Tag: interview (page 4 of 8)

As I noted yesterday, Alex Adams wrote the book White Horse, which I loved so much I don’t even have much rational thought to give it. I also note in that post that the book is in many ways a spiritual cousin to my own novel, Blackbirds, and frankly, it’s superior to mine in nearly every way. Go forth and read that book, but first up, inject Alex’s wisdom into your eyeholes. Then visit her site at alexadamsbooks.com and mercilessly track her on Twitter (@Alexia_Adams).

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

Once upon a time (because many good stories start out this way, and a lot of bad ones, too), my family up and moved to Greece, all because my mother was tired of New Zealand’s dreary weather. This turned out to be a Very Good Thing for me, because living in Greece taught me how to survive and also how to tell stories—which is often the same thing.

During my first year in Greece (I was eleven) I learned how to run. Not childish running, where the goal is to get from here to there or risk being tagged, but “Run, Forest! Run!” type running, where you’re going to wind up taking a beating and ending up in juvie if you don’t pour everything into fleeing. There may have been a church involved, and I may have been up in the church grounds’ trees stealing fruit with my cousin. And there may have been a very angry elderly caretaker shaking a large whisk broom in my face. And maybe I jumped down, gave the caretaker my cousin’s name, and bolted. Maybe.

During my second year my grandmother taught me about “eating what you know.” In this case, what I knew was a white chicken we’d named Star Wars. Not only was Star Wars mentally disabled, but she had this odd physical quirk where she walked with her head and shoulders hunched and tilted to one side, like Paris Hilton in Meet the Spartans. She never met a wall she couldn’t walk into.

Then one day Star Wars disappeared. That same night, Darth Vader (aka my grandmother, who was clad all in black after the death of my grandfather) served chicken with orzo.* “This is not the chicken you’re looking for,” she rasped when I asked if she’d seen Star Wars. (It’s entirely possible that I misinterpreted her words and what she actually said was, “Sit up, shut up, and eat up.”)  But I recognized that stringy lump of chicken at the edge of the plate as part of Star Wars’ hump and knew my grandmother was a chicken killer. I never turned my back on her after that, especially not when she was wielding a cleaver and a bag of orzo.

(For the record, chicken that you knew personally tastes nothing like chicken.)

It was during my third year in Greece that I took a vow of silence when grownups asked me stuff. I learned the value of using sounds and body language instead of words. Why waste all that time saying “I don’t know,” when a well-timed shrug will do? That also saves you from lying, when you do in fact know because you’re the one who did it—or helped bury the (usually) metaphorical body.

Other things I learned in Greece: Donkeys are asses; they’re made up of two dangerous ends. Some women do have whiskers. Toilets you sit on? Yeah, those aren’t universal. Spitting wards away the Evil Eye, but not strangers on a bus. Physicists are doing it all wrong: we should be investigating the speed of gossip.

Finally, one day, my parents decided I’d learned enough and I was in danger of either becoming a scathingly brilliant criminal or a below-average lawyer, so we left Greece for Australia, where I lived happily ever after… Until I mucked up my life by deciding to write a novel.

The moral of this story is, if possible, to have at least one parent with dual citizenship and distaste for the local weather if you want to be a writer.

*Oddly enough, I can still eat chicken. I cannot, however, even stand the sight of orzo. Which says something about me. Let the psychoanalysis begin.

Why do you tell stories?

Because the world needs storytellers and I have some aptitude for it. Being entertaining is something I’ve always enjoyed, although my original career goal was to be Doris Day. Not only was the job already taken, but I can’t act. Can’t sing. Can dance a little. But really I just plain enjoy telling stories. And there are far worse fates in life than doing something you love.

I was in my early twenties when I originally wanted to start writing, but when faced with a blank page I realized I had nothing to write about…yet. So I went off and did some interesting things. Then one day I discovered the stories were starting to come to me, so I started nailing them to the computer screen. I go through a lot of monitors that way.

I was going to make a crack about how “storyteller” is a much nicer word than “liar,” but nowhere do you have to be more real than in fiction.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

I’m lousy at math, so let’s pretend two is the new one.

Get a life. A wild and vivid imagination will only take you so far; real life is where the true crazy happens, and if you’re at your desk, staring at the wall, all the time you’ll miss out. You need to get out there and live and see things and experience everything humanly possible and soak up the world like a fat, fluffy sponge. Worst case scenario, you’ll lead an interesting life.

The second is really a piece of publishing advice: Don’t be an ass. Publishing has fewer degrees of separation than Kevin Bacon, and if you behave badly… Look, we’re in a business that loves stories and storytelling, so you know how that’s going to wind up. We talk. Be an ass and we’ll talk about you. Probably, for sure, we’ll embellish.

What’s the worst piece of writing/storytelling advice you’ve ever received?

I wish I didn’t have to narrow it down to just one. But because two, as it turns out, isn’t the new one: Write what you know.

Who wants to write about something they already know? Bo-ring! I’d rather write about things I don’t know and get some extra educational value out of my job. Writers are (or should be) by nature insatiably curious people. We desire growth and devour new things. So it makes sense that we’d want to write about those new, shiny things. It keeps our stories from stagnating on the page. It keeps us fresh and interesting as storytellers.

The only exception here is that you have to know people—really know people—to be able to convincingly write about them. The best books are the ones that tell universal truths about human nature. I’m pretty sure I stole that last line from my sweetheart. He’s a wise man.

