Interview with paranormal novelist Patricia V. Davis

Welcome readers. Today’s special guest is writer Patricia V. Davis. We’re chatting about her new paranormal Secret Spice Café Trilogy, including book 1: Cooking for Ghosts.

During her virtual book tour, Patricia will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble (winner’s choice) gift card to a lucky randomly drawn winner. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit her other tour stops and enter there, too.

Bio:

Patricia V. Davis's debut novel series, The Secret Spice Cafe, is comprised of three books: Cooking for Ghosts (2016), Spells and Oregano (2017), and Demons, Well-Seasoned. (2019) The audio books will be released in 2020 by Tantor Media, and narrated by Ann Marie Gideon. Patricia lives with her husband, who is both a poker player and a rice farmer, so she divides her time between southern Nevada and northern California. Say hello to Patricia at her author website.

Please share a little bit about your current release.

Cooking for Ghosts: Book I in The Secret Spice Café trilogy is a story about four remarkably diverse women from four different parts of the world, who find commonalities when they bond over recipes on a food blogging site to which they all belong. They share personal stories, but what they don’t share is that they each have a secret heartbreak they’re trying to overcome. When one of them learns that restaurant space is available to rent aboard the RMS Queen Mary, they decide, impulsively, to open a restaurant together. The Queen Mary is a real-life historic ocean liner that has been turned into a hotel and museum, and is docked permanently in Long Beach, California. The thing is, Time magazine has labeled it “one of the top ten most haunted sites in the United States.” The women are unaware of that when they go aboard. Each woman brings her own figurative ‘ghosts’ with her when she travels to the Queen Mary, little knowing that she will encounter spirits who want to meddle in the live to fix a few problems, and nudge them into solving a decades old murder that took place aboard the ship.

What inspired you to write this book?

My first overnight aboard the Queen Mary, I had a remarkable paranormal experience. You can hear more about that in this nine-minute video.


Excerpt from book 3: Demons, Well Seasoned:
At the exact time Queen Mary of Teck christened her ship—not one second later or earlier—a child was born more than four thousand miles away, just north of the French Quarter in New Orleans, in a grand colonial country home on Bayou St. John.

Here the time was six hours earlier than it was in Clydebank, just ten past nine in the morning. The weather was warm, the humidity thick enough to slice with a Cajun skinning knife. The scents of the marshland were peppery and ripe, and the water wasn’t tainted by shipyard waste. The bayou thrummed with life, slow-moving though it was. The fish and crustaceans swam in languid circles under the surface, making themselves an easy mark for the water snakes and alligators that lay in wait, hidden in the murkiness of the duckweed and hyacinths. The river turtles were a nuisance only to the insects, as they snacked solely on algae, mayflies, beetle larvae and the like. Along the marsh’s edge, in the surrounding foliage of cypress and tupelo trees, muskrats, raccoons, nutria, and other marine mammals scuttled and hid, trying to keep themselves from ending up a bigger creature’s breakfast, while at the same time searching for a meal of their own.

On the bank of the water, the white-columned manor was built in a style that kept hot summers in mind; the ground floor was enclosed with pastel walls of soft brick. The hipped roof was double-pitched and the briquette-entre-poteaux design offered structural support, as well as insulation. The doors were positioned across from one another to keep cool air moving, and extended galleries on both the bottom and top levels of the house kept the sun off the walls and offered outdoor breezeways. An opulent Venetian-style fountain bubbled in the center of the circular drive, birds chirping happily in its dancing spray. Lush gardens boasted sultry-scented magnolias, cerulean-blue irises, camellias as plump and pink as a young woman’s lips, and climbing white roses as old as the bayou itself.

The house was fitted with shutters to provide relief from the Louisiana sun, and in the bedroom where the baby had been born, they were shut tight to keep out lizards and prying eyes. But a determined mosquito could always slip in through the slats. That morning, they hovered over the laboring woman’s bed and crooned for blood.

They got it. The evidence of a birth gone wrong stained the bed linens red and spattered the elegant Persian carpet. It soaked the towels the midwife had tried to stave it with, covered her apron, smeared across her palms, and made dark crescents under her fingernails. Its tangy, metallic essence infused the air, clashing with the aroma of spiced catfish and eggs the cook had been frying up before the pains started. They came too early and too fast, as though Èrzulie Dantòr had made it happen, had wanted the child to arrive that day. And when the infant girl was brought forth, like so much else in the room, she was marked. But not with the blood of life.

