Adri Sinclair's Blog, page 20

Chat with Ian Gessey – Author

I met Ian Gessey when he put a call out for reviews of a short story – which I took a chance to read. BOY was I happy [and slightly agitated] I responded! You can read my review here, and see why I was ever so POSITIVELY disappointed: The Assignment.Read the Rest...

Flash-Fiction by Merrit Kelly

I met Merrit during a FB party - yes, those things exists and I will be co-hosting on the 16th of June with great Authors Like Jen Winters, Merrit Kelly, Julie Nicholls and many many more. But this post is not about that. It is about Merrit!
Merrit recently published her Debut Novel:
Cullenary Seduction -
You may remember I put a bit up about that! It is a spicy romance happening in the kitchen... and we ALLL know kitchens aren't just for cooking.

Merrit writes flash fiction too, based on pictures she takes. This is another passion she shares with her brilliant hubby.
You can see hubby's art right over here...

So without further babbles from me, I share with you a beautiful bit passionate writing.

Jenna, by Merrit Kelly

It was perfect . Yellow with the palest blush of pink at the tips. It glowed from within. The fragrance was intoxicating. He had never seen a rose more beautiful, and yet it still paled in comparison. It wasn’t her soft, dark auburn hair that fell to her shoulders, or her warm welcoming smile. And, it certainly couldn’t compare to the way her green eyes danced playfully when she laughed. Still, it was a close as he would ever come.. It was the perfect way to remember her. He'd name it after her, Jenna. Whenever he felt lost or alone he could come out and water her, uh it. He could water it, and breathe in her perfume. The blooms would last a few weeks. He wasn’t sure how he would feel once she was barren, bereft of blooms. Then, it would feel as if she were really gone. He would be reduced to crossing the days off on the calendar until she bloomed again.

He wiped a tear from his bright blue eyes, and looked out across the garden. It was early yet. The cool air and high humidity created damp, heavy dew on things. The row of rose bushes at the far end of the garden stood proudly, elegantly apart from the rest. Even to the casual observer it was clear the gardener took special care with them. He took off his baseball cap and stuffed it brim first into the back pocket of his jeans. He didn’t care if he got a little wet. It was a mist really, not rain.

Jenna McQaid was the love of his life and the rose he'd created was his tribute to her. They met in 1972 at Boyd Castle’s 21st birthday barbecue bash. Jenna was fun, forthright, and fearless. When she walked up to him and told him he had eyes like Paul Newman, he was a goner. He would have rathered she told him he looked like Redford instead of Newman, but he’d take what he could get. A flurry of dates followed. He’d even considered asking her to marry him when a little invitation from Uncle Sam halted him in his tracks. They exchanged a few letters at first, when he didn’t commit they stopped. He couldn’t expect her to wait for him. Instead, he did his tour of duty with her picture tucked under his shirt close to his heart.

When he made it home in one piece he heard she married and moved way. He wasn’t surprised, but he was devastated. He’d never felt that kind of electricity, closeness with another woman before or since. He never married, choosing to live a quiet life. The garden was his lifeline, his therapy. It kept the nightmares and the stress away. Over time it grew into a much bigger project than he originally envisioned. There was a vegetable garden, a meditation garden, but people came from everywhere to see his flowers especially, his roses. His roses were famous.

Thank you Merrit, for this sweet, powerful, heart-punching bit of writing! My goodness lady!

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Flash-Fiction with Merrit Kelly!

I met Merrit during a FB party – yes, those things exists and I will be co-hosting on the 16th of June with great Authors Like Jen Winters, Merrit Kelly, Julie Nicholls and many many more. But this post is not about that. It is about Merrit! Merrit recently publishedRead the Rest...

Stories with Mr. Tom Hodden - Author

Oooh Exciting stuff today! Tom Hodden has been a good friend to me for a time now. He has been supportive of our little hang out here too, and when he saw my call for Author's to come forward - Tom didn't hesitate to put his hand up and offer to help.
So a hearty, friendly welcome Mr. Tom Hodden!

If you'd like to read more of his work, you can find it here - he has quite the selection of reads!

- And you can stalk him here! 

