Interview with Author Aaron M Ritchey

I had the pleasure of talking with Aaron M Ritchey, author of The Never Prayer, a couple weeks back. My thanks go out to him and his generosity –

I Talk Heart of Darkness and Fledgling Shapeshifters With YA Author Natasha Brown

Writers can pop up literally anywhere. In your shower, late at night. Hotel rooms in bad parts of town. Kathmandu, Nepal. We are an elusive breed, shadowy, here one minute, gone the next. So was I surprised to find that a writer was haunting the halls of the Montessori school where my children go? Not in a horribly-scarred-phantom-of-the-opera type of way. Natasha Brown was just a parent, but so much more. I wasn’t surprised that Natasha had written a book, but I was impressed by her really good Amazon ranking. And the fact she finaled in the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Gold contest. And that she had gone rogue, e-pubbed, and was doing well.

A little about her book, Fledgling (The Shapeshifter Chronicles):

Set apart from other eighteen-year-olds, Ana Hughes knows she is different. A life-threatening heart condition smothers her future and she yearns to feel normal. Her hopes are pinned on a fresh start in a remote town far from her native Colorado. Among the locker-filled hallways in Clark Bend High, Ana keeps to the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to her violet-tinged lips and wilted silhouette. And she almost succeeds, until she meets Chance Morgan.
Struggling to keep up appearances, she soon suspects Chance is hiding something as well. His animal-like senses, miraculous healing ability and peculiar reaction to her Thunderbird necklace compel Ana to question if there’s more to the stories about his Navajo ancestry. Without any other explanation, she fears he is playing tricks on her. But the truth may prove too much for Ana’s delicate heart…

We talked, and this is a little of what we talked about.

AARON: Okay, Natasha, at what point in your life did you want to write a novel? Where were you, what were you drinking, and were olives involved?

Natasha: It was the perfect storm – inspiration, courage and my family left me alone for a whole glorious weekend. I do love olives, but alas, they weren’t involved.

AARON: When we talked, you said you were inspired by J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer. What about them inspired you? Haircuts? Choice of shoes? Mormonism? Britishism?

Natasha: They inspired me because they, like me, were mothers with an idea. An idea that they wrote down and had the tenacity to persist with. I thought if they could do it, then I would try as well.

AARON: Let me talk about myself for a minute, because, well, I am so very fascinating. I’m a big fan of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which inspired the movie Apocalypse Now. Kurtz, in the jungle, going mad, worshiped by the natives. He went rogue, just like you. What made you throw off the shackles of traditional publishing to set yourself up in your jungle paradise on Amazon?

Natasha: Let me smear some war paint on my face first before I answer…
Like you mentioned earlier I finaled in the RMFW contest, which was fantastic. It gave me the confidence to start querying agents. I had a few nibbles, but ultimately it led to a dead-end. And then life happened. When you are busy with kids and work, those other things fall away, and that is what happened to FLEDGLING. Until an acquaintance found out I had a finished novel collecting dust. He had self-published and found great success. I decided, what with the state of the evolving book world, I would go ahead and give it a try myself. I am a web developer and designer so I designed my own cover. I set the hook and waited for a nibble.

AARON: Kurtz summarized his experience in the jungle with four words, well, two words repeated twice: the horror, the horror. What two words, repeated twice, summarize your experience as an independent publisher?

Natasha: Two words is all? Yeesh. Take courage, take courage.

AARON: Why do you think your Amazon ranking is so good? My ranking is like three million and fluctuates as low as eight billion, but you, you have a ranking, a steady ranking, in the thousands, which is awesome. Did I just use way too many commas? Maybe. I’m a little nervous asking this question. I’m pausing a lot.

Natasha: I stole some fairy dust and sprinkled my computer with it. Does wonders, although whenever I click my mouse, it giggles. No, seriously. I am lucky. There are SO many elements that contribute to a book doing well. Past the obvious, that the book has to be somewhat interesting and in a genre that sells, there is a lot to marketing a book. A good cover and book blurb are very important – they are the first impression. You need to be present in social media like, facebook, twitter and your own author blog. I am part of a great author group named the World Literary Café (WLC- www.worldliterarycafe.com) which provides many resources to indie and traditional authors. I couldn’t have made it this far without my new group of friends.

AARON: One of your inspirations for Fledgling was your daughter’s heart condition. What kind of heart condition does she have, and how does that play into the novel?