I could talk forever about bad advice. There’s more floating around out there right now than ever before, and it’s often bigger and splashier than the good. Bad advice is cunning because it dresses up as whatever it is new writers want to hear.

What goes into writing a strong character? Bonus round: give an example of a strong character.

Everything, including the kitchen sink, the garbage disposal, and the compost heap. Restraint is death to strong characters.  The minute you start holding back is the minute that strong character winds up diluted and insipid. Often when I’m trying to get a strong character down on paper, I ask myself, “What would someone better than me do in this situation?” A strong character doesn’t always recognize their strength, either. They have moments of self-doubt and they fail. But if you can pull them back onto their feet and keep them moving forward toward their goal then that goes a long way toward painting a strong character on paper.

Note: “Strong” is not necessarily a synonym for kick-ass, bitchy or snarky. Some of the strongest characters are the quietest on the page.

Bonus round: One of my favorite examples of a strong (and recent) character: Myfanwy Thomas in Daniel O’Malley’s The Rook. From an older book: Melanie Wilkes in Gone With the Wind.

Sell us on White Horse in 140 characters — the space of a single tweet.

WHITE HORSE: It’s like THE ROAD, but with breasts, hope, and punctuation.

White Horse takes place during the end of the human world. Why set a book there? What drew you to the apocalypse?

I think there’s a little piece in all of us that wonders what the world would be like if everything suddenly ended. It’s the ultimate “what if?” scenario. Even as a kid I loved destroying my Lego creations as much as I loved constructing them. Why? Because it’s a chance for do-overs. Bigger, better do-overs. All that potential just excites the heck out of me, as a storyteller. It’s such an extreme situation and a real chance to see how far characters are willing to go to survive, and to discover what really matters to them. Like living people, you never know what characters are made of until you’ve shoved them over the edge.

Really though, WHITE HORSE’s apocalypse was one of those serendipitous things. I didn’t mean to write an apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic novel. It just…happened. One minute my protagonist was sitting in her therapist’s office, the next she was standing in Italy at the end of the world. I really don’t know why or how.

That sounds like total BS, but it’s true. All my best material is accidental. Even if you’re a staunch plotter, leave room for surprises.

Talking about this reminds me: If anyone out there is brilliantly funny, ala Christopher Moore, I’d love them to give Adam and Eve the LAMB treatment. Because I think the Next Big Thing in publishing will be beginning-of-the-world stories.

You wrote the book in present tense — why? What is the value that present tense brings to the page and the story? And what is the challenge of it?

I never really over-think tense when I start a new story. There’s always a clear stand out, a way the story wants to be told. Which sounds a bit woo-woo, I know. But when you’ve been writing for a while, I think certain things start becoming instinctual. Anyway, when I began working on WHITE HORSE, every line that popped out of my fingers, ala Spiderman (okay, so I know the silly string pops out of his wrists, not his fingers) was present tense. It felt natural so I went with it. For a few paragraphs I tried past tense, but the story refused to flow. Once I switched back, the story began pouring onto the page again. Why fight what’s meant to be?

The beauty of present tense is that it’s so immediate. The reader is right there as everything is happening to the protagonist. And it lends a certain feeling that anything can happen. There’s no foresight. With past tense you’re almost guaranteed that the protagonist survived the story’s events, and they’re telling their tale in retrospect. I like the uncertainty present tends lends to the situation.

But present tense is also extremely unforgiving. It’s the white pants of tenses.  It can be tedious or too tell-y. And much like first-person, it looks deceptively easy. Solid prose can quickly become a list of events if you’re not careful. Couple it with first-person and risk burying your readers in a lint-filled navel-gazing pit.

What is your favorite (er, non-White Horse) end-of-the-world story?

No question about it: Stephen King’s THE STAND. I recently purchased a new copy because I wore out the old one. Not only is it a fantastic story, but it’s so huge that if the world ends you could use it as a weapon.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

Game: Monopoly. Go to jail and get out free if you have a special, magical card? Oh yeah, you just know there would be record-breaking box office there if only someone had the gumption to make that movie. I’m looking at you, Battleship producers.

Book: Shades of Grey, by Jasper Fforde

Film: Big Fish

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

The. It’s just so damn useful. Except in that last sentence, where it wasn’t useful at all. Fuck.

Which leads me to…

Fuck is my favorite curse word, and (as shown above) often more useful than “the.” My editor’s going to be SO surprised when I do a “search and replace.”

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

My go-to drinks are the humble screwdriver (vodka and OJ. Juice, not Simpson, because that would be weird) and rum and Coke. But right now I’m 34 weeks pregnant and I’d happily kill someone and then make a slow getaway in a white Bronco for a Pina Colada. I’ve been making do with fresh pineapple.

But there’s no funny story there, so let me tell you about this drink called a Flaming Lamborghini. Actually, I can’t tell you a story about that, mostly because I don’t remember it (I was in Australia, it was my 18^th birthday, a bouncer had to carry me out of the club, and on the way home I lost $20 and my favorite belt; that’s all I’ve got), but I can give you the recipe.

Flaming Lamborghini

1 oz Blue Curacao

1 oz Kahlua

1 oz Bailey’s

1 oz Sambuca

Combine the Sambuca and Kahlua in a cocktail glass. Pour the Bailey’s and Blue Curacao into two shot glasses. Set the combined Sambuca and Kahlua on fire, stick in a straw and start sucking. Halfway through, tip the two shot glasses into the cocktail glass and keep on sucking until the glass is empty and you have a lungful of plastic fumes from the melting straw. Don’t stand up too quickly, especially if you’re proving your clinical insanity by consuming more than one.