Her mother knew two things: she wouldn’t live to see her baby’s second day on this earth, and the white man who thought he was the baby’s father wouldn’t want her.

What exciting story are you working on next?
What I am working on right now is very, very exciting. It’s a marvelous opportunity, and were I not sworn to secrecy, I would tell you all about it.

When did you first consider yourself a writer? It was not when I got my Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. It was when my first content editor thanked me for writing a “real’ story that she could sink her teeth into.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like?

I do write full time. I took some time off recently because I was contracted to write all three books in the trilogy at breakneck speed, so when it was done, I just wanted to spend time reconnecting with my family and nature. I also spent some time on our house, which we purchased and moved into the day after Cooking for Ghosts came out! It’s been sitting neglected for the past four years, but in the last five months, I have finally gotten a headway on making it look like people actually live In it.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk? I tape book outlines to the floor in my office, so that I can cross things off as I write them. Seeing that outline which goes across the whole room on large sheets of paper, and crossing out things as I get to them, is gratifying. Maybe not as quirky is that I send the final draft of every manuscript to my son who lives overseas. After the content editors get it, after my agent sees it, after the publishing house sees it, I want him to see it. He has a storytelling genius that to me is unequaled. It’s like I gave birth to the best editor I could have wished for.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

I appreciate you, and I welcome your comments and criticisms.

Links:

Website | Instagram | Facebook | Wikipedia | TikTok

Thank you for being a guest on my blog!

Thanks for having me on!

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Interview with novelist David W. Thompson

Novelist David W. Thompson joins me today and we’re chatting about his new historical fiction that contains fantasy/magical realism elements, Sister Witch, The Life of Moll Dyer.

Bio:

The author is a native of Southern Maryland, and a graduate of University of Maryland, University College. Prior to retirement from a position with a major Aerospace Corporation, he tried his hand at a variety of occupations- from grocery store clerk to warehousing, from shoveling coal to a four year stint with the U.S. Army. When he isn’t writing, he enjoys time with his family and grandchildren, kayaking (mostly flat water please), fishing, hiking, hunting, wine-making, and pursuing his other “creative passion”- woodcarving.

After his family and cheesecake, reading was his first love. It exposed him to people, cultures and ideas he’d never experience otherwise. Writing was a natural extension of this “out of body” experience as characters carved little niches in his mind- showing their worlds, and their possibilities. He hopes to honestly convey the stories they whisper in his ears.

Welcome, David. Please tell us about your current release.

Sister Witch is inspired by the life of an accused colonial witch—Moll Dyer. She is one of the oldest colonial legends and even 300 years after her death, her name is still whispered in the dark of the night or to warn misbehaving little people. There is a road named after her, and a small creek near her old homestead bears her name. The sandstone boulder that marked the spot of her death was removed from the river bank and is displayed outside of the courthouse.

Every family seems to have a version of the Moll Dyer story, but there’s minimal historical record to support any of them due to a courthouse fire. To flesh out Moll’s story, I’ve gathered the oral traditions associated with her and combined them in her historical setting, then added a twist of magical realism. I think Moll would approve.

What inspired you to write this book?

Moll Dyer’s story was always close to my heart—since first hearing of her while a young lad listening to my elders spin tales around campfires. The tragedy this woman endured, the injustices she suffered, in a colony founded on tolerance was inexcusable. If that wasn’t bad enough, even her name was denigrated throughout history. If I couldn’t go back in time to alleviate her pain, perhaps I could at least remove the stigma attached to her name.

Excerpt from Sister Witch, The Life of Moll Dyer:

My name is Mary Dyer, or Moll to my family and friends. If you are either, you are among the few. It is for my child’s sake alone that I press my quill to paper. I am not proficient in the keeping of secrets, unlike my family, and as my disgrace is the foundation of my woes, I shall confess all for the integrity of my account. My child will know I was truthful in all things, save one.

For five generations, our family called Kinsale in County Cork, Ireland home. Kinsale is a sleepy little fishing village on the River Bandon. For the years I lived there, it was a safe, quiet, familiar place. The men fished the channel, built fishing vessels and farmed the land.

The womenfolk cared for their families, prepared meals, mended clothes, and of course kept the ever present peat fires burning. Mother loved the smell of a peat fire, like leaves burning in the autumn of the year she said. I found the scent to be sticky sweet like rotten apples.

I am ashamed to say I learned of our plight while eavesdropping on my parents after the bantlings were abed, and my breath caught in my chest!

