Author Interview with Lucy Pireel

Hey everyone! Today I have author Lucy Pireel on the blog, just answering my list of twenty and giving you some insight into her new book releases, check it out first here!

1. Describe your book in twenty words or less.
Short story collection on obsession, want, control, or lack thereof, and death.

2. What were some of the biggest obstacles that you had to overcome while writing?
Making the message clear without muddling it with unnecessary details.

3. Are you also a reader? And if so, what’s your preferred genre?
Avid, voracious, and my preferred genre is a book that grabs you by the throat and drags you through its pages without letting go for a second.

4. If you could have dinner with one person dead or alive, who would it be and why?
Dinner? Now that is my favourite pass time, after writing and reading and yoga. Person to have it with? My loved ones. (I don't do hero admiration)

5. Do you have any weird little habits that get you in the writing mood—downing a bottle of wine, eating an entire bar of chocolate, fornicating on a porch swing?
Hahaha, I like the fornicating on a porch swing bit, but I have no porch, and no swing. Bugger! But to be honest, no, none at all. I just sit down and start to type until I need to pee.

6. What sets your book apart from others in the same genre?
Erm, it's mine, that's for a starter, but it also has more than one layer. It's not just horror to make you wet your pants or lock doors and windows at night, but I like to think it has a message. Like fairy tales do.

7. Okay, so I bet you secretly hate one of the characters in your novel. Who is it and why?
Yes, I seriously disliked the main character in Reunion. Why? Well, she's the good guy. And I kind of have a thing for the baddies, unless the good guy had a serious bad attitude or does something seriously bad. Like the main character in Permanent Fix. :-)
If you want to know what I'm on about, you'll just have to read A Menu of Death.

8. You’re on death row and it’s your last meal. What will you choose to eat?
White asparagus with steamed potatoes and salmon, a bit of sauce, Hollandaise. For dessert a rich, dark chocolate two layer cake, filled with ganache with ground pistachios, covered with a layer of ganache and a pattern of pecans.
All washed down with the appropriate wines.

9. Tell us three crazy things about yourself that you wish no one else knew (I promise I won’t post this … but I lie).
-I love eating herring for breakfast, or mackerel.
-I love to do a funny dance when I'm happy.
-I laugh loud, I mean really loud.

10. Are you a scruncher or a folder? (Yes, this is a toilet paper question)
Folder! Oops, that's my tiny streak of OCD kicking in, things need to be folded, even empty juice cartons. (This should be at the previous question)

11. If you had to pick one song to be the soundtrack to your novel, what would it be and why?
Bloodshed in the woodshed by The Moulettes. Or all of their music really. Their lyrics and the music have given me inspiration and great fun too.

12. Do you have any future projects lined up that you want to tell us about?
I do! There's a vampire erotica flick coming up, and a paranormal romance/mystery/detective novel

13. E-book or paperback, what’s your preference?
E-book, trees should not be cut down to make paper from when we can all enjoy books digitally.

14. What books or authors have most influenced your writing style?
No doubt, there is influence from what I've read in the past and am still reading now, but I try to be as original and me as can be in my writing and life.

15.          If you were stuck on a deserted Island would you choose:
a)            A total hottie to keep you company over the lonely nights ahead.
b)            A solar powered Kindle with limitless reading potential.
c)            Tom Hanks and Wilson to help get your ass off the Island.
A hottie that brings the solar powered Kindle with limitless reading material. :-) And he must also bring wine and cheeses.

16. Where can we find you?
Here! Erm, I mean, on my blog, website, Google Ploo (Plus), Twitter, The Book of Faces, Booklikes, and AuthorsdB, Goodreads

17. Who has been your biggest support on your writing journey, and please, feel free to add my name here …
Kristy Berridge! :-) There with that settled on to the next question. Oh, you want a serious answer? Who says I wasn't serious? Okay, you want another name. I have been my biggest supporter, because I firmly believe in the fact that you have to first and foremost believe in yourself for others to believe in you.

18. What is one of your favourite scenes from your novel? Feel free to provide a small excerpt to entice the readers.

My fav scene? Difficult, it's short stories and they all have a scene I particularly like, but I can do an excerpt. Or rather a very short quote from one short story in the collection.