If you try this and Something Bad happens, don’t forget to blog/Tweet about it so we can all share in the fun. Bonus points if you provide Youtube links and/or proof that you wound up groveling in front of someone named Your Honor.

What interesting things did you do before you decided to start nailing words to pages? Don’t leave us hanging, now.

I’m going to answer this like my parole officer isn’t reading it.*

Where were we? Oh yes, I went off on grand adventures, after discovering that I had nothing to write about—yet. And by grand adventures I mean I moved from Australia to Texas and got married. If that doesn’t sound all that exciting, believe me, it is. I had to learn about all kinds of new, crazy things, like health insurance, tipping, and Congress. I suffered through endlessly amusing questions, such as “What language did you speak before you came to America?” and “Do y’all have these where you come from?” (The item in question was a watermelon)

For a time I taught English as a Second Language, which is probably the second best job I’ve ever had. It taught me two things: Celebrity gossip is a super-easy way to teach English; mules and elderly Russian men share DNA. Life’s always interesting when you mix with people whose life circumstances are wildly different to your own. Plus you learn new ways to curse. That’s always dead useful.

I traveled a bunch, ate weird food, spent way too much time in Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas is that you really quickly become sick to death of people and noise. Then you start to notice how grimy everything is behind the pretty lights. Then you wind up gnawing off your own hand at the airport, the one stuck in a slot machine, to get the hell out of there.

I learned to renovate a house. Don’t ask me to swing a hammer, because I suck at that unless you want a house filled with bent nails, but I can lay some pretty mean tile.

And somewhere along the way I may have tried to feed a raw steak to a bull. Let’s just say bulls don’t like steak. Or people running away from them. But you didn’t hear that from me.

There are so many other things, too, but…see first paragraph. I like to tease my fiance that we’re both the living embodiment of that old Chinese curse, “May you lead an interesting life.”

*I don’t really have a parole office, but I do have a mother. Which is kind of the same thing.**

** Just kidding. My mother is nothing short of amazing. That’s a real and unpaid endorsement.

Holy crap, you’re having a baby soon! Congratulations. You’re about to suffer a small apocalypse of your own — have you prepared your life for the beautiful storm that’s about to hit?

Thank you! We’ve been preparing for a reverse zombie apocalypse. Which means retrofitting our house to keep things in instead of out. We’re stocking up on everything humanly possible, because apparently we won’t be able to leave the house until our daughter goes to college. At least that’s what other parents tell me. I figure we’re already in good shape, too, because we’re used to spelling things out so our dog doesn’t understand them.

My guy is also sharpening his shotgun skills, for when the drooling teenage boys launch their invasion. I pity the fools.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable war against the robots?

I collect magnets and I know how to wield them.* And thanks to Daniel Wilson’s Robopocalypse I already know how to defeat the robots. You should probably buy his book and a can opener if you want to survive.

*This may or may not be true.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

I’m currently shifting commas in Red Horse, book two of the White Horse trilogy. After I hurl that to my editor and duck, I want to work on a novel I’ve had brewing in my brain for about a year now. I can’t tell you about it because otherwise I’ll lose interest. I’m one of those writers: Once the story is told, whatever the medium, I can’t go back and retell it. But it’s going to be great. Or semi great. Or not-so-great any place except inside my own head.

All this is just code for “I’m just biding time until December 21.” If the world ends I don’t want to have done all this work for nothing.

I suspect you already know Meg Gardiner. Or, at least, have read her crimey thrillers starring her lead characters Evan Delaney or Jo Beckett. Hell, while you have a free moment, go read what Stephen King said about her at Entertainment Weekly (“The Secret Gardiner“). In fact, she’s got a new book out in a couple weeks — RANSOM RIVER — that’s a standalone, and it’ll grab you by the short-and-curlies and pull you along for the ride. I had the chance to lock Meg in a room for a few weeks while I subjected her to a battery of psychological tests in the form of “interview questions,” and below are the results of that experiment. Oh, you can find her at MegGardiner.com, or on the Twitters @MegGardiner1.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

We were stuck at a traffic light and the kids were squirming. They’d had a long day at school. If we didn’t get home soon, they’d lose it. We were counting down to Battle Royale II: Honda of Mayhem.

The two older kids each held half a book in their hands. That was the spring they discovered The Lord of the Rings, and they’d fought over who got first crack at The Two Towers until they settled it by ripping the book down the middle. The novel would hold them for a few minutes more, but only that.

Then my son, the ten-year-old, looked up and said, “I’ve figured out how I want to die.”

The light turned green but I just sat there. “Really. Okay. Tell me.”

He straightened and faced me with great solemnity. “Riding out to meet the Orcs in battle.”

His eyes were wide and grave. I felt deeply moved, and desperate not to laugh with relief. He meant it. If he had to die, let it be in heroic sacrifice.

And in the back seat, his twelve year old sister snirked. “How stupid would that be? You should die riding back from battle after you’ve killed the Orcs.”

Her duh could be heard in outer space. He spun and told her she was the stupid one and the Orcs would eat her oh yes they would so. And another car honked, and I pulled away from the light, and the argument intensified, Orcs and Mordor and “No, you’re stupider,” until they had to stop to catch their breath.

Which is when their little brother said, “What’s your favorite James Bond gun sound? Is it crishhh, or shuuuk?” We all turned to him. He said, “Mine is Doofkah. Doofkah.”

In my house, stories are a matter of life and death.

Why do you tell stories?

