Authors Supporting Authors: K.J. Pierce

What is your name?  
 I generally go by Keiti, but with an older brother and some good-natured and inventive friends I’ve been called just about everything under the sun. :-) I write under both K.J. Pierce and Ceit E. McIntyre.

 Where are you from?  
 As an Army Brat, I’m not exactly from anywhere. I was born in Germany and have lived both there and various spots throughout the United States. Right now I live on the Florida Space Coast.

 

What genre are you in?
Nonfiction, Creative Nonfiction, scripts (both film and play), and fiction (currently chick lit/romance, but I have ideas waiting in the wings in other genres)

 

Please list your books and the year of publication.

Weeping Ash (short story – K.J. Pierce) – 2011

Fractured: essays on love, friendship, and the nightmares in between (K.J. Pierce) – 2011

We Are Family: Family Dynamics in Poppy Z. Brite’s Lost Souls (Article – K.J. Pierce) – 2014

Eat, Drink, and be Merry for Tomorrow you may Die: Bakhtin’s Carnival in Poppy Z. Brite’s Exquisite Corpse – (K.J. Pierce) – 2013

Using Images to Create Basic Storylines (K.J. Pierce) – 2014

From Poe to Know (Formerly Yours Truly, Cardwell B. – K.J. Pierce – 2014) – the eBook is being released by Secret Cravings Publishing under their Sweet Cravings

From Poe to Know (Formerly Yours Truly, Cardwell B. – K.J. Pierce – 2014) – eBook being re-released by Secret Cravings Publishing on February 17, 2015 under pen name Ceit E. McIntyre

Three unreleased scripts (K.J. Pierce) – whether I’ll actually do anything with them is still up in the air.

Bethany and the Belfry Bat – a children’s play.

Anatomy of an Excuse – a seven-page, short film script based on a piece of flash fiction I wrote.

Yours Truly – an adaptation of From Poe to Know that’s in the first draft stage.

 

Do you have any weird/strange habits when you work?
I have plenty of quirks, but nothing related to writing yet. I'm working on developing some. Mostly trying to contortion writing time into my schedule.

 

Do you prefer writing or typing?
I prefer typing when my brain is barreling full force so I can easily keep up. Writing by hand works best when I’m stuck

 

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever received about life, writing, or anything?

I have two favorites:

1 – Don’t think. Just write. (I tend to be hypercritical, especially on the first draft.)

2 – Don’t compare yourself to other authors.

 

If you could pick one place to write for the rest of your life, where would it be? 
A little stone cottage somewhere in Scotland.

Does your family/friends read your books?  If so, what do they think?
It depends. My mom, for instance, read From Poe to Know when it was still Yours Truly, Cardwell B. and congratulated me on a job well done. My dad, on the other hand, didn’t make it past the dedication (it’s dedicated to him) and was so surprised he couldn’t get past telling me, “I wasn’t expecting that.” Chick Lit isn’t his genre of choice, so I’ve never expected him to actually read it.

Various other family members and friends have read it and they tend to think I’m witty and funny and super creative. But they’re my family and friends—they’re supposed to tell me I’m brilliant!

 

Share one thing that would surprise people!
Anyone who knows me wouldn’t be surprised by anything I say or do. Those who don’t know me might be surprised by just about everything. I’ve lived an extraordinary life that doesn’t seem anything but normal to me. Is that surprising?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blurb:  

Izzie Greene’s professional life is to die for—a catering gig on Poe, the top-rated television show in the United States, a best friend to share it with, and the chance to get up close and personal with her celebrity crush, Poe’s star, Scotsman Cardwell Bennett. Her dream job turns nightmare, however, when her melodramatic ex-boyfriend unexpectedly arrives on set and hooks up with Poe’s hateful leading actress. To make matters worse, her personal life descends beyond nightmare to absolute hell when she runs afoul of an unethical paparazzo. Izzie’s thrust into the world of constant scrutiny, speculation, and half-truths, fueled by her rumored affair with Cardwell—an affair that shifts from fantasy to reality the more the media hounds her. 

Through it all, accident-prone Izzie must fight to keep her privacy, secrets, and sanity intact. If she can withstand the onslaught, then she might just survive the season.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt:

I had just stooped to pull the last tray of scones from the oven when someone leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Smells lovely.”