---------------------------- Happy Reading! -----------
Most people would think this was the perfect night to snuggle up to somebody warm and bask in the glow of the television. Or to stay late in the pub and keep the cold away with a few drinks, or more than a few judging by how little those girls have on as they stagger from one bar to the next, saying too loudly the kind of stuff they would regret if they could remember it the next morning. That is a bad omen. For some reason drunks always feel the need to follow me. To heckle. Like they have something to prove.

Like I don't have enough trouble on my round.

Yeah, most people would see this as the perfect night to do anything else. But with the clear night full of stars, and a light frost painting the town silver, I think this is the perfect night for a walk with the ghosts.

I start in the market place. There are three pubs and a Chinese place around the square, and it is the quickest route between a lot of other bars and locals, so it is pro bably best to start here before the bells ring out for last orders. The Guild Hall is raised over the market place on a few pillars of stone, and more of solid oak. It is a venerable old building, painted a pastel shade, and the little bell at the crown polished to a shine though it has not rung in decades.

Few people pass under the hall at night, they skirt around it. Even if it is the most direct route, people veer away from the shadows beneath the hall, and few even know why instinctively add a few extra meters to their walk. The kids who insist on carving their names into surface that can be despoiled show an unusual respect to the pillars with out knowing it.

I step from the red brick of the road to the flagstone of the market place, from the amber street light to the inky shadows and I step towards the heart of the sheltered square. I can instantly feel Wendy watching me, though it takes me a few seconds to blink her into focus. She is stood where the shadows are darkest, dressed in the boots, trousers, shirt and jumper of a farmer, several decades out of touch. Her hair is tied back so it looks short, and a cigarette hangs from her lips. She looks bleached of colour, faded grey and caked in dust. Her skin is pale, her hair is near white, with only a hint of the red and brown that it carried in life. Even tired, weary, and creased in worry her face holds a gentle beauty.

She stares at me, suspicion in her eyes.

“Hello Wendy.” I smile as I greet her. I try to look harmless. “You don't have to wait here.”

She looks at me, but she shows no sign of hearing me.

“He isn't coming. You can walk on.” I try to make it sound like she can walk on home, but she won't have to go that far. A little way from her anchor point and she will fade into the Light. I offer her my hand. “Do you want me to see you home?”

“My husband will be here soon.” She says firmly, but cheerfully. “I have to wait for him. To walk him home.”

I wonder for a moment how hard I should try to get her to move on. Part of her knows that her husband did arrive back in fifty four, and that with a stomach full of bitter and a head full of gossip he figured she had been playing away. He didn't mean to kill her. The punch to the back of her head was just to knock her down, but she cracked her head on the stone. Knocked herself out and never woke up.

Sometimes she remembers. The Police get called when people hear the shrill shrieks of shock and anguish. But she will never leave. She becomes a scream in the night, no body or shadow, just the sound. The next time the moon is full, there she will be, waiting for her husband, clinging to the last few moments before her murder. When her life was full of happy expectation.

“You sure you want to stay?” I ask. I offer my hand again. She has to take it willingly.

She looks at me. “I wont go.” She says with ersatz joy. She steps away from me.

I take my hand back. She is still tied to her spot, and there is nothing I can do to make her. Instead I reach into my pocket and toss her a paper bag. “Here, at least keep a little of the cold out.”

“Kendal Mint Cake?” She takes one of the cubes of mint fondant out the bag and puts it in her mouth. For a second, just a second, she is rose cheeked and flushed with all the colour of life. She looks at me. “My favourite.”

I smile. “See you soon Wendy.”

She is as happy as she will let herself be when I walk on. It is all I can do. I pass the vast brick buildings. I pause as a woman comes out of one of the pubs. She is not drunk. She has not quite joined any of the conversations. She has been hanging around in the crowd, surrounded by people but still all alone. She holds a plastic bag from the off license, four cans of a particular brand of lager. I pause and glance past her to the bar, wondering who she is in a hurry to avoid. A tired looking man, stout, older, ruddy faced from a few too many totes, is staring after her, his eyes full of apologies.

“Lisa.” I say her name as she is about to walk on. She looks back at me, frowning, trying to work out how I know her name.