Because holding people’s suspended disbelief in my hands is a beautiful, powerful kick. And when those people gasp, or laugh, or throw my book across the room, I think, Yeah. Thank you. Now tell me a story that makes me feel the same way.

So: how do you suspend someone’s disbelief? Any tricks?

I stand before a mirror in a darkened room and chant, “Chuck Wendig, Chuck Wendig, Chuck Wendig.”

Also:

– Create characters who talk and laugh and ache like people we know in real life.

– Keep the pace up. Readers who are flipping pages to see what happens next do not pause to mull the metaphysical unreality of fiction.

– Don’t commit any howlers. “Queen Elizabeth leaned out the window of the taxi, hoisted the Uzi, and cleared London traffic in her usual way.” Oh, come on. The Queen would never take a taxi.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Put your characters to the frickin’ test, and don’t let them get out of it by any means but their own grit and blood and pain.

What’s the worst piece of writing/storytelling advice you’ve ever received?

Kill the guy in the wheelchair.

Seriously – an agent who wanted to represent me offered that piece of advice about the heroine’s boyfriend in the Evan Delaney series. Jesse Blackburn is a world class athlete who gets run down and left for dead by a hit-and-run driver. The story is partly about how he and Evan rebuild their lives in the wake of that violent crime. The would-be agent told me: “Nobody wants to hear about people with disabilities, because nobody normal knows anybody with a disability. Kill him off.”

After I pulled my jaw from the floor, I ignored that advice. And the first novel in the series, China Lake, won an Edgar Award.

Bonus round: the second worst piece of writing advice I’ve ever received! It came from a reader who complained: Stop using big words, showoff. She thought I was trying to belittle readers through my vocabulary, and advised: “Tame your writings to a more friendly word selection.” Unfortunately, (1) The novel was about forensic psychiatrist Jo Beckett, who performs psychological autopsies for the San Francisco Police Department. Medical, psychiatric and legal terminology is gonna be part of her job. (2) The reader wrote from her work email address. Which was with the federal government.

What goes into writing a strong character? Bonus round: give an example of a strong character.

A strong character needs a vivid personality, real presence on the page, and the determination to dig deep when it counts. He or she must find the resources and courage to rise to the challenge the story flings at them – in the face of ridicule, shame, exile, danger, or death.

A strong character: Atticus Finch. Bonus strong character: Ellen Ripley.

On writing a single character (Jo Beckett, Evan Delaney) over the course of many books: how do you sustain those characters and the audience’s interest in them? What is the difficulty — or, maybe, danger — of writing them again and again?

I give characters big personalities, distinctive voices, and families, friends, and lovers they care about. Then I put them in jeopardy and say, “You’re on your own, honey. Let’s see you get out of it this time.”

The risk is that you write series characters into a rut. A crazed killer traps the heroine in an alley yet again? Yawn. Keep it fresh. Mix it up. And have the characters grow from their experiences.

Cuts leave scars. Show them.

Characters should also face actual danger: the risk that their families, friends and lovers might suffer or even die. If you structure a thriller to keep your favorite characters safe, you hobble the story. So stop protecting them, and take the story as far as it should go.

Tell us a little about RANSOM RIVER. Where does it come from? How is it a story that only Meg Gardiner could tell?

Nobody looks forward to jury duty, not even lawyers. I know, because I used to be one. Jury duty makes us feel trapped. So in RANSOM RIVER I wrote about Rory Mackenzie, a juror who is literally trapped. The courtroom is attacked and she finds herself fighting for her life.

Maybe an attack on a courthouse is an attorney’s unconscious fear. It’s not off the radar – when I was a kid, gunmen stormed the Marin County courthouse and four people died in a shootout, including a judge. RANSOM RIVER let me unleash that dread as a story of suspense, and bring readers along for the ride.

In the novel, the courthouse attack is only the beginning of Rory’s nightmare. The police accuse her of working with the gunmen. She discovers that the attack is connected to an old case that was never solved. And getting to the bottom of it might destroy her.

RANSOM RIVER offers the audience a new protagonist: Rory Mackenzie. What does Rory bring to the table that your other characters don’t? For you as a writer and for the audience.

This story had to be told from the viewpoint of the woman at the center of the storm. It’s about her and her family. It’s about her childhood friend and ex-lover, the former cop who still loves her. And it’s about a sunny Southern California town with secrets just waiting to be dug out of the dark. It didn’t fit with either Jo Beckett or Evan Delaney. Rory had to bring an entire world to the table.

Creating it was a challenge. And I hope readers will feel that it’s real, and familiar, and scary – and that they’ll be in Rory’s corner. She has a pitch black sense of humor. She’s guarded but inherently trustworthy – stray dogs follow her home, knowing she’ll adopt them. She’s been knocked down, but she’s determined to get back up. She’s stronger than she knows.

Can we expect to see Rory again?

The novel is written as a stand alone, but Rory’s story could definitely continue.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

The Stand.

Here’s how a friend described it, back when I’d never heard of the young writer named Stephen King: A plague kills 99% of the people in the world… and then the really bad stuff start to happen. Oh, my, yes.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

Soar – it sounds smooth on the tongue, and if you’re going to fly, you might as well rocket above it all, whooping and performing barrel rolls. Favorite curse word: motherfucker. In a world where lesser curse words have become as ubiquitous as sprinkles on cupcakes and just as innocuous, this one still packs a punch. I take it out only on special occasions – I use it once in every novel, and only once.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

Virgin margarita from Palo Alto Sol, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Palo Alto, California. Recipe: I’m guessing margarita mix, ice, and salt on the rim. This drink is so potent that it doesn’t need alcohol. It has given me amazing visions, even without the tequila. And I don’t mean I saw the Virgin on a tortilla – I saw Mark Zuckerberg at the next table, noshing on a burrito. Dude.