Natasha: The heart issues are a huge issue in the story and everything revolves around it, much like in real life. My daughter was born with multiple heart defects. She had transposition of the great arteries, hypoplastic-left heart syndrome, and a large ventricular septal defect. That might sound like a lot of gibberish to most people, but all of those conditions caused enough trouble for my daughter to have two open-heart surgeries. Heart defects make up about a third of all children born with birth defects. My daughter is not alone. The personality and specific circumstances of my daughter are not the same as the lead character in my book, but they do share many of the same experiences. I wanted to create a female lead who could be a heroine for my daughter to look up to. For anyone who was born with heart defects.

AARON: We talked about how hard the writer’s journey is. What themes in Fledgling could inspire a struggling writer to keep on keeping on?

Natasha: A writer’s journey can be tortured to be sure, but it is so much broader than that. Being a teenager has its challenges as well, and I think they are much the same. Will they like me? Will I fit in? Stand out? I’m not good enough.

Self-doubt and insecurities plague everyone. Especially writers. FLEDGLING, I hope, will leave the reader uplifted and hopeful. My own story, and even my daughter’s story, I hope, will inspire as well. You CAN do it if you persevere.

AARON: Natasha, if you had to exchange your writer’s life for another artistic passion, what would you choose? For example, if I had to give up writing for some other type of creative art, I wouldn’t choose rockstar or famous Parisian painter, I’d choose quilting. Dudes who quilt are dead sexy. What about you?

Natasha: Dead sexy to be sure…I think you even have another book idea in there.
My father is a fine art photographer (and in another life, a graphic artist) and my mother does poetry. Artistry is in my blood. I have dabbled with quilting, stained glass, painting, photography, jewelry making and graphic design. I’m not sure what else I could try, but I’m only happy when I am creating something. I wouldn’t mind hanging in Italy, the country where I got engaged, and just ‘go with the flow’.

AARON: Thanks Natasha!

Natasha: And thank you, Aaron!

Website for the book
Natasha on twitter
Fledgling on Amazon

A Land Where Love Stories Are Made

I was pleased to write a guest post for Lost in Fiction UK’s, Lost in Romance for the month of February.

For my twenty-first birthday, my boyfriend and I were gifted a trip to Italy. My grandmother, who had until then only given me underwear and socks, surprised me with tickets to Italy. Our flight from California was long, and felt like we had lapped the sun twice (or maybe more). We were so used to flying, by the time we landed in Milan, our stomachs kept moving. Eager to get off the most expensive amusement ride I’d ever been on, I was ready to go to our hotel and unwind. However, getting there was half the battle. Imagine driving on a racetrack, but instead you’re surrounded with miniature cars zooming past you like they have nitrous tanks strapped to their undercarriage. The assumption was, if there were three lanes, then there must be room for four, and if you didn’t drive fast enough, well, we discovered that lewd hand gestures are the same no matter where you are in the world.

After we checked into our hotel, we went to a café around the corner to eat. Walking seemed safer than driving. We sat down and I ordered some kind of pasta. It looked simple; basil, tomatoes and noodles.

Let me tell you, what we call food in America is only shaped like it, giving the illusion of food. You have never really tasted it, until you have been to Italy. Every ingredient is respected so much, you aren’t allowed to touch the produce at the store—you must wear gloves. They understand that the beginning of life starts with a wholesome seed, not a GMO seed hopped up on pesticides. It is allowed to grow, mature and ripen. I have yet to eat anything that compares to my first bite in Milan.

It was only late October, but the Alps provided a cold nip to the air, which plummeted into frigid temperatures. We were completely unprepared. The nice clothing boutiques were priced beyond our shoestring budget, and with some luck, we found the only thrift shop in Italy. I walked out looking twenty pounds heavier, with three shirts poking out from under my new, used sweater. I was in stark contrast next to the Italian woman parading down the cobbled streets in their leather boots, tight pants, fur coats and strollers.

We stayed in medieval castles, which were beautiful; they reminded me of the period romances I read and loved. They rose like ancient stone pillars on the landscape, with rows of orderly grapevines raking the rolling hills around them. Shakespeare neglected to mention how cold it was living in a stone box. We were told the “national heat” hadn’t been switched on yet. I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I sure hoped it wasn’t a practical joke.

