Tag: interview

Ask Myself


  • Do I feel like more of a writer since self-publishing The Kringle Conspiracy?
Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I finally got a novel into the hands of readers (not many but) who liked it, I got to sign copies, I got to advertise it a bit, I got my hands on a paperback copy. 

  • Will I self-publish another book?
Most certainly I will publish the sequel next Christmas time, I will.

  • What about all those other books I’m sitting on? The fantasies? 
I’d love to get those traditionally published, but the shape of trad publishing and my inability to get traction does not encourage me. Alternately, I may put those into the self-publishing marketplace (aka Amazon) if I give up in frustration. There is one (Gaia’s Hands) that could go self-published, as it’s another romance novel.
  • Will I ever give up writing? 

I don’t think so. It’s grown on me. I love creating, and I’m really bad at knitting. 


Interview with Richard Leach-Steffens, writer (Interviews with Writers)

Tell me about yourself:
Growing up, back when I was in high school, I started writing short fiction at the urging of my Gifted Ed teacher, Linda Knoll. I actually submitted to a local community college’s creative arts contest. I actually got a couple of stories — I think I got a second and a first. I did okay, but I didn’t feel like my writing was good enough that I could become a writer for a living. Since then, my writing’s been mostly professional — I have a ten-year career as a technical writer. I haven’t really done much creative writing since becoming a technical writer, because it’s hard to get in front of a computer after you’ve been in front of a computer for eight hours at work.

More recently, at the encouragement of my spouse, who is also a writer, I have written one novella, one novel, and one short story. The novella is set in my spouse’s universe and shares some of the characters, while the novel, which I wrote for NaNoWriMo, is based on an idea I had back in high school. I would like to submit the novel for a developmental edit.

What do you like to write about?
Early on, I wrote apocalyptic fiction. I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s; one of my fears, of course, was nuclear war. What I’m finding is that I’ve moved past that, and my latest ideas tend to be creative with a twist. Think a “what if?” with a “where will it lead?”. 

What is your novel about?
The NaNo novel deals with the idea of musicians traveling from town to town for gigs. What happens if humanity gets into space and finds out we’re technologically behind other races in terms of trade? What would humanity have to offer? Humanity discovers that what it does have to offer is artistic culture — music, art, even classic tv shows. As part of that, it’s a way of introducing humanity into other cultures. My protagonists are a jazz combo, and what they find out is that, in the history of this one planet, there is a cultural taboo against sung music. The remainder of the novel deals with solving the mystery: Why did this happen?

What is your advice to writers?
Don’t stop and think that your writing is good enough in its rough form, because there’s always room for improvement.

Thank you for being my guinea pig, Richard.
Oink.

Interrogating Laurel Smith

I sit in the Garden at Barn Swallows’ Dance — a sacred place that exists nowhere but in my imagination. Dappled sunshine flashes as a breeze stirs the twinned apple trees that sit atop a mound. It could be spring or winter, because in the Garden time makes no difference; the Garden remains protected by an unseen force.

 A petite woman with curly golden locks walks into the Garden. “I’m sorry — ” she says and makes a motion to leave.

“No, it’s okay,” I tell her. “I already know your secrets.”

“Oh.” She drops down next to me as if deflated. “How do you know my secrets?”

“It’s okay. I’m the writer.”

Laurel takes a deep breath, and her demeanor changes. The timid shell evaporates and she holds herself with purpose. “You know who I am, then.”

“An Archetype. An immortal.” I pause, gathering my words so I don’t give away more than she’s ready to hear. “A holder of human patterns, of cultural memory. Our cultural DNA.”

“Yes. I can feel it — I’m a part of something bigger than me.” In her voice I hear a shadow of millennia, of great personal power, of weariness. “But I  don’t know what that is. I’m told that I’m six thousand years old, but I remember nothing except the past twelve years.” Laurel gave a wry smile. “Twelve years of living underground without an identity, hiding the freakish parts of me that I’ve just learned are my legacy.”

“I promise that you will get your memories back. You will know who you are.” Again, I pause, because I know her future, with all its strife, and its unbelievable burden.