“The work here is gone, Cathleen, and our savings are all but spent. There’s money to be made on the Isle of Wight, ship building and working the docks. There’s nothing holding us here now.”

“Are we starting this again, Killian? This is our home! Are you not happy here?” Mother asked.

“Happy? I’m as happy as a pig in shit living on scraps! It is my duty as a man to provide for my family! I won’t be depending on any man’s charity! Every day, there’s more and more debt we cannot pay. Indeed, I’m so happy I could dance!” I heard the patter of his shoes dancing to an imaginary tune, and stifled a giggle.

“You needn’t curse, or play the fool. There is no lack of food for our table, and the peat fires keep us warm at night.” Mother said.

“That’s not enough, Cathleen! The Dyers thrived here before the Battle of Kinsale. I swore to my father I’d reclaim our family’s glory. It’s what you deserve, what our children deserve.”

“I know the story, we’ve all heard it often enough, but you, of all people? You would raise our family among them? You think anything good waits for us among the English?” Mother asked.

What exciting story are you working on next?

I’m waiting to get back the first edits for Book 2 in the Dyer family series (His Father’s Blood), and I started on Book 3 - which will bring the family into the 21^st century. Moll Dyer proved to be quite a popular character and I’m considering a prequel to her story.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I think tomorrow…maybe? Seems like it’s something I’ve worked toward for a long time. I’ve always been a voracious reader, and what is a writer, but a reader on steroids? My sweet mother said I started reading about the time I started walking, but I’m not sure if I started reading really early or walking really late. I can’t remember a time I wasn’t playing with words and twisting imaginary character’s fates.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

No, I am retired from a major aerospace company, but my days of full time anything are blissfully behind me! I love my family, the outdoors, wood-carving, wine making, and kayaking.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Just one? Geez, you’re a tough interviewer. Probably how I relate to my characters - yeah “relate” with those figments of my imagination. LOL-my dreams are often inundated with their questions while they properly berate me for something they wouldn’t have said or done.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A wonderful husband and father…no seriously! I guess I didn’t get the first one right- at least the first couple of times, but hopefully did this go round! If being a good father can be measured by how my young’uns turned out, then I did damn well with that one. As far as “gainful employment,” I occasionally wanted to be Davey Crockett, or a fireman, maybe a musician (even though tone deaf), but I always wanted to write.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

If you get a chance to pick up Sister Witch, Moll and I hope you enjoy her tale. Thank you for your support, and thank you, Lisa, for this opportunity!

Links:

Website | Amazon UK | Amazon | Facebook | Twitter

Thanks for stopping by today, David. It's been a pleasure!

Interview with novelist Young-Im Lee

Novelist Young-Im Lee joins me today and we’re chatting about her historical thriller, Forgotten Reflections.

Bio:

Young-Im Lee was born in Mokpo, South Korea and relocated to Manila, Philippines at the age of one where she grew up in an international setting. She graduated with a BA in English Language and Literature from Seoul National University, and a MA in English Literary Studies from the University of York (UK). She currently resides in Seoul, South Korea.

Welcome, Young-Im. What inspired you to write this book?

This story is inspired by an actual event in my grandmother’s life. At around the age of seven, my grandmother stumbled on an underground bunker at her school where she found a particularly white sheet of paper. Without knowing the contents of the page, she had taken that peculiar sheet home. Her brother later discovered it to be a communist pamphlet and contacted the authorities, leading to the arrest and execution of over thirty communists, including my grandmother’s own teacher. For years after, my grandmother’s brother was on the run from family members of those executed that day.

Pieces of the plot have also been taken from my experience translating for U.S. and Filipino veterans of the Korean War who were visiting South Korea at the time. The little boy “Zion” in the story is dedicated to one Filipino soldier who had come back to Korea in search of a Korean boy who had been his “errand boy.” At the time, no newspaper or journalist was interested in an interview with a Filipino soldier. I am indebted to these nameless soldiers.

Excerpt from Forgotten Reflections:

Still to this day, the bright lights blind me. I often forget that there had once been a time when the only bright lights in this beautiful city were the bombs that blanketed the stars with ash and decimated the very ground I stand on. I rarely ever think of our brotherland still plunged in darkness just beyond the lights.

There are no landmarks to tell us what had happened other than a cemetery and museums that come in vogue once a year—a true testament of how our people tried our very best to forget the problems we cannot fix, as if the war isn’t still ongoing, marching to the rhythm of progress made in the past sixty years to eradicate all memories of our most recent trauma.