However, I have just read that Palo Alto Sol catered Zuckerberg’s recent wedding. So I guess my vision wasn’t due to la margarita after all. Now for unexpected apparitions I rely on strong coffee. All day long. How else do you think I come up with the crazy stuff in my novels?

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the war against the robots?

I can short circuit anything without even trying. As proof, I refer you to the 2006 Laptop Logic Board Coffee Spill, and the 2010 Pepsi Keyboard Massacre. Bonus: Because I rely on coffee all day long, when the robots attack I will be primed for retaliation, perching on my desk with catlike readiness, mug in hand.

What do you enjoy about writing thrillers? Will you ever try your hand at another genre?

Thrillers throw characters in the soup. They demand that characters dig deep and fight back – or die trying. I love writing stories in which people have to do that.

Other genres? Adventure, comedy, dystopian sagas set during the savage reign of the marmots. The possibilities are endless.

I’ve got a few more interviews coming up — the guys behind So You Created A Wormhole, Ann LeMay, comedian Dylan Brody, plus all the questions you crazy kids sent in to me — but just the same, it’s time again that I start fishing for new torture interview subjects.

As you may know, I use this spot to interview storytellers. That can be anybody, really — authors, filmmakers, songwriters, comedians, comic book creators, editors, game and experience designers, etc.

This has two components — as a reader, feel free in the comments below to recommend some folks you want me to interview. I can’t promise it’ll work out, but hey, drop some names.

The second component is if you are a storyteller who’d like to be interviewed in this very space.

Now, let me put my Warning, Cranky Shithead hat on for one teeny-weenie moment:

First, this isn’t a marketing tool. Ideally, yes, the interview will spread word about your books and games and whatever else you’re doing, and I’m happy if that coincides nicely with some release of yours. Just the same, this has to be an entertaining interview for the readers of this blog. They’re the reason this thing exists. So, ask yourself: “Do I make good interview material?” Do you have interesting ideas? A compelling journey? Thoughts on the subject of writing and storytelling (as this blog is focused on those things)?

Second, I want accomplished storytellers — I’m open to interviewing self-published authors (as I am one myself), but here’s the thing: given self-publishing’s incredibly low (read: non-existent) bar to entry, I tend to get a lot of self-published authors who want in but don’t really seem to have much worth talking about. Again that question: “Do I make good interview material?” If you find me prejudiced against self-published writers, that’s because self-published writers have made me prejudiced against self-published writers.

So! All that being said —

Want in on an interview slot? Hit me up at:

terribleminds at gmail dot com.

Make sure “INTERVIEW” is in the subject of your email, yeah?

Now, I tend to get a flood of these emails, so I will try to work my way through and answer you. Forgive any delay on my part there, but as Miriam Black says, “It is what it is.”

Feel free to tell me in the email why you’d make a good interview subject. Also, if I don’t know you at all, I may ask to see something of yours — say, your book — so I know who you are and what you do. You can either email me said “thing” or I can provide you with a mailing address if need be.

And that’s all she wrote.

You don’t turn down an interview with an author when part of their bio includes things like “zombie aficionado,” “swordfighter,” or “B-movie actress who worked on Army of Darkness.” You just don’t. So please meet Dana Fredsti, author of the ass-kicking zombipocalypse novel, Plague Town. Go find her at her website — danafredsti.com — or on the Twitters: @zhadi1.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

I stumbled into theatrical combat because I was hungry and nosy. Eighteen years old, I was working my first Renaissance Faire. When I say “working,” I mean flouncing around in a full red skirt, white blouse and cinch-belt, adding to the local “ye old Renaissance” color and enjoying the attention. Standing in line for a turkey leg (back when the vendors only charged a couple of bucks for one and cooked them all the way through), I overheard a guy behind me say, “I was going to do a short sword fight, but my partner backed out.” I snuck a peek; the speaker was really cute in a Ren Faire type of way, longish dark hair, white full-sleeved cavalier shirt, breeches and boots. “Too bad, it was a good fight.”

Without even thinking about it, I piped up with “I’ll do it!”

The guy looked me up and down and said, “Yeah, okay.”

Within an hour (after I finished my turkey leg), I’d learned the basics of sword fight choreography, b: my teacher’s name was Chris Villa and that he was a fight choreographer by profession. We performed our fight to much audience applause and I fell irrevocably in love with swordfighting … and my teacher. The latter burned itself out after a few years, but my passion for swordfighting (and men in breeches, boots and puffy white shirts) remains strong to this day.

Why do you tell stories?

I’ve written since I was old enough to string words together, and when my family moved to Tucson for a year when I went into seventh grade, my imagination was my salvation. I was unhappy and spent a great deal of time in my own head, making up stories, putting myself in different worlds. When I don’t write, I get stressed and unhappy. And then voices in my head tell me to do bad things…

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Don’t count on spellcheck/grammar check to do your work for you. It won’t and you’ll end up embarrassed down the road, I guarantee you.

What’s great about being a writer, and conversely, what sucks about it?

What’s great? Creating worlds, getting lost in them and escaping the real world, and having the opportunity to take literary vengeance on those people who piss you off. In other words, playing god…ah, what a heady rush of power!