“I think Adam knows, but he’s not telling,” Laurel sighed. “Adam can be pretty annoying at times.”

“But you like him,” I prompt.

“I’m afraid so.” Laurel smiles sardonically; dimples show in her cheeks. “He’s endearing, even when he’s being arrogant.” Her smile fades. “But he knows who I was. Who I am. He’s hiding something, and I don’t know what he’s hiding. And — “

“And?”

“I’m afraid to find out.”

Interrogating the Hacker

One of my favorite characters in Prodigies (they’re all my favorite characters, honestly) is the notorious hacker Weissrogue. An idealist who feels the end justifies his illegal means, he’s the character you’re glad is on your side:

“You need to know that ‘Weissrogue’ translates just as you may think — to “White Rogue”. I was only about 15 when I named myself, and I look at it now and think it’s appropriate not because I was a white hat hacker but because I was a pasty white kid.” He was indeed, I thought, a pasty white kid still.

“That whole thing I did when I was fifteen — I can’t stand violence in any form. I suppose I would use it in self-defense if I had to, but even then, I wonder. I just wanted to get the government to think differently about weapons of mass destruction —”

**************

At age 15, as this passage hints, Weissrogue hacked several world powers and took their missile programs off-line. Realizing he was too talented to kill, the US government took him in and made him their pet hacker.

Now 39 years old, the suspected Prodigy tracks suspected Prodigies in the US — but not necessarily for the benefit of the US government:

“I’m not a double agent,” the stocky man corrected. “I’m the Prodigies’ agent; I’m not a double agent because I’m not letting out anything to help Renaissance Theory or Homeland; in fact, I’m misguiding them. But when it comes to Prodigies, my allegiance will always be to them. Something my employers don’t need to know.”

“So you’re hiding the existence of Prodigies?”

“Prodigies, yes. Organizations that deal with Prodigies, no. That’s why I signed up with the government — on this new project, anyhow. I don’t like anyone ‘managing’ a minority for any reasons, and governments — no matter how benign — want to use Prodigies.”

I wondered if the US was among the benign or not.

*****************

I’ll take a moment to interrogate Weissrogue, so you can get to learn about him a little more:

Me: So, what’s your real name, Weissrogue?

W: For all intents and purposes, it’s Weissrogue. My birthname was changed by the US Government when they took me in after the missile failure, and I’ve gone by so many names that the only name that has stayed with me throughout is Weissrogue. I have a presence in the real world as Arthur Schmidt, locksmith and cryptologist, but I don’t want people associating Weissrogue with Schmidt. I have to keep that name clean to keep trust with the government, who don’t realize they have a big government contract for security with Weissrogue.

Me: Why Weissrogue?

W: Easy. I was fifteen, and I wanted to make a name for myself as a black hat hacker for humanitarian reasons. “Weiss” means “white” and “rogue”, of course, means “rogue”.

Me: Do you ever hack for non-humanitarian reasons?

W: It’s a waste of time to hack for pizza, or for money for that matter — unless you’re slowly draining some despot’s bank account and giving the money to charity.

Me: Not taking the money yourself?

W: I have enough money. I have a lucrative security contract with the government, remember?

Me: So what turned you into such a humanitarian?

W: I spent my life in military schools as a ward of the US government. I don’t know if I never had any parents, or if they surrendered me. This is a pattern you see with a lot of Prodigies. I was subjected to endless discipline, especially as I was a naturally rebellious person. It got to the point where they modeled me into exactly the opposite of who they were: Instead of conforming, rebellious; instead of hierarchical, egalitarian; instead of military, pacifist. I tried to relate to the people around me instead of their roles, and they punished me until I didn’t care anymore. And I took their hatred and used it to hack into the security software for the missiles.

Me: What did they do?

W: First off, they kept me a secret even after they found me. I can’t blame them — however, it wasn’t entirely successful; the news media was lucky enough to find my leaks. When the government finally caught me, they didn’t know what to do because I was their ward — and they were hoping I would show my talent. We arranged for my death, and I became their top secret government worker. So, in effect, I’m dead.

Me: But you don’t always do what the government tells you to.

W: Shhhh. That’s a secret.