“Maybe you should leave Mark tonight. Remember him another way.” I try to smile. “And maybe not make yourself feel so alone? Eh?”

“Do I know you?” She demands.

“Not exactly. I...” I breathe in. “But I know of you. And... I know nobody else in the world feels the same loss you do, or can begin to imagine how much pain you have been in, I lost people too. And I don't think... I just don't think the best way to remember him is to wait by the ring road and punish yourself.”

She swears under her breath then tells me it is none of my business. So I walk on. I make a mental note to keep an eye out for her later.

On one side of the road is a brewery that still makes beer. Across the road is another brewery that is now a super market. As I pass a cross roads, I am in a street of terrace town houses. Most are Regency, stone and brick with tall sash windows and decorative flourishes. It is a wide street, with scattered trees and a park that does not fit. It is a green, with a trim lawn and some flower beds. Once there was an abbey here, long ago lost to ruin and consumed by the earth. The terraces cottages that bend around it are much older than the town houses. They are poky and compact, with dense little gardens, that butt right up to the hallowed ground that not even the weeds will encroach.

The Brother whose name is lost even to himself watches me from a corner. As I approach he withdraws, hoping the shadows will claim him. There is little of his spirit left now. A hint of a cowl in the shadows, a suggestion of a firm jaw and eyes that have seen too much of this world. He is little more than an ink stain on the fabric of the world.

I offer him my hand. He stares at me, scowling.

“You are tired Brother.” I warn him. “Every month you grow a little more frayed, a little less present. Why do this to yourself. Why force yourself into oblivion?”

He turns his back on me. Perhaps he does not remember. Or perhaps he remembers too well, and knows what awaits him when he moves on. I can think of nothing in Heaven or Hell that could be worse than waiting to fade slowly.

“Please. Let me ease the burden. Take my hand. Walk a few steps from here and know your peace?” I say.

He folds his arms, resolute that he shall not pass. The blood that covers one of his hands has not faded. The spots and stains upon his fingers are jet black in the moonlight. He stares at them, then hides them in his sleeve, his head bowing.

“There is nothing for me beyond this mortal coil.” He says resigned to his fate. “Leave me.”

My feet drag to my third stop. It is a long walk, right the way back past the market place, up the high street towards the station at the top of the town. To the underpass beneath the railway that links the front of the station to the Mall, the splendid cluster of Victorian houses. They were once solidly middle class, tall but thin, with servants entrances down in the cellar. They are showing their age now, a little saggy around the seams.

The underpass is a simple passage of yellow Faversham bricks, flanked at either end by steep flights of steps. The walls are covered in graffiti and the floor pocked with gum. There are long lights, fixed to the arch of the ceiling, yet the passage still fills like it is filled with shadows and echoes.

I emerge up into the Mall and approach one of the broad oak trees that segregate the through road from the terrace. In the shadows of the oaks is Jack. He is a man who has been distorted by the myths and the legends around him. The whispers of those who never knew there were mortal remains of the bogey man around whom they weave ever more intricate tales of darkness and horror.

There is little of his mortal form left. What lurks among the skeletal shadows of the trees now is a gnarled and corrupted caricature of a man. He is tall and jagged, with a crooked frame, talons for fingers and a top hat that he wears like a crown. His face is ghoulish leather, his mouth filled with yellowing fangs and uneven teeth. His eyes bulge.

I steel myself as I approach and hold out my hand. He stares at it for a moment, then he lunges for me, raging. With one hand he whips a cane at me, with the other a cleaver stained with rust and gore. He snarls and howls and spits.

But he stops at the edge of the shadows. He can feel the ties of his anchor.

I step back. Still holding out my hand.

“If you hate me, come for me.” I say.

He breathes through his nose. Clouds of silver mist sparkle in the night. He backs away. He bares his teeth and he meets my eyes. He waves for me to step closer. I look at his cane and his butchers knife. I do not know what stories the kids tell about him these days, but I do not want to find out first hand.

“Do you even remember being Jack Jones any more?” I ask.

