Author Max E. Stone of the Warren-Bennett-Johnson series

Gary Winstead author of "So You Want ... Author Helen Alexander latest release...

Author Max E. Stone of the Warren-Bennett-Johnson series

Young: Hello Max, thank you for being my guest author today. How are you?

Max E. Stone (M.E.S.): Nice to be here. I'm well. How are you?

Young: Not too bad. Thank you for asking. Let's start with you telling us a little bit about yourself? :)

M.E.S.: My name is Max E. Stone. I’m almost 28 years old. I have awesome friends and a phenomenal family, including two brothers I both fight with and love dearly. I love books (I read everyone and everything I can get my hands on). I love music. I listen to everything. I work hard and many times have to force myself to sleep when the writing juices are flowing in the dead of night.

Young: Max, when did you first start writing and when did you finish your first book?

M.E.S.: I started writing at 9. That was with the story, August to Life, and it was initially supposed to be a stand-alone. For years, I kept making adjustments to it; changing character names, the title, etc. I think it had about 17 different titles since that time and even more adjustments in genre. I completely finished and published the story in 2012. When I did, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know more about the characters and wanted others to as well so it became the Warren-Bennett-Johnson series; a set of stories based on three different but interlocked families set in New England.

Young: Where do you get your ideas?

M.E.S: To be honest, I know it sounds a bit cliché but its true: they just come to me. They always have. I told my mother that when I was 9 and she asked the same question. I’m definitely sure I scared her because the subject matter of August to Life and other stories, short and otherwise, that I had written at the time were anything but appropriate for my age. They were pretty rough, very violent, extremely gory to point where, one time in particular, she sat me down and asked me if everything was alright. I was never better.

Young: My next question; How did you choose the genre you write in?

M.E.S.: I just picked what I loved to read. I love fiction, particularly mysteries and suspense so I thought I would take a crack at writing my own. And I say that because I’m still learning the ins and outs of the genre. I’m not completely done. With each book, I learn a little more and try a little more.

Young: Do you work with an outline, or just write?

M.E.S.: I just write and the story and characters take shape as I do.

Young: Can you tell us about your challenges in getting your first book published?

M.E.S.: For years, I was very uninformed about the publishing game. I kept hearing “Get an agent and then they will find someone for you,” which I aimed for through query letters that were rejected many, many times. Not long ago, I learned about self-publishing and what a great option it was from my mother. Before that, I had never heard of it. So that was a challenge for me; not getting myself informed on the matter.

Young: If you had to go back and do it all over, is there any aspect of your novel or getting it published that you would change?

M.E.S.: I would have definitely studied the business behind writing and its constant changes much more. That would have helped the first time around.

Young: How do you market your work? What avenues have you found to work best for your genre?

M.E.S.: I’m still learning this aspect. Currently, I use social media such Pinterest, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and the link to simply talk to people, let my fans know about my work, release trailers, and network with other writers. More recently, I’ve used Fiverr.com to help me with press releases and other marketing and editing services and thus far, it’s worked out great. There are a lot of professionals on that site who do wonderful work. I’ve also found this site called blogtour.org which helps authors find bloggers and bloggers find authors for content, which has also been good for me and my work.

Young: Can you tell us about your upcoming book?

M.E.S.: One Minute There, the third in the Warren-Bennett-Johnson series, is a hardcore thriller that takes readers on an emotional journey through the U.S and beyond. One of the main characters, a Rhode Island detective named Stephen Bennett is searching for his daughter, Melissa, who has disappeared, leaving two victims and a trail of blood in her wake. Stephen knows her and knows that’s not like her. But the authorities don’t necessarily care. They want justice and they set out on a search to find her as does Bennett who wants very much to bring her home first. At the same time, the father and detective discovers that he and the cops aren’t the only ones looking for her, which opens up a whole other world of darkness.

Young: Is anything in your book based on real life experiences or purely all imagination?

M.E.S.: Not so much my experiences as it is based on the world I see around me. While the book is a work of fiction, it touches upon real life issues that are typically hidden in the shadows such as mental illness, sexual abuse, and human trafficking.