Try as it might, the rustic Italian sweater couldn’t protect me from getting sick, and with only one week left in our trip, I noticed a change in attitude in my loving companion. I assumed he was frustrated with getting dragged down by a runny-nosed killjoy. We couldn’t let my sickness stop us from exploring, so we bypassed Venice and took a water taxi to Murano and Burano, two floating cities known for their crystal and lace. Walking past each home and business was like passing through a rainbow. Bright and colorful, despite the gray gloom that blew down from the Alps, freezing a half smile and grimace on my face. We wandered through a park and my love encouraged me to scale a fence with him into a small vineyard. I may be a romantic, but I’m not a “scale the fence” type of girl.

Days later, he heard of a lovely old mansion just outside of Montegrotto Terme, rumored to have beautifully manicured grounds, so we drove out to visit, successfully avoiding any lewd hand gestures from irritated farmers in Fiats. He wrapped me up in a blanket to keep me warm—I looked like a fuzzy ghost with a cold. It took us nearly an hour to find our way through a large hedge maze, taking every wrong turn. Discovering we weren’t the only ones to get trapped in the maze, we slipped through some worn openings in the shrubs to find our way to a set of stairs. Rising above the hedgerow, a stone platform wrapped with a gazebo allowed us to overlook the puzzling pathways we had just escaped.

There, he sat me down with a serious gleam in his eye, and I knew. I knew what was about to happen. Honestly, I don’t really remember what he said to me. It was not the words that were important, but the moment, and the moments leading up to it. I knew then why he had been so anxious as the trip neared an end.

The Country of Love couldn’t let us leave without giving us a story. Our own love story. The birthplace of Romeo and Juliet is a land whose beauty is world-renowned. And it is well deserved. As my memory fills with the gravel of time, the memories from Italy are still there; faded, maybe, but precious jewels for me to treasure and share. Happy moments stick out, like when we ate real gelato for the first time, and when he encouraged me to use my choppy Italian with an old woman sitting at her post, in her window with a guarded frown. I called her planter box of herbs “bellissimo”. She gave me the widest toothless grin I have ever seen. Snapshots fill my thoughts, and they all have him in them.

During the month of love, I send you my warmest wishes,

Natasha Brown

Info about the author:

Natasha Brown lives with her husband, two children and three dogs in Littleton, Colorado. She was inspired to write a story about a girl struggling with her heart condition, after her daughter was born with heart defects. “I like lead women who have the tenacity to carry on even in the face of adversity. Ana is a character I look up to- and I can’t wait to share with my readers where her character is going in the series.” To know more, visit her Blog and Twitter

 

Natasha Brown recently released her first book, “Fledgling” (Book One of “The Shapeshifter Chronicles”), a YA fantasy romance.

To buy it, simply click on the cover below:

 

Written for Lost in Fiction UK- http://www.lostinfiction.co.uk/?p=1007

Chameleon or Peacock?

In my younger years I was extremely shy. I hid from cameras- of course it didn’t help my father was a photographer. I also had an afro that wouldn’t quit. My grandmother loved combing it out, it may have felt good, but the results were dangerous, Rosana Dana, eat your heart out (SNL old-school shout out). In other words, it was hard for me to hide. Not when I was enveloped with people whose hair didn’t poof out like an aura around them.

I grew up in a family of artists, so I was surrounded with creative people following their dreams. My father graduated from UC Berkley as an architect, and it wasn’t soon after that he decided it didn’t make him happy.  So he became a fine art photographer. We traveled to art shows and festivals through my childhood, and I was privileged to be saturated with passionate people who were doing what they loved. In my teenage years I was ready to express myself. I may have been a wallflower, but that didn’t stop me from dying my hair fire engine red, then magenta, then green and getting my nose pierced. You could say I was a cross between a peacock and a chameleon.

Something that develops in the teen years is self-doubt and a lack of confidence. Most effecting, is the fear of not fitting in or being accepted for who you are. So, the two obvious paths are to either become a peacock and dare people around you to oppose your colorful display, or to blend in as best you can and not stick out. I am sad to say self-confidence issues don’t end in your adolescence, they just morph and change from displaying pink hair and letterman jackets to breast implants and sports cars (I have neither).

I helped my son’s forth grade classroom make pink batik shirts for an anti-bullying campaign a couple months ago. Let’s face it, bullying has always been a problem. More and more distressing stories are featured on the news about people being burned, beat and singled out for being different, or for making poor choices. Kids are committing suicide because they texted an embarrassing picture, or because they are harassed for being different. I know what it is like being depressed and not knowing the value of my own life. I am thankful I stuck it out and got through it all.