He does not react to the name. It has lost all meaning to him, along with his memories. The myth, the legend, the nightmare has replaced them. There is nothing I can offer him. I am thankful that most people will avoid his territory on instinct. I offer my hand, but he refuses to step any closer. I leave him be before I agitate him to another rage.

The town is old. Few bombs fell here during the war, few fires have raged. The town is a patchwork of buildings of all vintages, of varying styles. It looks like it belongs on the front of a chocolate box because it has so many nooks and crannies that seem almost timeless. Despite all that history, all the fires, the plagues, the murders, accidents, and all the dirty little secrets of the past, there are only ever twelve or thirteen ghosts on my rounds.

Mark is the most recent. He stands on the ring road, near the bridge over the railway. There are still flowers and a photo cable tied to the fence in the grass verge, mourning his passing. He stands at the kerb, staring at the stretch of road where his life was cut short, forever wearing the jacket and jeans he died in. He had been a kid on a motorbike trying to be too clever. He mounted the pavement to undertake a lorry he must have thought was driving too slow. But when he tried to hop back from the pavement to the road he got it wrong. The bike went out from under him and he fell into the road. The lorry braked hard, but Mark was just too close.

That was a little over a year ago. It has not been an easy year for anybody. His family, his friends, the driver of the lorry. Everybody wants somebody to blame, somebody to scream at in righteous fury. To burden with all the guilt, the grief and the loss.

Mark is no different. There are only two people left in his world, and he can't blame himself.

“Mark.” I hold out a hand to him. “I think you know what you have to do.”

“No.” He shoves me away. “I won't go. I... I won't leave them.” He grabs his head in both hands. “I know they come here. I hear them talk when they replenish the flowers. I think maybe I even call out to them.”

“But you aren't sure.” I tell him. “It is growing harder and harder to think straight. Everything else is fading away, but the anger, the pain, the grief, that is all staying raw.”

“I know they can feel me here.” He points a finger at me. “They can hear me when I call. Sense me somehow. Just a presence, but at the same time, more than that...”

“Which is why you have to do this.” I try hard to keep the tone of my voice low. “All the while you are here, they can't let go. They can't move on. All your grief and pain stays here. Wounds won't heal if you won't move on.”

“I am not dying while my family needs me.” He screams. “I am not going anywhere while she still clings to me.”

Oh dear. “She?” I ask. “The cat's mother?” I see his snort. “Oh. Your wife.”

Lisa. His wife. They married in haste, and were repenting at leisure. Young love bound them together forever, before either really knew what the word meant.

“She might have been throwing herself at that four eyed ugly pea-” He starts to rave.

“But not now.” I cut him off. “Oh no. Not while she is suffering from guilt and greed. Not all the while it hurts.” I step closer. “Mark. Ask yourself if that is what you truly want. Is that who fell in love with? Somebody who would rather she were in pain with him, than happy without him?”

“Yes.” He thumps his chest. “That is what the promise meant. Together in sickness and health. For better or worse. Rich or poor. Sick or healthy.”

“Until death did you part.” I say coldly.

“Does it have to?” He whispers. “She comes back this way from the pub. If.. If I...”

“No.” I throw all the power I can behind the word. “Do not do that.”

“But I could.” He looks down the road. The pubs are closed. Lisa has no crowd to hang around with. She is walking slowly, nursing the cans in her plastic bag. He looks past her to the cars and lorries that still rush past at regular intervals. “If she were here I could...” He holds up his hands. “I could ring her bloody neck and choke an apology out of her. Make her wish she never looked twice at that gangly, ugly, horrid...”

I give him a shove. “You can't want that.”

He stares at me. “Why? I can't get caught now.”

And that thought sickens me. That the only thing stopping him from being as terrible a monster as Jack in life was the fear of being caught. It knots my stomach. I look across the road. Lisa has stopped on the far pavement. She is hypnotised by the passing traffic. She pulls out one of the cans and starts her little ritual.

“Hello Mark. ” She whispers to herself. “I hope where ever you are you are feeling better than you were that last night. Happier. I...” She opens the can. “This one is for you mate.” She turns the can over and watches the Australian Amber pour out over the kerb.