"He won’t call the police, he’ll no longer be able to control me if he does. But I don’t have to obey him anymore. That big hole in the back yard he’s been digging to install the new septic tank has given me the perfect solution."

19. If you had to cast your characters, who would you reconcile to play their parts?
Helena Bonham-Carter has to be in it, and the rest? Well, what's his face from fightclub, not Brat Pitticus.

20. Any last words? (feel free to write Kristy Berridge is super awesome right here)
Kristy Berridge is a super awesomestst blogger and writer!
And I love chocolate and would like to say "Hi" to all who like reading and do pop over to any online bookseller near you on September 30th to pick up A Menu of Death.

Carbs and Crisis

If you haven't noticed, the last few weeks on the blog have been a little sad. My blogs are somewhat few and far between and my usual flair for the dramatic has diminished under the weight of a few personal dramas. It's because of these dramas that I realised that although I aim to succeed, please and laugh along the way, I'm most definitely easily distracted and not great mates with focus.

For one, The Aligned, the third book in The Hunted series, has been in the editing stage for at least a year now. A new book I started to write in early January has been collecting proverbial dust as it waits for the tip-tap of Microsoft ink to appear on it's neatly typeset pages. Then to top it off, Goodreads has informed me that my previous status of awesomeness for being several books ahead in my reading challenge, has now disclosed that I suck and need to pick up a damn piece of fiction before I ask 'where are the pictures?'.

I mean Jeez, I just can't seem to get a grip on anything.

I find between earning the almighty dollar, sweating it out at the gym, squeezing in family time and hanging out with friends, I barely have a minute left to think. And what do I think about?

Food.

Oh my lord, have I been dreaming about peanut butter lately, and should I get started on the need to dive face first into a room full of fresh, buttered bread?

I think what I need is my study/work space back (and some carbs). Organisation was like a perfume that wafted from the smooth pine bench-top and custom built bookshelves, and productivity oozed from every aesthetically placed item and alphabetized file like an aphrodisiac of literary delight. 

Now I sit stacked against lumpy cushions on a futon with a TV dinner tray supporting my laptop and a rickety dryer spinning off-center in the background. It's a wonder I haven't written my opus.

So tell me, do you sometimes feel in such disarray that your life comes to a virtual halt? Do you wish you had more time and if you do, fluff around with the potential of it's productivity?

Let me know. I'd like to think I wasn't the only writer caught in a rut of her own making.

Kristy :)

Diary of a Teenage Zombie: Excerpt "Chapter Two"

Hello my wonderful blogger friends and pledges! Since the pledging is coming along swimmingly (I'm at 35% which you can see on the left side of the page), I thought I'd reward you all with a short excerpt from the novel. Bear in mind my editor is still looking this all over so there may be a few minor changes here and there, but it's still just a little slice into the life of Katie Palmer, zombie extraordinaire.

Your continued support is greatly appreciated, I have less than two months to go, and honestly, if everyone that reads this post donates even just $5 - $10 I am in with a chance, plus anyone who donates $10 or more gets a copy of the book anyway, so pledging = good karma and prizes!

Thank you again!! 

Dear Diary,

I found a tiny padlock on Jack’s bedroom door last night. I suspect Mum and Dad are a little worried about my flesh eating tendencies bad temper. They must have found the Nelson’s cat in our backyard.

But my complexion looks awesome today and that’s a good thing, because Connor called me yesterday and organised a date training session for this morning. I couldn’t exactly think of a reason not to, considering my armpits smelled okay and Mum double-washed my jogging gear in preparation.

Bless her.

I’m also going to meet up with Nikki after classes this morning to organise the classroom lock-in, the first stop on our social calendar for the year. Right now I think it’s a great idea, but I’m well fed in a good mood. Who knows how I’ll feel at the end of the week when my skin starts peeling away from my face?

Katie xo

Connor was already waiting for me on the back oval by the time Mum dropped me off at school. Being awake at such an ungodly hour meant I was still yawning, scratching at my belly and rubbing pockets of dried sleep from the corners of my eyes.

