Have you developed a specific writing style? I think my readers would agree that everything I write is highly descriptive and emotional. I’ve been told my writing is lyrical. Since I write in so many different genres and I love to play with words, I don’t think there’s one style I utilize, but I hope all my stories provide a thoughtful and enjoyable read.
What is your greatest strength as a writer? My degree is in theatre, so I always bring a sense of the visual to a story. I also think that my biggest strength is the ability to bring readers into moments in a visceral way. This isn’t always fun, like in “Shadow on the Wall” there is a rape which is quite explicit. It hurts, but you will feel it.
Have you ever had writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it? No, when I get stuck on something, I just flip to whatever else I’m working on. I’m usually knee deep in multiple stories in different stages of writing. Right now I’m editing one, self-editing another, and starting to draft and third.
Can you share a little of your current work with us? This is from White Chalk
Too cold for me to be out, drenched in a thin sweatshirt, I trudged home after school. November had betrayed me with its promises of clear skies, and I’d skipped the bus.
Mr. Harris pulled up, his oversized body squished into the too small car. When the window rolled down, warm air tinged with the scent of coffee invited me in.
“It’s a little cold for you to be walking, isn’t it, honey?” He peered out the window, brows pulled high to his forehead, appraising my appearance.
“Can you drive me home, Mr. Harris?” My teeth chattered as I spoke.
“Come on, get in. But you know teachers aren’t supposed to pick up students on the side of the road.” He chuckled softly to himself.
“I know. I won’t tell anyone. Please? I’m just so cold.”
In the car, I kicked my soaked backpack out of the way of the heating vent and slid my feet out of my shoes. My toes had gotten so cold I half wondered if they’d be tinged with black—gangrene setting up shop. I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the car envelop me. When I opened them, I realized Mr. Harris hadn’t started driving again.
Instead, he sat staring at me. Parked in the middle of the road, his eyes roamed my body as I shivered.
Cold? Lust? I didn’t know, but the feeling of power spreading through my chest as he took in the curve of my hips made me bold. I sat up and pulled the wet sweatshirt over my head, revealing the T-shirt beneath.
Mr. Harris shifted in his seat. His gaze fell upon my breasts and the sound of his breath sped up.
“Mr. Harris?” I asked, the temptation of seducing a teacher thrilling me.
“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“What?” His body snapped to attention as he remembered where he was. “Oh, right… um….” He shifted position again.
“Really, I appreciate it.” I laid a hand on his arm and rose up in my seat, leaning forward so I could kiss him on the cheek—innocently, like kissing an uncle or cousin. But I knew it wasn’t, and when I pulled away, the dark intensity of his eyes told of desire I’d only been hoping to find.
How did you come up with the title? Honestly, it just came to me. The story is based on the concept of innocence lost in modern America. Which is worse, neglect or abuse? The main character struggles with situations well beyond her maturity level. She’s ill equipped to know how to navigate an adult world without the support of parents. Even her teacher takes advantage of her innocence. White Chalk is set when Chelle is in eighth grade, that line between child and teenager. The school setting along with the visceral feeling on my skin when I think of chalk was what first inspired me. That dry pulling feeling that chalk leaves on the fingers. Adding “White” created a kind of sinister element. It should represent purity, but the combination leaves more questions than answers.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Literary Fiction/Coming of Age
Rating – R (15+)