“I bloody meant it that night.” Mark hisses. He raises his voice to a shout. “I was going to kill you!” He slams his hands on his chest. “You know that? I was going to find you with him and I was going to kill you.”

She pauses. She stares into the pool of amber light, but sees neither him nor me. She just stares, trying to listen to something over the traffic she can't quite make out. Feeling like her grave has been danced on.

“Do not do this Mark.” I shove him back. “Don't you bloody do this.”

He does not hear me. Not any more.

“Lisa!” He screams. “Lisa!”

I put a hand over his mouth and stifle him. His eyes are wild. Across the road I can see Lisa staring into the shadows, his eyes are wild. Across the road I can see her looking around, trying to pick the word from the echoes of the night. Her mouth spreads into a nervous, terrified smile.

“Mark?” She drops her cans and darts out into the road. She darts out so fast I don't have time to shout a warning or to make her see me. She just steps into the road as the car rushes by. She spins against the side of the car and falls to the floor, her head cracking on the kerb.

I don't hear the squeal of brakes, the Police car that had been coming the other way grinding to a halt. I don't hear the snap of her head on the concrete, or the shocked retching of the young lad who had been behind the wheel.

I just hear the wicked laugh Mark lets out. “Oh yes!” He cries with laughter. “Yes!”

The police, the driver, the woman from another car, are all at the edge of the road fussing a broken body. But Lisa is stood on the pavement, staring at us. Then down at the men and woman trying to bring her body back to life. Her face is a mask of confused pain.

“Yes!” Mark struts forwards three steps, into the road. He stops suddenly, as he feels the end of his tether, as he reaches as far as he can from his anchor point. His smile freezes. “Get here.” He screams at Lisa. “Get here now!” He waves at her. As he starts to swear loudly she just shakes her head and backs away a step. He glances at me. He tries to walk forwards, but he knows another step would bring him to the light. “No.” He gives me an accusing look. “No. No. You can't do this.”

“I didn't.” I snap at him.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Can she reach me? Can she get herself here? Lisa! Come here now!”

I walk past him. None of the crowd around the body see me as I skirt around the edge of the incident. I put a hand on Lisa's shoulder.

“I...” She points at herself. “I didn't mean that to happen.”

“I know.” I try to smile at her. “I'm sorry. You should not stay here. Not to see this.”

“I thought he called out me.” She says, dreamily. “For me to say sorry to him. For him to be sorry to me. For things to be right.” She looks across the road. “Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But... I couldn't stay. I couldn't spend another night afraid.” She grips my hand tight. She fights the tears. Her entire body is shaking. “I never wanted this. But I couldn't be his. Not another day longer.”

“Then come with me.” I say gently.

“Where?” She looks at me.

“Not far.” I walk her back down the path a way. Her tether snaps. She dissolves into light and embers, as she fades from this world. I look back at Mark. On his side of the road he is screaming at me to bring her back. He is screaming that he will kill me.

I wave for him to come get me. But he won't move. He won't take another step. I think he knows all too well what it waiting for him beyond his anchor, and he isn't ready to face it. Not yet. I turn my back and ignore the shouts that follow me into the night. I whistle to myself so I don't have to hear the hell he is making for himself.

------------------------------------------------------                          THANK YOU TOM!! ---------------------------------------------

Story Telling by Mr. Tom Hodden

Oooh Exciting stuff today! Tom Hodden has been a good friend to me for a time now. He has been supportive of our little hang out here too, and when he saw my call for Author’s to come forward – Tom didn’t hesitate to put his hand up and offerRead the Rest...

Chat with Sonnet O'Dell - Author

 

Hello me hearties! Yes, I don't know why I feel a bit like a pirate today - but never you mind! Look who came to visit us today! 

Sonnet is a published author with Eternal Press and you can find all her beautiful work there! So, grab a cuppa, let us meet with this phenomenal writer!
{I also have it on good Authority that Mistakenly Mated is by far the Hot Seller for this Author, so pick it up today and let me know will ya?!}

Tell us about yourself and how many books you have written/want to write?
I've been writing since I was a kid and over the years I find my brain gets more and more lost in worlds of fantasy. I have currently written seventeen books, thirteen published, two yet to be released, one rejected and a new one ready to submit soon. I honestly don't see my stopping any time soon :)

Me: My word! 17 books is not to be scoffed at, and I am happy to hear you're not nearly done!