Make no mistake; the han still burns within us. We are reminded every so often of this unique brand of injustice by the rise in international tension from our non-compliant North Korean neighbors, only to momentarily reflect upon our past and relinquish our reflections as phantoms of a past that we hope will never return.

I miss my grandmother Iseul; I miss my grandfather with a deeper longing of never having known. Still, the bright lights taunt me; they command that I march forward, remember what must not be forgotten, lay to rest that which haunts us, and invent—imagine even—a world we must fight to create.

I promise, I will not forget.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I don’t know if I’ve ever considered myself a writer, although I remember feeling like I could become one when my first essay was published in a book.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I am an English teacher here in Korea and feel very lucky to be a part of a child’s formative years! It is a pleasure to see the world as they see it, full of charm and optimism. My students have been my source of inspiration and a part of me writes for them because I know the struggles they will face in the coming years. I am very fortunate that I get to choose my working hours and the number of students I can take on, which has given me the time and space to get into the writing process.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I’m not sure if this is considered a quirk, but I am certainly a slow writer. Most of my writing is done is my head, meaning I spend a lot of time thinking of specific scenes and moments. Writing it down is just one part of the process where I try to connect these moments into a fluid narrative. If you watch me “write,” you’d likely see me on my bed with my eyes closed, or with a book in my hand or a movie playing in the background.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I grew up in the Philippines around the time pop was beginning to get very popular all over Southeast Asia. I remember singing and dancing to some of these songs, dreaming of being on stage. Now, being on stage terrifies me! Most of all, I remember being so enthralled with stories of all kind, including dramas, Hollywood films and American TV shows. I never thought writing a story could be someone’s job! I think I might have wanted to be a writer had I known.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

I love connecting with readers. It has been a pleasure to get to know people from all over the world. Please feel free to connect with me through my social media sites. Most of all, I’d like to leave you with an encouragement to keep writing and to keep striving to create the world you want to be a part of.

Links:

Website | Amazon | Goodreads | Facebook

Thanks for being here today, Young-Im.

Interview with fantasy romance author Marsha A. Moore

I’m happy to have fantasy romance author Marsha A. Moore here today to tell us a bit about her newest novel, Shadows of Serenity, and a bit about herself and her writing life.

Bio:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and fantasy romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature often spark life into her writing, as well as watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out for an hour or more is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

Welcome, Marsha. Please tell us about your current release.

Shadows of Serenity is a novel that can be described as women’s fiction paranormal fantasy/magical realism.

Joyce Runsey spends her life savings to open a yoga studio in an historic Victorian St Augustine house, only to discover the property is haunted. A female ghost’s abusive and very much alive husband still tortures her by using dark witchcraft. The disruptive energy thwarts Joyce’s ambition to create a special environment to train students to become yoga teachers.

Joyce engages in a deadly battle with not only the tormented spirit, but also the dangerous husband. To protect her students from harm, she must overcome mounting obstacles. An unknown swami pays an unexpected visit to give advice on how to free the anguished ghost. Can Joyce comprehend and follow the wise man’s guidance in time to save everyone who depends on her?

What inspired you to write this book?

Shadows of Serenity was inspired by my experiences while completing a yoga teacher training program. I was overcome with joy seeing the incredible, positive transformations of my classmates. I wanted to create a story that would show this amazing growth. To do so, I created a force of evil that the power of yoga must overcome. The negative energy manifested through a ghost who haunted the yoga studio and was tormented by her former husband, a man capable of dark witchcraft.

Excerpt from Chapter One:

“Stop looking outside.” Eric slipped behind the main desk, a curved leg Queen Anne piece that had been a business-warming gift from her previous clients and teachers, and powered up the computer. “Do what you always tell your beginning teachers to do when they fidget while waiting for students to show up—go lay out mats for the number of students you want to show up tonight.”

Joyce straightened her posture and marched to the mat storage bin. She grabbed two armfuls without counting. In the classroom, she quickly unrolled a front row of five. Progressing to the second row, she hesitated and slowly laid three more in the middle. Looking at the pile of remaining mats, she took a breath to steady herself. It caught in her throat as a muffled cough. Thirty-five had enrolled in her last training session at the other studio. She wondered what had made her take a chance on this rundown, more-than-century-old property and mounting debts. She fingered the corner of a pink mat, its pebbled surface clinging to her skin. Surely more than eight would sign up. She unfurled the pink one and then four more. As she fought with a green mat that curled at the corners, the motion of Eric entering the room caused her to jerk her head in his direction.