That curly hair I mentioned earlier, was at one time a fun topic for two girls who would tease me in the hallways. It made me feel like a reflection of a girl. Empty and sad. It is HARD being a teen today. Even harder with phones in every pocket ready to spread a rumor on a whim. The thing is, everyone is feeling the same way (sure in varying degrees) but everyone wants to be accepted for who they are. The easiest thing is to deflect your own angst and direct it at that weird guy, who wears the same pair of shoes every day, eats by himself and wears hand-me-downs.

You know the cool thing? Everyone is a peacock deep down- with colorful, creative and unique facets. Hiding in the shadows may be safe, but no one can appreciate you for who you are if you’re hiding. And if they can’t see the beauty in who you are, then someone else will. Not everyone has to like you. The only person that should appreciate the idiosyncratic details of who you are…is you. Things change, that’s a guarantee. If you aren’t happy with where you are now, then hold on. Just wait.

It was easy to write about the same plaguing issues with my characters, Chance and Ana in Fledgling. They both know they’re different, and don’t fit in; yearning to be accepted for who they really are. Where do they go from there? I don’t write and tell.

It has been a hard process for me, coming out from hiding to self-publish my own book. It takes a lot of guts to put it out there. But the reward is so sweet. When I get reviews from people who are reading my novel and enjoying it, it makes my day. I guess in the end my best advice is, be who you want to be, and dream what you want to dream. Because, anything is possible.

If you could save the love of your life by giving your own in return, would you do it?

It was eight years ago almost to the day, that I was in my prenatal appointment getting an ultrasound of my unborn child when everything changed in an instant. My son was playing innocently in the corner of the doctor’s office while I lay with my large belly exposed. I remember the moment when the technician set the ultrasound wand down and left the room to get the doctor.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked when the doctor sat down and began reviewing still frame images of the small child within me. The flutter of the heart appeared like a trapped butterfly on the screen.

Then my worst fears were realized.

“Yes.” With that one answer, our lives changed.

My daughter, like so many other children was born with heart defects. She is what I consider to be- lucky. She came home without oxygen or any complicated equipment after two-days in the hospital following her birth. But she has had two open-heart surgeries.

The first was at a year old. When I first saw her swollen, puffy face in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, and the various tubes sticking out of her abdomen, all I wanted to do was hold her. She would reach out to me, wanting to be with her mommy, and it would take the efforts of many nurses to move her to my lap. The only comfort I felt was knowing she was near me. One by one, the tubes were removed and we went home to raise a precocious toddler.

Her second surgery was at four-years-old. She was no longer a baby who did not know what was happening, she was frightened and wanted me near her as much as possible. A couple hours out of surgery, while I lay beside her in the recovery bed, her blood pressure dropped and her veins collapsed. Helpless and paralyzed lying beside my sweet little girl, I watched six nurses stand around us, pushing blood and fluids into her body. If asked, I would have given everything, even myself to save her.

Helplessness is lonely. It is like being shipwrecked on an island, far from home. I clung to the thought that everything would be fine; she wouldn’t die, she couldn’t. I never allowed myself to go to the point of despair, I needed to be strong for my children and family and mostly, for myself.

I can look back at those days in the hospital and it’s almost like replaying a movie. I can recall different moments, both happy and sad. Like when we had to practically empty a bottle of detangler to brush out her ratty hair, the day she wouldn’t speak at all (not even to me) and laying beside her each night in her hospital bed, holding her close.

How did everything turn out? Fantastic. After a bumpy recovery she moved forward without looking back. You may be surprised to learn she was on her bike the day she got home from the hospital. As I hear the sounds of her playing with her friend now, I am thankful for the gift of her life. I am telling you my own story as a reminder to appreciate the ones you love and to share a story fitting for Heart Awareness Month and the month of love.

It was my own experiences that inspired me to write a novel about a girl with a heart condition who finds herself in a desperate point in her treatment. Ana is a young woman without hope of a future or of finding love. She is eager for a fresh start from pitying eyes. At the point of helplessness, she meets a mysterious young man, whose notice she is unable to escape. Soon, she suspects she isn’t the only one keeping secrets. But will her heart be able to handle the truth?

To read an excerpt of Fledgling, The Shapeshifter Chronicles, you can find it in the Amazon Kindle store- http://www.amazon.com/Fledgling-The-Shapeshifter-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B006XM426C/ref=sr_1_68?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1327174914&sr=1-68

During the month of love, I send you my warm wishes. Hold your sweethearts, family & friends close, because it is every moment of now that it counts.

Gratitude,

Natasha Brown

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