What sucks? Not being able to do it full time, having deadlines and knowing you have to meet those deadlines no matter how tired you are at the end of a day job or how dull the knife edge of your creativity might be during your writing sessions. And knowing no matter how much effort you put into something, there will always be people who don’t like it and aren’t shy about telling the world how much you suck.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

I don’t have a favorite word. That’s the kind of question that needs a context, like “favorite word when you’re happy,” and even then, nothing springs to mind. I did know someone who would get enamored with specific words, like “buttocks.” He played a hard-boiled detective in our theater troupe and one of the lines was “a clue crawled up my leg and bit me on the ass.” He kept saying “a clue crawled up my leg and bit me on the buttocks.” Just didn’t work. Which goes to show you have to watch getting attached to specific words. Favorite curse word is actually two: Jeez Louise. Or Fuckity-fuck, depending on the company I’m keeping.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

Wine, wine, wine, and MORE wine! Red, white, bubbly! WINE!!!!

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

Walking Dead (graphic novels). The Dead (film). Rock Paper Tiger (book).

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable zombie war?

I’m familiar with just about any zombie mythos you can name, so I’m prepared for any eventuality. Although if they turn out to be those fast sprinting zombies, I think we’re all screwed. At any rate, I can shoot, I can wield a mean sword, I don’t freeze in the face of danger, and I WILL shoot you in the head if you get bitten. Or if you steal my wine.

Okay, swordfighting: what do other writers get wrong about it?

For me, what bugs is when writers describe the fights in an entirely technical fashion, with no drama whatsoever. Kind of like calling out a Twister game. “Right hand on hilt, left foot in lunge” etc. It bleeds the passion and excitement right out of it. And occasionally writers will get the sword components wrong, calling the hilt a “handle” or the pommel the “guard.” I mean, if a character has no clue what’s what, that’s okay, but otherwise… do your research! It’s kind of odd, though, because I have not really read that many books recently in which the characters utilize swords. Which is kind of funny considering how many urban fantasies feature a cover model clutching a katana. Including mine.

You are a bonafide zombie aficionado: what’s next for zombies? What haven’t we seen?

Damn it, Jim … er, Chuck! I’m an aficionado, not a fortune teller! I mean, who knows? So far we have slow zombies, fast zombies,

sentient zombies, sentimental zombies, nice zombies, pathetic zombies, funny zombies, half-zombies, zombie animals, zombie birds, and sexy zombies. I think the innovations to the zombie mythos (pretentious writer speak alert!) will continue to happen, but I truly have no clue as to what the next one might be. Other than what I’ve got in Plague Town and to tell you here would be considered a major spoiler. I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you. And then kill myself since I was the one who blabbed in the first place.

Sex and death. How do the two relate? Are they closer than we think?

Considering the French refer to an orgasm as le petit mort (the little death), I suppose there’s a connection. A Some serial killers certainly equate the two, what with the whole “I will stab you while I fuck you” (can I say “fuck” on this website?!) or, in some cases, “I will fuck you after I stab you.” Gotta say I don’t get that connection (and a good thing for my boyfriend, yes?); I’m of the opinion that sex and the resulting pleasure reaffirm life rather than echo death.

Okay, tell us about working on B-Movies. Pick a story and share it. Give us the goods.

Oh, but there are so many goods when it comes to working on B-movies… most of them bad, but there you have it.

I personally love B movies, but watching myself in, say, Princess Warrior requires a lot more wine than is probably good for me in one sitting. Most of my friends who’ve watched it feel much the same way. But it was really fun to work on. Most of them are because you have a small crew of enthusiastic people working for peanuts (I wouldn’t be surprised if this were literal in some cases), most of them really believing that art is being made. The stronger the belief that the movie being filmed for anywhere between $3K and $100K (I am not joking about the budgets) is either an art film or a really good film, the more sincere the acting despite very little to no production value and scripts of questionable quality. The perfect formula for the best kind of ‘so bad it’s good’ b-movie.

One of my favorite experiences was working on a film called Ninja Nymphs in the 23rd Century. Horrible horrible script, with a director who took himself and the project so seriously it was scary. He was also SO. SLOW. I mean, granted you don’t want the Ed Wood “Cut! Perfect! Let’s move on!” after every take, but this guy… take after take. The movie was filmed on video and oh, it shows. I played “Minstra”, the Prime Minister of whatever planet we were supposed to be on (I just don’t remember) and wore a blue lycra bodysuit, thigh high boots and a cape. I looked like a super hero. I also did stunts and the ultra cool thing about that is that the stunt coordinator on the film was Jack West, who doubled Wang in Big Trouble in Little China, all those really cool aerial flips and leaps. He also played the demon in S-Mart in the end of Army of Darkness. At any rate, working with Jack was the highlight of the film. He was really enthusiastic about sword-fighting, open to learning more about it, and just so much fun to work with!

You’ve committed crimes against humanity. They caught you. You get one last meal.

Are you asking about the crimes I’ve committed or what I’d eat for my last meal? I’ll assume the latter…so…let’s see….

Steamed crab (that I don’t have to take out of the shell) with melted butter. O Toro sashimi. Hot sourdough bread with more butter. I like butter. Bacon. Lots of bacon. A slice of pizza with feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, on a cornmeal crust. The best grass-fed steak available. Hot flourless chocolate cake. And to go with the food, any decent champagne (or sparkling wine ’cause I’m not a snob), a bottle of Tobin James Fat Boy Zinfandel, and the creamiest, butteriest chardonnay available.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

For the next year or so, it holds the sequels to Plague Town (Plague Nation and Plague World). I’ve also got a sequel to my cozy noir mystery Murder for Hire: The Peruvian Pigeon in the works and a couple other ideas I’ve been kicking around. That being said, I’m open to whatever the future brings me by way of writing projects!