Young: What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why?

M.E.S.: I felt every chapter which was sometimes good, sometimes not so good. My favorite one to write was the prologue in which readers will see the events that begin the investigation. This one was my favorite because it was so real to me. I felt to the point where I was crying and on the floor gasping by the time I finished with it. The way I see it, if it was that real to me, then it will be that real to the reader.

Young: Do you ever experience writer’s block?

M.E.S.: I used to, but now I just keep going and write whatever comes to mind whether it immediately makes sense or not because I know eventually it will. It might just need some retooling in the editing stage.

Young: What has been the toughest criticism given to you as an author? What has been the best compliment?

M.E.S.: The toughest criticism was that I spent too much time on descriptions of characters and places, which I had to agree. I used to do that. Now, I’ve learned from it. The best compliment was when I was told by a reader that my work was “a new kind of horror.” I loved that and I’m working toward that; doing a new kind of anything.

Young: Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers?

M.E.S.: If you really believe that this is what you were born to do and that this is what you love, don’t ever give it up no matter what anybody says. Also, make a daily effort to not only write but learn about the business as you write.

Young: Is there anything that you would like to say to your readers and fans?

M.E.S.: I love you all! I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Young: On a lighter note, what do you do when you are not writing?

M.E.S.: Hang out with friends and family, exercise, go out and see a movie, shop for books or read the ones I haven’t touched yet because I keep getting new ones. There are so many great books out there being made everyday that I can’t keep up.

Young: Thank you so much Max for joining us. I wish you all the success with your books.

M.E.S.: Thank you for hosting me.

Young: Anytime, Max.

One Minute There

(an excerpt)

"This is the police!" And then... Bam! Bam! Bam! Hammering knocks fired Melissa Bennett to her feet. Her mind jarred.

Oh God...Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

The stench of copper impaled her senses. Broad blue eyes locked on the hardwood floor slicked with blood. And the body in the center of it all. That of a friend whose fight and agonized shrieks now dulled to spasms and murmurs, low and

indistinct. 

"...mm...my...ba...baby...h...help" 

Holding fast to her sliced abdomen, the bleeding woman heaved the groans past her mumbles. She moved her lips to speak again but a wheeze and wet cough stole her cries for help. Then, more blood bubbled to her mouth's surface. She would die soon. Her and her unborn child. "Shit!" Melissa grated, fault and fright feasting on her insides. "Shit! Shit...shit!" She jumped back. The soiled knife dropped from trembling, blood-stained hands to the ground with a clang. "Oh, no...no, no!"

The damned voices... She shouldn't have listened to them. 

Why did I listen?! Why! Why did I listen?! 

Hours ago, the voices were her salvation. The voices were her direction. Now, they taunted her, berated her for doing the very thing they'd wanted from her all along.

Oh God...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to... Bam! Bam! Bam! The thrashing knocks again. 

"Open up!"

Another order.

Swift kicks went to work on the wooden door, one after another, severing decrepit hinges with each fatal blow.

Grabbing up her weapon, Melissa ran toward the exit through which she had first come with her victim—restrained and unconscious from an unexpected bash to the head—as the barrier came undone.

Sirens exploded. Footsteps closed in.

"Mommy! Mommy, wait! Please!" A little girl wailed. For her. "Stop! Mommy! Please! Don't go! Don't leave me!" 

Those cries, desolate and pained, faded with each pound of Melissa's path to a freedom somewhere in the darkness. If she could just find it... Come on, come on...it has to be somewhere around— "Mommy, please! Come back!" 

Tears sprang to her eyes. 

She should go back and get her. After all, she did this to keep her daughter safe and out of the way of a harm she believed would wind its way back into their lives if she didn't do...something. 

The voices, magnified by pictures of a dark and ever-present past, told her so. 

"Do you love your daughter?" they'd challenged. "Do you?" As if they didn't know. 

As if they needed the proof. She would do anything for her. If danger lurked anywhere around her little girl, she couldn't take the chances. She had to heed the warning now and get moving; leave the consequences for later.

Kill, if necessary. 

