Since Bloodletting is a writing site, we have lots of people here who are interested in writing their own stories. Do you have any tips or advice for aspiring authors?
When you think maybe you suck and you aren't good enough and you're wasting your time and you're never going to get anywhere: STOP IT. That was a run-on sentence, but that's okay.
What made you decide to write?
I don't know why I started writing. I know why I kept writing though. I wanted to create something, escape, make my own reality, and have my words matter.
Are there any books that motivate you to write?
Every book motivates me to write. If I think it's lacking or spectacular, it makes me want to write. I think I may have an addiction.
What helps put you in the mind frame to write?
I need quiet; lots and lots of quiet, and also time. Most importantly, I need COFFEE.
Do you ever feel frustrated with your work?
Um...yes. DAILY. I get stuck and then I glare at the computer screen for a while, wait for the flow to continue, and go from there.
What do you do to help get over writer's block?
I don't believe in writer's block. If you can't write, there's a reason for it, and that reason is: Something needs to change. So I figure out what it is, I change it, and I keep going.
What is your favorite book out of all your published works?
I'm going to say Ordinary is my favorite FINISHED book, but I think my WIP will take over that title when I finish it, if I ever finish it...when I finish it.
How do you handle people who are vocal about not enjoying your books?
I have no idea what you're implying. Everyone LOVES my books. Okay, so I know not everyone is going to like them. At first, I'm a little down about it, but then I shrug it off. If they can't see the talent that is me then...they obviously don't know how to read.
What sorts of things do you do, outside of writing?
I do nothing. I like to read, watch movies, sing karaoke (yeah!), dance (uh-huh), exercise (although I've been slacking on this since the whole published thing came about), camping, boating, and...other...stuff.
What is something about you that most people don't know?
I have OCD, but it's mild. I only wash my hands, like, 100 times a day, not 200.
Are there any authors who you strive to be like?
There are five races on Bloodletting: Angel, Slayer, Vampire, Witch, and Werewolf. Which would you pick?
Not sure what a Slayer is, but yes, I'll pick that.
When did you first discover that you are, in fact, awesome?
I've always known I had potential for awesomeness, but it didn't really hit me until I was about, oh, a couple days old. It was my first word.
What is your favorite genre to write?
I don't have a favorite genre to write, thus the multi-genre writing bit. My brain's too ecclectic to pick just one to focus on.
What would you do to a character if they spoke "Joood-Speak"?
If I had a character speak JOOOD-SPEAK, they would have to be on drugs twenty-four hours a day for it to be logical.
What do you do if a character decides to go off in a different direction than the one you had planned out for them?
I let them after a brief inner struggle. They tell me what they want to do and say; I just write it down.
Where do you get the names for your stories?
EXCERPT: Saving Sara
On the verge of losing it completely, Sara picked the phone up and dialed a number.
“Hello?” The voice was deep, familiar. It reminded her of him, and though it hurt to hear it, it helped a little too.
She sank against the wall, slid down it, and cradled the phone to her ear. Sara closed her eyes and waited for the respite to come.
When she remained silent, the person on the other end of the line began to talk softly. “Bad day, huh?” He made a sound of derision. “Not that any day is spectacular. I had one a couple days ago. It didn’t make any sense, not really.
“I was at work, fixing a leak in a roof, when I remembered a time we went fishing. Nothing significant happened that day we went fishing, nothing to make me remember it, or to think of it at that moment. We were ten and twelve.
“We grabbed our fishing poles and headed to the creek. I carried the bucket of worms. Because I was younger, he said. We sat in the grass at that creek all day. We didn’t catch a single thing and it was so hot out. The sun burned our skin. Bugs had a meal out of us. It smelled like sweat and grass and fish.”
Sara felt herself begin to relax. She took a deep, calming breath.
“But it was just us, there wasn’t another soul out. Probably because it was six in the morning on a Saturday.” He laughed.
Sara closed her eyes at the sound and let the sad, but musical notes wash over her.
“Only thing we heard was the sound of rushing water from the stream and my voice whenever I tried to talk, which wasn’t much, since he kept telling me to shut up. We stayed there all day. We ditched the poles in the late afternoon and jumped in the water. Needless to say, we forgot to mention to our parents where we were going or what we were doing that day.
“So when we showed up at home, wet and sunburned, it was to find police cars and frantic adults in the yard. They grounded us. For the rest of the summer. And it was only the beginning of June. That summer sucked.” He laughed softly. A long pause. “I hope that helped.” Then a sigh. “Take care, Sara.”
She turned the phone off and sat there. He always ended their one-sided conversation the same. “Take care, Sara.”
For those of you who like to win FREE STUFF:
|March 08, 2013 11:57 am