What Genre do you write, and what genre do you enjoy reading
I try to keep my genre's open though I do find myself far more attracted to paranormal and crime. Romance finds its way in there too sometimes.

Me: I had to chuckle, I think romance is a bit sneaky - it happens to get into just about everything!

What is the name of your latest book/s and what inspired it?
I currently have two books waiting to be edited. The Eighth book in my Cassandra Farbanks Series called Venetian Moon and a YA called The Demon's Bayou. The Demon's Bayou was inspired by a level in a computer game with an abandoned town. Venetian Moon however was inspired by my last trip to Venice during the carnival. Vampires in masks, that’s all I'm really going to day about that one ;)

Me: Venice is a very popular setting for Vampires in masks - how exciting! I love the Y/A reads too, only recently started on that as it was introduced by my friend and fellow Author S.J. Hermann!

Do you have any unusual writing habits?
I like to do it alone and sometimes to music.

Me: Another one who uses music! YAY!

What authors, or books have influenced you?
I could name a ton of books that have influenced me but I suppose the most influencing was Laurell K Hamilton and her Anita Blake books. I started writing fan fiction for that and some of the comments about my OC's gave me the boost I needed to bring stories of my own to life. I can never thank that community enough.

Me: I loved LOVED the Vampire Hunter series!

What are you working on now?
I've just finished a manuscript for a book called Kris. It’s the first book of three in The Clock-Watcher Trilogy. I've just started doing the prep work for the next book. However I have several other projects on the go, a couple of Paranormal Romances and the next book in the Cassandra series.

Me: It is always so inspiring to hear how much others are doing, and it makes me feel a bit lazy LOL, how come I can only ever focus on one book at a time? *cries*

What is your best method or website when it comes to promoting your books?
I think I'm pretty bad at promoting. I never know what to do or say and I hate the idea of constantly reposting the same bit about my books over and over again. I see it all the time with certain authors and worry that people must get tired of seeing it.

Me: I hear you - it takes a certain mentality to do marketing and sales!

Do you have any advice for new authors?
Never give up. You will never know how close to achieving your dream you were if you do.

Me: I like this too, and it is solid logic! Thank you!

What is the best advice you have ever heard?
Write what you know. I once wrote a piece that got rejected from a major publishing house because the agent could tell I had never been to New York although I'd a story there. I tend now to either make up towns from scratch or use places that I know really well.

Me: Very good advice given, but I would add to that: If you don't know it, learn and research. 

What are you reading now?
I'm actually not really. I just got back from a two week sabbatical in which I did read at least fifteen books of different length though.

Me: LOL! Oh there is no shame in taking a break from reading - in fact, one probably would enjoy it all the more when you DO curl up with that lovely book!

What’s next for you as a writer?
Who knows but I do love surprises.

Me: Oh gorsh I hate suprises - can we swap?! 

Tell us something very few people don't know about you!
I'm a diabetic and a chocoholic.

Me: Now that is just Murphy's Law!

What is your favorite book of all time?
I could no more look up into the sky and pick a favourite star.

Me: LOVE this answer, and very well said!

Author Websites and Profiles Social Media Links
Website: www.sonnetodell.com
Blog: www.sonnetodelldustypages.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: @sonnetodell

Thank you Sonnet, lovely, for taking the time to talk to us!
You can find ALL Sonnet's titles by clicking any of the images or this link here,

Readers, please make sure to support your Indie Authors today by leaving a review once you've read the books.
A review is like a hug, on steroids - or a punch in the face but we don't care for those! hehehe

Chat with Sonnet – Author

  Hello me hearties! Yes, I don’t know why I feel a bit like a pirate today – but never you mind! Look who came to visit us today!  Sonnet is a published author with Eternal Press and you can find all her beautiful work there! So, grab a cuppa, letRead the Rest...

Consumed – N.J Flatman!

