidnapping, or a buried treasure to search for.
Can you tell us about bit about your books?
Murder Most Foul, is a detective/mystery. Wicked Intentions, is a paranormal/mystery. The Crime of the Century, is an actual homicide case from my area. Loves, Myths, and Monsters, is a fantasy anthology starring the Chupracabra, the Mothman, reincarnation, time travel, an Egyptian love curse, a demonic cellmate, a Quaker love story set in the 1700's, Werewolves, and a serial killer family from the 1870's.
You also write poetry. Do you find being a poet enhances your writing when penning a novel?
I think it might help with the romance within a novel. Poetry seems to bring out the passive side of a person, making them more receptive to love.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?
My monster anthology stemmed from my love for monster movies when I was a child; Count Dracula and the Wolfman. The paranormal anthology came from my watching real life paranormal stories on television, and from a newspaper article. Stories from others who claimed to have experienced ghost encounters and psychic dreams. I don't have a certain writing routine. I just write about what tickles my fancy at the time. Some of my stories took years to complete, others took a few months. I find true crime stories more difficult and time consuming. The writer must scour court documents, newspaper clippings, interview those involved with the case, which I found to be exhausting. With true crime the writer must get the facts straight, not just make up things as he goes along like I often do with fiction stories.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?
Becoming successful.
Who has inspired you as an author?
I have always been able to write and paint, even as a child. I love books by Gregg Olsen, Ann Rule, Ann Rice and Aphrodite Jones.
You are also a painter. Do you find that being an artist helps your writing, in ways such as being able to visualize scenes?
Yes I do believe my painting helps me as a writer. While I paint a scene, whether that be a beach or landscape scene, I often think “wouldn't this be a nice place to write about?”
What’s next for you?
My biography true crime anthology, Twisted Love, is being released May 10, by Black Rose Writing. Later in 2014, Flagitious, a detective/mystery novella anthology will be available through Melange Books.
You can find out more about JoAnne at her website: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com
or follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/scooterismine/
April 17, 2014
A Chat About Summoned by Rainy Kaye
Today the blog is playing host to author Rainy Kaye as she stops by on her blog tour for her new book, Summoned. There's have a sneak peek at the book, plus a little insight into how it's opening sentence came about. Oh, and there's a contest too, at the bottom of the post. Enjoy!
Here's a few words from the author on her book, and a short excerpt:
Why I Love the First Line in Summoned
“I dislike having to murder someone.”
Through revisions and edits, this first line has remained untouched. I wanted something that conveyed Dimitri's take on his entire world: his detached disdain for being made to do horrible things. It's too easy to fall into the trap of making characters accepting of committing crimes a normal person wouldn't even consider, so it was important to me to that Dimitri wasn't apathetic even if resigned.
Of course, an opening line should do more than introduce the character; it should lead into the scene too. And there is one thing he hates worse than killing. . .
“I dislike having to murder someone. Kidnapping is worse. At least when I setup a kill, I know what's coming. No connections, no honesty, no surprises. Everything I say and do are just steps to luring in my victim. Once the victim falls right into the trap, the next move is swift: crushed windpipe, fatal concussion, or a good ol' fashioned headshot.Kidnapping, on the other hand, is a little trickier. First, the victim has an opportunity to respond. I don't like this. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they manage to alert the authorities. And sometimes they escape, usually by inflicting bodily harm on me.
Dead people don't retaliate. Kidnapped ones, well, they're a little more . . . lively.
The second major difference between killing and kidnapping is my conscience. I get in and out with a kill. We have no chance to bond.
Abductees require a little more one-on-one. As much as I try to keep the switch turned off, I can't help but listen to their pleas and demands. And I usually realize I'm a jerk.
That's exactly where I find myself one late afternoon in June. I prefer doing this at night, but moreover, I would prefer not doing this at all.
Instead, I have a belligerent nine year old girl sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda Accord, shackles on her wrists and ankles and a small stuffed bunny on her lap. She's eyeing me in a way that makes me self-conscious. Like I'm the bad guy.
Probably because I am the bad guy.”
Summoned by Rainy Kaye
Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.
Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can't tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn't the type to tolerate secrets.
Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl's ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.
Find out more at http://www.summonedtheseries.com
Summoned is available at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Summoned-Rainy-Kaye-ebook/dp/B00JAZT88G/
Author Bio
Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at RainyoftheDark.com and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter (@rainyofthedark). She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
Her Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/rainyofthedark
And here's the Rafflecopter contest for Summoned:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Here's a few words from the author on her book, and a short excerpt:
Why I Love the First Line in Summoned
“I dislike having to murder someone.”
Through revisions and edits, this first line has remained untouched. I wanted something that conveyed Dimitri's take on his entire world: his detached disdain for being made to do horrible things. It's too easy to fall into the trap of making characters accepting of committing crimes a normal person wouldn't even consider, so it was important to me to that Dimitri wasn't apathetic even if resigned.
Of course, an opening line should do more than introduce the character; it should lead into the scene too. And there is one thing he hates worse than killing. . .
“I dislike having to murder someone. Kidnapping is worse. At least when I setup a kill, I know what's coming. No connections, no honesty, no surprises. Everything I say and do are just steps to luring in my victim. Once the victim falls right into the trap, the next move is swift: crushed windpipe, fatal concussion, or a good ol' fashioned headshot.Kidnapping, on the other hand, is a little trickier. First, the victim has an opportunity to respond. I don't like this. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they manage to alert the authorities. And sometimes they escape, usually by inflicting bodily harm on me.
Dead people don't retaliate. Kidnapped ones, well, they're a little more . . . lively.
The second major difference between killing and kidnapping is my conscience. I get in and out with a kill. We have no chance to bond.
Abductees require a little more one-on-one. As much as I try to keep the switch turned off, I can't help but listen to their pleas and demands. And I usually realize I'm a jerk.
That's exactly where I find myself one late afternoon in June. I prefer doing this at night, but moreover, I would prefer not doing this at all.
Instead, I have a belligerent nine year old girl sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda Accord, shackles on her wrists and ankles and a small stuffed bunny on her lap. She's eyeing me in a way that makes me self-conscious. Like I'm the bad guy.
Probably because I am the bad guy.”
Summoned by Rainy KayeTwenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.
Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can't tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn't the type to tolerate secrets.
Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl's ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.
Find out more at http://www.summonedtheseries.com
Summoned is available at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Summoned-Rainy-Kaye-ebook/dp/B00JAZT88G/
Author Bio
Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at RainyoftheDark.com and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter (@rainyofthedark). She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
Her Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/rainyofthedark
And here's the Rafflecopter contest for Summoned:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