Startled, I jerked my head back and felt it connect with something. Together we crashed to the floor in a tangle of bodies. As I lifted my cheek from the very warm chest I’d landed on, a hand reached up and smoothed the hair away from my face.

“Are you okay?” Cardwell asked.

Momentarily struck stupid, I nodded, held my breath, and slid off his body. It wasn’t until I sat leaning against the counter that I exhaled, trying to slow my racing heart. Cardwell stood and held his hand out to me. I grasped it, and he pulled me to my feet. Once upright, I gasped.

“Shit! Your nose is bleeding!” Nothing better than head-butting the leading man first thing in the morning. I grabbed the closest towel and pressed it under his nose. “Sit down.” I steered him to the stool Delly had vacated. He automatically leaned his head back. “No, don’t tilt your head. Vincent will kill me if you choke on your own blood.”

Cardwell looked amused, staring at me over the towel.

“Keep that in place and pinch just below the bridge of your nose. Don’t move.”

I grabbed a second towel, bolted to the ice maker, and created a makeshift ice pack. His eyes followed my every move as I rushed back to him.

“Let me take a look, but keep your nose pinched.” I gingerly removed the blood-stained towel. His nose was red and swollen. “Does it feel like it’s broken?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never had a broken nose.” He gently pressed with his fingers and winced. “It hurts, but I think not.”

“Great. Let go.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when he released his hold. There wasn’t even a trickle of blood, and his nose didn’t appear any more crooked than it usually did.

“The bleeding’s stopped already.” I handed him the ice pack. “If the swelling doesn’t go down, though, Vincent’s going to freak.”

“Get the scones.” The ice pack muffled his voice.

“What?”

“Get the scones. They’ll burn.”

I pulled the tray out and set it on the far end of the counter to cool before grabbing another towel and wetting it in the sink. Wringing it damp, I marched back to Cardwell.

“You look like something out of a horror movie.” He set the icepack on the counter and sat patiently while I wiped away the blood. “That’s better. Keep the ice pack on.” I tossed the bloody towel into the sink. “Probably not the best idea, but do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, please. Cream and sugar.”

I’d just set the cup of coffee and a plate with a warm scone aside for Cardwell when Delly walked in. She looked from me to him and laughed.

“Busy morning already.” Delly squinted at Cardwell. “Are you okay?”

“Aye. Just a slight mishap. Izzie’s taking good care of me.”

“I’m sure she is.” Delly met me at the sink where I stood rinsing out the bloody towel. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Porn first thing in the morning?” My horror was overwhelming and must have been noticeable because her grin faded immediately. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I choked back a nervous giggle when Jimmy’s voice echoed through the kitchen.

“Did someone say porn?”

Cardwell’s head jerked toward us, his confusion evident.

“Inside joke,” I mouthed, my face burning.

“God, Jimmy, have some decorum. We’ve got company.” Delly nodded toward Cardwell.

Jimmy took in the scene, his eyes missing nothing, and grabbed a large, white cooler. “Mornin’, Cardwell.” He handed off the cooler to a couple of his minions and propelled them out the door.

Delly grabbed the last two portable food carriers and traipsed after them.

I carried the coffee and scone down to Cardwell. His eyes lit up when I set them down beside him. “Peace offering.”

Cardwell set the jury-rigged ice pack on the counter. “It’s not your fault.” He sipped at the coffee. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

“I’m sorry I cracked your nose. It looks like the swelling’s going down.”

“There are worse things in life.” He picked up the scone and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. “At least I can still smell it.”

I felt only marginally better. “Do you want anything with it? Butter? Jam?”

Cardwell shook his head and took an appreciative bite. “These are so good. They don’t need anything.”

Maybe Delly had the right idea about food porn.

“At least there’s one man on the planet who appreciates them.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “A man would be a bloody fool not to love these.”

“It’s funny you should say that.”

Before Cardwell could ask why, Delly strode in with Jimmy on her heels. “Time to go, kiddies.”

“I’ve still got to pack the scones.”

Jimmy scooted behind me. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll get them.”

Delly rolled her eyes and latched on to Jimmy’s arm. “We’re heading out. Bring Cardwell in your car?”

Before I could object, she steered a protesting Jimmy out the door.

“See you in a bit,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t forget to soak those towels.”

“I’m going to kill that freak,” I muttered as I packed up the scones. I glanced up to find Cardwell watching me intently, his expression indecipherable.