I know I paint a pretty picture. I’d have rather worn a low-cut top and slapped on some make-up, but it was only just after six and running a few miles would make me sweat like a pig. Practicality was key.

‘Palmer,’ Connor greeted me, a broad smile plastered across his face. ‘I’m not keeping you up, am I?’

‘I usually train in the afternoon,’ I complained, covering my mouth as another yawn threatened to escape. Suddenly my tired brain remembered that this was the hottest guy in school and that he’d woken up early especially to go running with me. I quickly changed my attitude.

Happy dance.

‘Boo-hoo,’ he teased, blonde hair flopping in front of his eyes. Connor smoothed his fringe back from his forehead and continued to reach up with the one motion, stretching his arms high above his head.

‘Let’s just hope you can keep up.’

Small wonder that I found words at all given my current distraction. A quick glimpse at Connor’s toned abdominals and exposed Calvin Klein briefs had my imagination overflowing with unladylike, erotic thoughts.

‘Is that a challenge, Palmer?’

‘Take it how you want,’ I said, shaking my head in an effort to break the spell his underwear apparently had over me. Languid scenes of our sweaty flesh pressed together stirred my desire, threatening to weaken me at the knees.

Connor’s knowing grin suggested he was more than aware of my eyes on him, plotting the possibilities.

Fuck.

Embarrassed by my open gaze, I sniffed and rolled my shoulders, reaching back to grip an ankle and stretch out my quadriceps, then hamstrings and calves. I didn’t need the preparation but I wanted to look anywhere but at Connor, certain there was a flashing neon sign above my head screaming ‘desperate’.

‘You ready?’ Connor asked, patting me on the back.

Was it wrong to savour that casual touch, deciding to embellish upon it in my fantasies later on? As far as I was concerned, that innocent gesture would be re-counted as brazen fingers grazing my spine, warm palms flattening against me, and sliding down my back until they cupped my ass. Connor would tell me he could crack walnuts on it.

Yes. That would be how inaccurately I’d remember this moment.

I took a deep breath, inconspicuously sniffed my armpits and then nodded. Connor had already bolted from the starting plate with a hiss and a roar, setting an unsustainable pace in his eagerness to impress. An oxygen tank loomed in his foreseeable future, as several laps at this speed would lead to him to undoubtedly coughing up a lung.

After circling the track a few dozen times and nabbing the five kilometre unspoken goal, I slowly realised that Connor was not built for endurance. Keeping pace with his frenetic stride was almost too easy, yet he struggled on and tried to match my predatory gait. Sweat trickled down Connor’s face and saturated his shirt. He was puffing like a geriatric chasing a big-breasted blonde; his face was rose-tinted and his blue eyes were bulging.

‘Palmer!’ he gasped. ‘What kind of stride do you call that?’

‘The one you set?’ I felt a little bad. I was breathing easy and had just lapped him for the second time in five minutes. Nikki had made it clear that in order to win Connor’s affections I had to embrace my athleticism but also not show him up. Something about damaging his ego, which she’d likened to kicking him in the balls.

‘You’re not jogging, you’re running!’ Connor panted. He was tripping over his own feet, his arms windmilling to keep himself upright.

I slowed, my inner predator rolling her eyes as I fought to contain a hysterical outburst. ‘I’m sorry. Do you need a rest?’

Connor was well behind me now. He had regained his balance but was swaying, perhaps on the verge of passing out. Bent in half and with hands propped against his knees, he attempted to draw in great gasps of air but instead started to cough like he’d just contracted emphysema.

I doubled back, concerned by the sudden pale sheen of his skin. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked, tentatively smoothing my hand across his back. The muscles bunched and tightened under my palm, but Connor was inconsolable, shoving me out of the way. Seconds later he was emptying the contents of his stomach onto the field.

‘Wow,’ I yelped, jumping free of the partially-digested debris, ‘I guess we know who’s going to win this upcoming marathon, huh?’

The contemptuous glare Connor shot me while wiping his mouth suggested I was not doing my best to lure him in with my feminine wiles.

Fuck.