“Only thirteen?” he called to her with a smile. “Where’s the confident Joyce I know? How about twice that number?”

She glanced at the clock—seven minutes until starting time—and gave a shrug. She turned toward one of the paired bay windows trimmed with wide, dark Jacobean-stained woodwork.

A pair of rain-bedraggled white egrets huddled unsheltered on the bank of the pond. They stretched their necks toward her, tilting their heads to gain a better view inside the studio. Joyce sensed their concern, but couldn’t meet their gaze.

She surveyed the canopy of pines and shivered. Mid-winter evenings set in early, even sooner with today’s gray skies. The rain that calmed her moments ago now seemed to be a destructive force. The cement mixer’s tracks were now mud holes. The deluge cut short the daylight and seemed to be doing the same to her dreams. Had she taken on too much? She’d trusted her business sense from her college training and previous corporate career, but the world of yoga touched lives in unpredictable ways.

The creak of the door in the foyer startled her from her thoughts. She and Eric battled each other to be the first to pass through the doorway.

A tall blond-haired woman greeted them with a wide smile. Rather than yoga clothes, she dressed in jeans that were stylishly frayed and holey. Joyce wondered if the girl walked in by mistake.

“I’m Joyce Runsey, the owner of Serenity Woods Yoga.” She extended a hand. “Are you here for the information meeting about yoga teacher training?”

“I’m Tara.” The girl accepted Joyce’s handshake. “I didn’t bring my yoga mat. I wasn’t aiming to come here tonight until I noticed a brochure for your new studio that I must’ve left on my front seat. I’m glad I saw that in my car since today’s the deadline.” She glanced down at herself, then leaned her head to one side and fluffed her long, golden hair. “Sorry I’m not in yoga clothes. I was on the way to the grocery store.”

“That’s not a problem. We’ll just be talking tonight. I’m so glad you’re here.” Joyce’s face lit with a grin, then fell as she noticed a single mourning dove fluttering on the porch outside the door. Doves seldom left their mates. The solo bird alarmed her, and she peered around Tara for a closer look. Even stranger, the bird clutched a flower stem in its beak.

Tara glanced over her shoulder, and the dove whipped its wings closer to the screen. “That bird’s trying to get in, and look, it’s carrying my favorite flower, a daisy,” she said with a laugh. “Where would it get a daisy in January?”

Joyce shivered and studied Tara, wondering why the lonesome dove needed to deliver that special flower to comfort her.

Footsteps reverberating on the porch chased the bird away, and two smiling women, who appeared to be in their early thirties, peered through the window of the front door.  A brunette with a bouncy ponytail stepped through the threshold first. “Sorry we’re late.” She juggled a purse and a large bag. A yoga mat stuck out from one end of her tote. “I’m Megan. I made a wrong turn…my daughter called, and I got distracted. She’s not used to being apart from me; I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

“You’re not late. Welcome. I’m Joyce, the program director.”

Arms full, Megan smiled and nodded.

“I’m Katie,” the other woman said, extending a hand to Joyce.

“Hi, Katie. Welcome back.” Joyce took her hand into both of hers. “I’m so glad you decided to sign up.” She motioned toward her partner at the desk. “This is Eric. You’ll see him helping out in just about every way here at Serenity Woods Yoga, teaching our new men’s classes, helping at the desk, and—”

“Doing the endless yard work,” he added with a warm smile.

“Please make yourselves comfortable in the classroom.” Joyce waved a hand to the open door. “Find a mat. There are blankets on the side you can fold to sit on.”

“I remember where everything is and will help them.” Katie brushed her light brown hair behind her shoulders and steered her friend down the hall.

As soon as the three entered the classroom, Eric nodded toward the door and gave Joyce a wink. “Look! Laying out mats did the trick.”

A slim gray-haired woman opened the door, and, beyond her, Joyce glimpsed several people walking in from the parking lot.

The laughing gulls continued to swoop at the porch, narrowly missing the gingerbread fretwork.

The approaching students shooed them away, but not one person turned back.

Joyce shook her head and blinked back tears as she welcomed each new arrival.

When she walked to the front of the classroom, eleven students sat up straighter on their mats. She stood near the bay windows and made her usual opening remarks. “In the teacher training program here at Serenity Woods Yoga, you will be embarking on a journey where new doors to self-exploration and discovery will open.” Familiar words she’d said many times during the past three years at her other studio spilled from her lips, while a new energy burst from her heart. Her cheeks rose with a smile. “The ancient art and science of yoga will help you access your inner wisdom to prepare you to share this experience with others through your own teaching.”