Plague Town. How is this a book only you could’ve written?

I have a unique background and it’s because of my eclectic (some might say jaded) past what with the B-movie acting, the sword-fighting, a life long immersion in geek culture, an honestly inherited sarcasm from both sides of the family, and (as noted above) my status as a zombie aficionado. Bonafide. Other writers might come up with a similar plot, but I seriously doubt anyone could come up with the same book. It’s mine. MINE!

Where will the two sequels take the world, the characters, and by proxy, the readers?

Well, Plague Nation and Plague World kind of hint at the scope of the zombie outbreak in each book. The ante is upped for the characters as all the struggle they experienced in Plague Town turns out to be, while not in vain, certainly not the end of their battle. I’m hoping to up the ante for the readers as well by not letting them get too comfortable with the characters’ safety. I will be killing some of them (the characters, not the readers), something that doesn’t always come easy to me when I really like my characters. Other times it’s pure joy … but I’m forcing myself to push my own comfort envelope in the next two books.

Here’s the deal.

I figure, I’ll offer my own neck on the interview chopping block here.

You’re free to ask me anything you want. Pop the question (er, not the marriage question, put that ring away), and drop it into the comments below. I’ll pick my favorites and will compile and answer.

Ask me about writing, personal life, this site, my books, pop culture, whatever crosses your terrible minds.

Or, don’t ask me anything, and leave me here sobbing, staring at an empty comments thread.

Your choice.

*lip quivering*

Delilah Dawson has the ‘d’s down pat — delightful, delirious, and dazzling when it comes to this here author interview. Hard not to love her take on how she deals with rejection, below. Behold her novel, Wicked As They Come, now available. Find her at her website — delilahwrites.blogspot.com — and track her down on the Twittertubes (@DelilahSDawson).

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

There was once a little girl who was afraid of the dark for all the wrong reasons. Every night, she clung to her mother’s neck like a wet sloth, begging not to be left alone. Every night she had the same dream. It began happily enough– at a softball game. She sat in the stands drinking a Fanta Grape and cheering. And then, somehow, she found herself on second base. On the home plate stood Abraham Lincoln, austere in his trademark tall hat and black suit. With a ghoulish grin, he began running to first base, elbows flapping like crow bones. And the girl took off for third.

Every night, he chased her around the bases. And every night she ran, lap after lap, huffing and puffing with the sixteenth president’s fetid old man breath rank as hot pennies and old meat on her back.

Not until she grew up did she realize that he wasn’t chasing her because she was a naughty girl and because she kept getting him confused with George Washington.

He was chasing her because he was a vampire.

And not until she was much, much older did she stop to pick up a baseball bat and turn with a wild laugh to chase him instead.

Why do you tell stories?

At first, it was just to prove that I could. Now it’s become both compulsive and obsessive. I get an idea, and it won’t go away. It’s like an itch that has to be scratched. It’s like feeling the need to puke, how that consumes you until you finally puke, but then you stick around whatever you just puked in, waiting for more puke to happen. I mean, have you ever tried to *not* puke? It’s impossible. And I think writing is like that. You can’t fight it. You just have to let it shake you like a rag doll until it’s done with you.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Never use the phrase “I’m the kind of girl/guy who…” It needs to be so much more subtle than that. If you feel that need, do it in the first draft, and then erase it all. You’re just telling yourself the story, trying to make the character real. But your audience never needs to know about that part. It’s like foundation garments. They should see the effect, the smoothness, the beauty, never the sweaty, stretched-out girdle underneath.

What’s great about being a writer, and conversely, what sucks about it?

The greatest thing is that you get to play God. What you make becomes real. You build worlds, create characters, name things. And no one can tell you differently. Readers can critique your style, your plot, your word choice. But if you say the sky is yellow, the sky is goddamn yellow. I kept reading that vampires weren’t selling any more, but my spin on vampires sold. I cobbled together an entire world run on clockworks and magic, and now I talk about it like it actually exists. Anything is possible.

The part that sucks is that rejection is inevitable. I’ve gotten 50k into a story and given up because the seed of the idea was flawed. I’ve written and edited entire books that my agent didn’t think she could sell, and so they just sit on my hard drive like diseased orphans. I’ve had books go all the way to the table with an editor’s heart on it and not get an offer. No matter how great you are, you’re still going to be rejected. And that’s actually a good thing. You always need people in your life to tell you that a story sucks, that a character doesn’t work, that you need to cut 20k words. You’re playing God, but you need people who still have veto power, because megalomaniacs are boring as hell.

What’s the best way to make a character real?

A long time ago, I worked in a gift shop that was known for fancy schmancy gift wrapping. On my first day, I was nearly brought to tears by a cardboard box and a roll of kraft paper, because no matter what I did, my wrapping job looked crappy. The manager told me this. “Paper wants to fold a certain way, and you can’t fight it. You have to find out where it wants to fold and help it do that.” By that afternoon, I was a wrapping pro, which is… possibly the dullest thing ever.

But!

I think characters are like that, too– best when tied up in butcher paper. KIDDING. Each character wants to be a certain way and will flow naturally in that direction. When I get stumped, I often have to backtrack and see if I’m trying to force a character into a direction they wouldn’t go or put words into their mouth, which is why the next step doesn’t happen organically. If you let the characters be exactly themselves, it will shine through. Criminy Stain, for example, pretty much writes himself, the cocky bastard. And I let him.