‪#‎amreading‬ – N.J Flatman ‪#‎romance‬ : The problem with a love that consumes you….is what do you do when it’s gone? Avery Bradfield didn’t believe in soul mates or true love. She wasn’t sure she believed in love at all. That is, until she met Spencer Phillips. From day one,Read the Rest...

“At the heart of it all.” – A poem by Adri Sinclair

First of all, I really did steal these pictures – I am sorry Pam, I didn’t want to ask permission because… well, then I’d have to confess about what I am about to do. Secone, I am going to thank my Homie – Mamarazzi Nina, for introducing me to thisRead the Rest...

A Chat with Norma Flatman - Author

Well looky here! Mondays are tough days, but when you are me, you have beautiful Authors, chatting about their work... and who can grump at that? Today, I would like to introduce you to Norma Flatman... Well actually, I would like Norma to introduce herself!


Now before we move on: This lady has a new book out!! Consumed is available for preorder!!

MOVING ON!

Tell us about yourself and how many books you have written/want to write?
I’m never very good at talking about myself, but I’ll do my best.  I write under the name NJ Flatman, but my friends call me Jenni.  I live in Michigan with my 16 year old daughter.  I learned to read and write at 4 and I’ve been creating stories and poems since.  My dream has always been to be an author, but like many I got sidetracked with jobs and bills and life.

I’ve written many books as I’ve been a ghostwriter in romance and erotic romance for several years but nobody knows me because my name was never on them. My theory was that I could pay the bills doing what I loved and break into the writing world. Reality was I ended up with a lot of work, a little money and I realized I was just going to have to combine working and writing my own books if I ever wanted to see it happen.

Consumed is my debut novel releasing on June 5, 2015. It is the first in a series of 5 stories (Addicted to You series). As far as how many I want to write? As many as I can before my hands don’t work and then I’ll just have someone else type. It’s what I love.

Me: Oh I hear you lovely! What I would like to know more about is this ghostwriting business... That should make for another good discussion! I hope everyone marked the date down! We have a few new Authors entering into the Indie Market!! I will be highlighting parts of Norma's work throughout the week, so check back with us. 

What Genre do you write, and what genre do you enjoy reading?
As a ghostwriter I wrote mostly in the erotic romance genre, some romance. But my books are romance with a dark side. I believe in love and that it can be good and real, but I don’t believe it’s always happy or perfect. That’s what I enjoy writing about. People who overcome serious things to find their way.

I read a multitude of genres. Romance, erotic romance, paranormal romance, mystery, crime, thrillers and psychotic thrillers. If a story grabs my interest I read it.

Me: Now see, this I like, turns out, we're kindred spirits where it comes to books!

What is the name of your latest book/s and what inspired it?  
My debut book is Consumed.  Honestly, I was texting with a friend about something and I made a very long winded comment (something I’m good at) and then I said wow that’d make a great part of a story. So I wrote it down and then wrote a scene around it. I thought I need to do something with that so I sat there and wrote the first chapter. And the story was born. I knew exactly what I wanted the series to be about so it flowed quickly and easily. I think the original scene ended up in chapter 11 or so.

Me: *LAUGHING SO HARD* Oh that is just fantastic! I really enjoy hearing how it works for others, and this is just amazing!

Do you have any unusual writing habits?
Everything I do is unusual haha. I don’t think so. I listen to music a lot. Usually something that puts me in the mindset of the story. Sad scene= sad music etc.  I think the weirdest thing about me is that when something is in me, I don’t stop. I just write until I can’t write anymore. I’ve been known to write for 2-3 days without sleeping lol

Me: Right! Hubby refers to this as the "Character Take-over period." It is no different to a PC man being in the 'zone' when coding.  I love that you listen to music, I think it is great to draw from sound while we make up things. hehe

What authors, or books have influenced you?
Wow there are so many! I love to read and I read so much. I think Nora Roberts has a lot even though I don’t really read a lot of her work (I’m not a sappy happy kind of girl) because she changed the playing field in romance and because she produces soooo much work so consistently. I thought I was the only one that can write that fast lol. John Grisham just because he really pulls a person into the story and he tells it so well. Jodi Picoult is amazing because she writes about things that most people don’t. E.L James did as well because she took what she loved and did it and created something out of it and made a genre that most kept quiet about become  maintream. I like that.  And of course all the Indie authors out there who work a day job and then put all of this work into doing what they love.