The two empty mats caught her attention. The green one now lay perfectly flat despite its earlier fight and the pink one, which wouldn’t let go of her fingers, gleamed orange at its edges. She wondered why those two particular mats remained.

Eric appeared at the door and escorted two students into the room. One was a trim, middle-aged woman. Despite being carefully dressed, she seemed ill-at-ease. The lady fidgeted to take a seat on the folded blanket while keeping her attention fixed on Joyce. When asked, she replied in a soft tone that her name was Susan.

“Sorry I’m late.” A black woman quickly took a seat on the green mat, her long braids falling across her face. “It’s been a hard day.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I’m Joyce.”

“I’m Ricca.” She curled her legs to one side and sprawled onto an elbow.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Joyce replied, pleased to see the latecomer so at ease. Most beginning teaching students sat rigid and stiff to display their best postures. “It’s been a hard day for many of us. Let’s take a deep breath to center and relax before we begin our talk.”

As Joyce exhaled, she exchanged smiles with Eric who stood in the back of the room.

He grinned ear to ear. He’d been right, just like when she advised her beginning teachers who laid out empty mats that were filled with exactly that number of students. Thirteen students, eleven women and two men, in her first yoga teacher training class in the new studio of her dreams, lucky thirteen.

A single gull cried at the window, and Joyce whipped around. Its beak hung open, gaping in her face. Past the wiggling pink tongue, a message emerged from the dark depth of its gullet: Thirteen steps to a gallows. As quickly as it came, the bird flew away.

Joyce sucked in a sharp breath. She turned toward the egrets, but they had gone. Without looking at the class, she stepped to the stereo, taking an awkwardly long time to select a new song. She inhaled slowly, filling her lungs completely, then released with an extended exhale. The soothing music helped prana flow into her. But as she scanned the room, her hands still trembled. No one’s face showed any sign of surprise. Instead, they waited patiently for her to continue. With a shaky smile, she got everyone on their feet and led a quick asana routine to throw off any lingering negative energy.

What exciting story are you working on next?

I’m working on the beginning book of a new series, Coon Hollow Coven Tales, which will be a new adult paranormal romance. Set in present-day southern Indiana, there is an illusion of time travel with the coven living in a separate village that follows customs of the 1930s. Interesting things happen when folks of the two groups interact!

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I’ve followed a circuitous path to end up as a fiction writer. I graduated with a degree in Biology, minoring in English. I wanted to pursue Literature and Fine Art, but my parents encouraged me to study Biology, so I might eventually find a reliable job. That was fine, since I liked that subject also. I wrote essays as a fun break from my full load of Science. Yes, weird that I thought writing essays was fun…still do!

Along the way, I picked up a hobby of writing music reviews for record companies. During that time, I was inspired by some of those experiences and tinkered with fiction. Initially, I wrote fiction based on the world of rock music. Through a lucky happenstance, a man who worked for a major book publishing house read my first attempts at fiction, which were posted on a music forum. He repeatedly encouraged me to submit my creative writing to publishers. Over time, I came to believe him and did. After that, a new world opened up and it’s been a wonderful time.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?

I mostly write full-time, but I also keep busy as a yoga teacher. I’m certified in Restorative Yoga and have trained in Trauma-Sensitive Yoga for veterans through the Warriors At Ease program. In yoga classes I teach, using sensory enhanced yoga, adaptive yoga, and trauma-sensitive meditation, I help veterans and all my students reconnect to a sense of wellbeing.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I get a lot of positive and amazed comments about my imagination, usually, “Where do you get these ideas?” or “You are talented storyteller,” or “How do you drive with all these wild ideas in your head?” I honestly have no idea—it’s just me and how I think. I see odd stuff in nature, like portals and strange creatures.  I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. It does make for some great tales though!

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I was always, and still am, happiest when being creative. I wanted to be an artist. When I entered college, I wanted to pursue Literature and Fine Art, but my parents encouraged me to study Biology, so I might eventually find a reliable job. That was fine, since I liked that subject also. I wrote essays as a fun break from my full load of Science. Yes, weird that I thought writing essays was fun…still do! And I still paint and draw, creating my own cover art for my books.

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Google+ | Amazon author page | Goodreads author page 

Thank you, Lisa, for this fun interview!

It’s been my pleasure, Marsha. Thank you for being here!