I also like to think about what a character would be doing at the DMV. Would they tap their feet, chew their nails, be a jerk, chat someone up, or have a book already waiting in their bag? That’s how I figure out their quirks, what they do when there’s no direct action. But the very best characters barge onto the stage when you’re least expecting it and totally steal the scene.

On Rejection: Ah, but does “Can’t sell this” equate to “Story isn’t good?” Are stories not right for a large market still worth putting out there?

I think publishing must be run by a hundred monkeys with a hundred 20-sided dice, because there’s so much luck, timing, and randomness involved as to make it ridiculous. “Can’t sell this” can mean that the story isn’t good, or that the market is over-saturated in Amish zombie verse novels, or that the main character wasn’t likable enough or too ginger, or that prologues/mermaids/Esperanto wasn’t hot this season. If your agent takes your story out and it doesn’t sell, I think the best way to think of it is that you’ve got a big chunk of awesome in your pocket for later. I have two books that I love that didn’t sell, and although I was heartbroken and consoled myself with copious amounts of cake, I still feel that in a few years, I can drag them back out into the light of day, make them even more awesome with my advanced Sith skills, and try to sell them again.

How do you deal with rejection when it happens?

1. Copious amounts of cake.

2. Much flouncing, far from the public eye.

3. Blood oaths about kicking more ass in the future and savoring the sweetness of revenge.

4. Back to writing.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

Perambulator. A long time ago, I was in a Barnes & Noble, just browsing. And this guy walked up and said, all courtly-like, “My lady, a word?” And I said, “PERAMBULATOR.” And he looked all confused. “What does that mean?” he asked, still probably amazed that I hadn’t swooned. “You’re in a bookstore. Look it up,” I said. He returned 30 minutes later and handed me a piece of notebook paper with his name, his number, and a weird, rambling poem that wasn’t actually about perambulators. I never called him. But I still have the poem, and whenever I hear the word perambulator, I grin like a monkey.

Favorite curse word? My kids are 3 and 5, which means I can only throw F-bombs like confetti after bedtime. During the day, it’s all made-up words kind of similar to Annie Wilkes in Misery. People who drive like asshats are noonie birds. When my kids are being jerks, I tell them not to be snoots. But I do squeak out a scheisse every now and then. In my books, I enjoy the word bugger, because it seems like everyone has a British accent and it’s such a cute little word for something most people would consider offensive.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

I’m a simple woman with the taste buds of the sorority girl I never was. I like a good, old-fashioned Amaretto Sour. Half amaretto, preferably a cheap brand, half sour mix. Add a maraschino cherry on a plastic sword if you’re feeling fancy. And I won’t turn down a margarita, especially the hoity-toity kind flavored with prickly pear or blood orange.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

I can’t recommend anything more highly than Joss Whedon’s short-lived Firefly TV series and, by connection, the movie Serenity. Phenomenal characters, an unusual twist, comedy, tragedy, horror. It’s all there and yet entirely new.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable zombie war?

I just got Lasik, so I’ve got excellent vision. I used to wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweats after dreams in which the zombies were chasing me and I lost my glasses. I mean, what are you going to do? Break into a LensCrafters and grind your own lenses? I’m a decent enough shot, have excellent skills with horses, know a little muay thai and some jiujitsu chokes. And I read so much historical and dystopian fiction that I feel certain I could skin a rabbit or build a lean-to after ten or twenty failures. But probably, my best skill is my non-girly lack of squeamishness. I’m the one yelling SHOOT HER! SHOOT YOUR SISTER IN THE HEAD AND TAKE HER SHOES, MORON! during The Walking Dead.

You’ve committed crimes against humanity. They caught you. You get one last meal.

Oh, man. I would eat so much I would die of a ruptured gut long before they pulled out their fancy lightning chair. There would be French baguette with butter, pheasant soup, this amazing duck in plum sauce from Greenwoods in Roswell, GA, my grandmother’s macaroni and cheese and green beans and creamed corn, fish and chips, the rabbit from Canoe in Vinings, a medium rare grassfed filet, emu marsala, tempura shrimp, a Five Guys burger, some samosas, and about twenty different kinds of dessert ranging from cupcakes to chocolate covered strawberries to frozen cream puffs to a hot Krispy Kreme donut. There would be a Pay-Per-View channel just to watch me eat and make foodgasming noises.

So, Wicked As They Come: Sell us on it like your life depended on it.

Tall dark glass of Victorian quasi-vampire circus gypsy adventure kickassery, and if you don’t read it, I’ll set the bludbunnies loose in a preschool.

Why is Wicked As They Come only a book you could’ve written?

Because it’s unruly as hell, dark but optimistic, doesn’t take itself too seriously, defies genre, and follows a spankin’ hot sex scene with a kraken attack.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

I’m going to keep writing until they pry the laptop from my petrified claws. I’m editing an e-novella that will be out between Wicked as They Come and Wicked as She Wants, since there’s a year between books 1 and 2 in the Blud series. Hint: the novella involves a bearded recluse, some hot circus sex, and a badger attack. I’m working with my agent on my first YA, a paranormal based out of Savannah. And I’m finishing up a clockpunk romance spin on Robin Hood. Every time I finish a book, I think, “Jesus, I’m spent. I’ll never be able to write again!” And then some pushy story idea sticks its cold, wet nose up my skirts and just gooses the hell out of me.