Me: Now controversial as it may be, I love E.L James - though I will say I am not a erotic reader, I do not mind there being bit of the human nature in the books. Indie Authors are my new addiction! I have met so many, and the amount of creativity is ASTOUNDING.

What are you working on now?
I’m finishing the Addicted to You Series because I have it scheduled to release one every two months. I hate having to wait too long to continue a story. And I have another idea already taking shape for following that. I’m always writing something ☺

Me: Oh the joys, I must admit, I envy you for the ability to release every two months! I'd have a field day... if I've had the skill.

What is your best method or website when it comes to promoting your books?
At the moment I’m winging it and not sure what works best. But the bloggers that I’ve been talking to and working with have been amazing. I also try to get out there and chatting with readers even if they aren’t mine and other authors as much as I can. But in the end, all I can do is get my name out. The stories have to be what does it.

Me: I know there are nay-sayers out there, but I am a 'hands on' kinda girl - I find that this 'automation stuff' actually upsets me so the chatting with readers stuff I will encourage. 

Do you have any advice for new authors like yourself?
Research. Connect with others who do this, they are amazing. Give up on the ideas of sleep, relaxing or quality time with pretty much anyone haha. Do it because you love it and it’ll be worth it.

Me: HAHA! This is too funny, though I suppose it is also very appropriate - There is a balance to be found, but ... I'll let you know when we find it!

What is the best advice you have ever heard?
Live like you could die tomorrow, but pay your bills just in case.  Not sure where I heard it, but I love it and try to strive for it.

Me: Oh I like that!! 

From beginning to end, how long does/did it take you to write your book?
2-3 days initially, then I put it aside and go back to it a few days later and if I do massive changing another 2-3 days. So maybe a week. Like I said when I’m into it, I can’t stop.

Me: Holy mother and I thought I wrote fast! Well done lady, very well done!

What are you reading now?
Between working, toting my daughter around for theater stuff and doing stuff for my release I haven’t been able to read anything in recent days and still sleep. But I just recently won a copy of Mistaken Identity and Christmas with the Dragon by Amy Beth and I am eager to dive into those. I also have a new to me Dean Koontz book that I’m ready to read on the beach

What’s next for you as a writer?
Try not to have a heart attack when my book releases. Keep doing what I love. Keep growing as I write more. Keep chatting with readers and others in the business and hope that someday I can quit the day job.

Me: That sounds like a very good plan - I definitely encourage the first part!

Tell us something very few people know about you!
I watch people wherever I’m at. Sometimes body language or phrases in my stories come from people I know or people I’ve observed.

Me: Oh dear, and again, we have a term for that in our house, hubby calls it "Character profiling." He knows it will show up at some point! Though it is for me, also the best way to interpret people and cultivate empathy, don't you think?

What is your favorite book of all time?
Don’t judge me, but the Twilight series. I didn’t even like vampires and stuff when I read them, but I read the entire series four times in one week. I loved the way I felt connected with the story and the characters. I loved the connection between the characters. I think regardless of whether you like the storyline or some of the things about it, anyone who has read the books would say it was well written in terms of grabbing the reader.

Me: Now why would anyone judge you about that? I wrote three Epic Novels, and the feedback I'm getting refer to Twilight often. Naught wrong with it, and don't apologise for what you read, EVER. Some people don't read at all unless they HAVE to.

Author Websites and Profiles  Social Media Links

Website: www. Agoodgirldirtymind.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/njflatman

Twitter: @njflatman  --but I warn you, I suck at remembering this one

Me: I hope you are going to change that! I have made some of my BEST reader connections through twitter, and my goodness have they all been good to me!

Consumed is available for preorder 

Well that is it folks! I loved spending time with Norma this morning. Please stay around for the Author Spotlight with her this afternoon! And don't forget to HUG AN INDIE AUTHOR TODAY BY LEAVING A REVIEW!!

Thank you Norma for joining us, and thank you all for reading and spreading the good feelz! You guys ROCK!