Have there been any authors who have influenced your work? If so, who?
H. P. Lovecraft
Out of all the characters you’ve written, who is your favorite? Why?
My favourite is the main character, Tom. Maybe I am a bit vain, but I wrote myself into him. He over comes challenges and trials without any special abilities.
Are there any types of scenes you find more difficult to write? Which ones and why.
I find conversations between characters challenging. A bit of dialogue that both compliments individual personalities and gets the right message across, takes a lot of effort. Sometimes what I write may not be fun for the audience to read.
What would you say the most rewarding part of being an author is?
Sharing a story. One that inspires people, or helps them escape for awhile.
On the surface the book is a Sci-fi/Fantasy adventure. You have all these ridiculous and unlucky things happen to the main character, but subtly, it’s a test of his own will, as he fights against depression and mental illness. Throughout the book he wonders whether or not his adventure is real or just a delusion he made up to escape his everyday life. Because sometimes a few minutes of dreaming are the happiest for someone who has nothing to go back too.
What advice do you have for authors just starting out in their journey?
Do what you love, and do it well. A good story writes itself & isn’t forced.
Do you have a writing ritual? If so, please explain.
Coffee & more coffee
Was being an author something you always wanted to do?
I didn’t. Ever since I was 5, I wanted to be a Joan Jett or an Astronaut. It wasn’t until 3 years in a government job where my only creative outlet became writing, I honed my skill for storytelling.
If you could have a conversation with any one person, alive or dead, who would it be and why?
Nikola Tesla. I just want to talk about pigeons. Maybe learn his way to provide free electricity to the world wireless. But mostly pigeons
Some others, would be musicians like David Bowie, John Lennon, Freddie Mercury, Kurt Cobain.
Would you care to provide an excerpt from one of your books as a sample of your work?
Stale coffee grounds & and the light chatter in the office kitchen meant the work day was almost over. Tom wasn’t bad at his job. It was his good work ethic that lead him to a promotion within the first year of his career, but realistically it was only an income to him. He had never truly followed his dreams, simply because his life as a young adult started too early. His Dad died tragically before his memory was old enough to fathom it, and his Mother ran to another country, to start a new family, leaving him with nothing but depression, a shabby apartment and a large amounts of debt to pay off.
The banks hounded him weekly for repayments & without his job, he had nothing else.
Though his miserable circumstances, he never blamed the world for his problems, his job was a means of income, and something everybody had to do.
It was the people around him who he found miserable. Coworkers like Anthony, the 49 year old man who spent 10 or so years of his life just to be ‘the funny guy’ around the office. The Fresh out of college & too eager to please kindergarten of thirsty young adults, and the managers who used them to advance their own careers. This was the ‘monopoly of business’ as his superior would call it, but Tom saw his coworkers as animals in a corporate zoo waiting for their bucket of chum, or taking others when they felt like it.
It was possible the mourning of his young adult years came out on the people who worked closest with. He knew his reflection was nothing more then petty because unless you’re extraordinarily privileged, no one working in a cubicle ever had much of a choice in life anyway. Despite this, he still thanked God he’d never fit in.
There was once where he tried to, but eventually the bureaucracy wore him down so much his sarcasm evolved to a point where people had trouble interpreting whether or not he was serious.
On one of these occasions, his project manager had struck up conversation about her gold fish. Although outside the water cooler, the Two barley knew each other.
“Mr Bubbles past away over the weekend” Peggy moped.
“I’m sorry to hear did you have a funeral?”
“Yeah, it was around the toilet.”.
“Open casket?” he replied.
Only to receive more silence then a library. The broken printer stopped making it’s awful beeping sounds just to let it be known Tom’s joke was either misunderstood, or Peggy was serious enough to be grieving her goldfish.
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