Melissa hoped one day the precocious little redhead named Abigail, who never left her side, would understand and, perhaps, forgive her. But, for now, the child didn't deserve a life on the run. That much she knew for sure. "Abby, honey...I can't. Mommy's sorry," the mother whispered in tears, still running fast and blind, right and left down pitch-dark and dingy halls in search of the way out. "Mommy's so sorry for getting you into all of this."

As she ran, the bottom of one of her sneakers caught the shoelace of the other. Ignoring it, she kept running and, somewhere in the madness, the lace loosened. She nearly tripped when the shoe came off. Keep going, she thought, kicking the sneaker out of the way as she did just that. Go, go, go!

Don't get caught! Don't get caught!

More heavy tracks melded with Abby's sobs and barreled behind her. They came closer, gaining fast. She sped up. "Police!" another voice boomed. "Stop!"

She looked around. 

Nothing but dark, pierced by the thin beam of a flashlight, greeted her. She ducked in evasion of the light. Feeling around in the blackness, she found the knob to the structure's back entry,

turned it, and, huddled to the floor, escaped. Once outside, she found one of the many hiding spots the area offered and—from tormenting memory—selected the tall, thick tree a few feet away. Thunder indicating the start of a downpour quieted Melissa's climb up the branches.

No cop heard or saw a thing.

In the bushel of leaves at the top, she pulled out her cell and dialed the number of the lone person she knew would help her now, praying she'd be right in her assumption.

She hadn't spoken to him in years, but he had always been one of the good guys that were few and far-between in her life.

If nothing else, he would at least hear her out.

And listen...Right?

She hoped so. Her life depended on it. The other end's incessant rings threatened to drive her mad until... Click. "Hello?" a man yawned. Thank God... "P...please," Melissa panted, terror and tears ripping at her throat. She cleared it to project a confidence she didn't feel and pleaded, "You have to help

me." "Who is-," he started to ask then recognition seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks

as he added "Melissa? Is that you?" He sounded puzzled.

And a bit...annoyed? Was that it? Can't say I blame him... "Y...Yeah, it's me. Thanks for picking up. I appreciate it," she said, gaining back the

shredded threads of her bearings inch by inch.

No time for a breakdown...

"Look, I can't say much right now, but you have to help me. I mean...I...I need your help. I don't have anywhere else to go and-"

"Whoa, Mel. Hold on. Slow down a minute and take a breath. Let's start over. Where are you right this second?"

She bit her lower lip and debated what she could say and how much time she had to say it.

Not much, on both counts.

She trusted him, but not that much. Not right now. Not in this. Not yet. Down below, an ambulance sped through the dirt road then stopped in front of the building on the grass amidst the cops' cars. Paramedics jumped out and sprang into action. As they bounded to the entrance, a woman detective Melissa recognized came out, cradling a crying redhead to her chest.

Abby...Oh, sweetheart...

She shut her eyes, closing out the scene.

"Melissa! You still there? What's going on?" the man on the phone pressed, his compassion laced with impatience. "You in some kind of trouble?"

"Yeah, some kind of," she said, eyes back on the commotion below.

Now, the medics brought out the woman, her friend—brown skin fused in the blood around her dissected belly—a shaking hand caressing leftovers of torn abdominal flesh— and loaded her into the back of the truck. Melissa's stepfather, Detective Stephen Bennett, never left her side.

"I...I'll be in Jersey in a few hours."

"You still haven't told me what the hell's going on!" he demanded, harsher this time. "And are those sirens I hear?"

"You still live in the same apartment, right?" she asked, changing the subject and hoping he would go with it for the time being. "In Short Hills?"

"Don't do that. Answer me," he urged, not falling for the ruse. "What's happening? Where are you?"

"Please!" she begged. "I know I have no right to ask for anything from you and, normally, I wouldn't. You know that, but...I have nowhere else to go and I really, really, really don't have time to talk about this right now. Okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he exhaled, giving in and, no doubt, wondering why he wanted anything to do with her.

For the second time.

"I'm at the same place. Door's open. And you better be ready to talk when you get here."