Adventure with us to Jessica B. Bell’s Wayward Home for Lost Characters

adventureswithD-final (1)D: Well, look who’s alive.

A: Really? That’s all you have for me? Not-very-imaginative-snark?

D: Well, it looked like you were in a hurry and I know you want to keep these ‘adventure with us’ guest blog notifications to half a page.

A: . . .

D: OK, fine. It’s been a while. I’m rusty.

A: Don’t worry about it, D. We both are – and while we get our groove back, please head over to the newly-christened dilettante factory, home of the sometimes-twisted, creative brain of H.K. Abell, AKA Helena Hann-Basquiat. It was my honor to write the very first guest blog for the factory – a piece reviewing the upcoming book, Singularity, and exploring just what happens to the stories and characters we don’t write.

D: Should I take what happened to your maybe-possessed, digging-his-own-grave with no memory character as a warning, A?

A: You could . . .

D: But (crosses fingers) . . . ?

A: . . . you could, but then you might get cautious and a cautious Druid is a boring druid. Stay snarky D. You’re not going anywhere.

Be Our Guest: Dilettante vs Druid

Please welcome to the blog, the delightfully witty Helena Hann-Basquiat, our very favorite Dilettante. She graciously wrote up a hilarious account of her most recent run-in with D.  So, lend her your eyes and enjoy! Be sure to tell her how much you love this in the comments!

Dilettante vs Druid

The one, the only Helena Hann-Basquiat, everyone's favorite dilettante

The one, the only Helena Hann-Basquiat, everyone’s favorite dilettante

When I arrived at the house, I was at first a bit apprehensive. There were strange noises coming from within, and what appeared to be a tornado hovering over the roof — not doing any damage, just spinning there like a child’s top.

I rang the doorbell, and heard the rushing of feet stomp toward me from behind the door. The door swung upon violently, and I confess I flinched.

“Who rang that bell?” an annoyed looking Druid poked his head out the open door, looked me up and down like a side of beef, and then sneered. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, Mr. Druid. It is I, your favourite dilettante, Helena Hann-Basquiat.”

“You’re not my favourite anything,” he scoffed. “And anyway, can’t you read?”

“Read what?” I asked, looking around in case I’d missed something.

The Druid seemed to be flustered, and slammed the door. He returned a few seconds later with a huff, hung a sign on the door knob, and then closed the door again, barring my entry.

I stared in amusement at the sign, and read it aloud.

“Bell out of order — please knock.”

I laughed. “You know, A. would find this hysterical, but you, you probably don’t even get it, do you, you humourless bastard?”

“I’m no bastard,” Dubh an Súile mac Alasdair, a.k.a. ‘D’ coughed a protest. “And I do too have a sense of humour.”

“Oh, I think not,” I argued. “I think it got shot off in some war or another.”

“And now you’re cribbing lines from Roland of Gilead,” D said.

“Wait,” I shook my head in disbelief. “You don’t know the Wizard of Oz but you know Roland of Gilead?”

“Correction,” he raised a pointed finger. “I knew Roland of Gilead. Excellent fellow, if a bit dusty and intense.”

The one, (and thank heavens) the only, D as imagined by Green Embers)

The one, (and thank heavens) the only, D as imagined by Green Embers)

“You must have got on like fireworks,” I said under my breath. “But Roland is a fictional character in a Stephen King story. How do you…”

“Never mind that,” D interrupted. “What of this Wizard you speak of? Is he very powerful?”

“Not really,” I sighed. “He’s a humbug.”

“I know not this bum hug,” D furrowed his brow intensely. “Is he a traveller, like me?”

“You ever travel by hot air balloon?”

“Certainly not!” D protested. “How archaic!”

“Yeah, well, this conversation is getting archaic,” I murmured. “Is A. home? I really came to see about collecting those pancakes she promised months ago.”

“Pancakes, pancakes, bloody pancakes!” he snapped.

“Well, you just kind of ruined them for me now,” I said, imagining pancakes covered in blood.

“She’s not here!” he said, sounding a bit like Keanu Reeves, and even had a bit of smoulder going on around the eyes.

“Well, then, aren’t you going to invite me in?” I asked.

“Well, I was making some tea…” the sly Druid began, with a look of mischief in his eyes. “Would you care for a trip… um, that is, a sip?”

Something about the way he was looking at me told me that I should probably run, lest I find myself awakening in a compromising position some hours later with no recollection of how my underwear ended up hanging from the ceiling fan. But I was feeling a bit dangerous myself, and as A. wasn’t home, I gave the old goat a wink.

“Yeah, alright.”

We’re a Wee-Bit-Wordy

adventureswithD-final (1)A: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to turn your attention to the link here, which will take you to the wonderful world of Wee Bit Wordy, where Dean was kind enough to invite yours truly to write a few words–

D: Ahem.

A: Yes, D?

D: Just where am I over at Wee Bit Wordy?

A: Um, not there?

D: Precisely.

A: And your point is?

D: How can you be your truly wordy self without me?

A: Ah, well you see, that wasn’t exactly the point of the post–

D: And I’m not even going to mention that part where you said I wasn’t real–

A: Oh, you read that part, huh?

D: Yes, but we’re not going to talk about it. It just hurts too much.

A: I see. So, you’ll be getting back at me some time in the future, then?

D: Yes.

A: Good to know. Since you read the piece at Wee Bit Wordy, do you have anything to add?

D: Um, let’s see – I took some notes. Oh yes, imagination – research. . . yes, and vampires. . . cricket bats. . . Jack Flacco. . . Well, actually, A, it seems like you covered it.

A: . . . Really?

D: Yes, really. Nice job, A.

A: Who are you — wait, this is you getting back at me, isn’t it?

D: It’s best to keep you on your toes, A.

A: Oh dear.  And with that, we bid you a fond good evening. Check out the post, and the rest of Wee Bit Wordy – as well as Dean’s other blog, Dean’z Doodelz!


Mirror Interview #7: Katie Sullivan

adventureswithD-final (1)D: So, um, A, are you aware that you are over at Readful Things, talking to yourself?

A: . . . .

D: Of course, you’re calling it a “Mirror Interview,” but the fact remains: you’re talking to yourself.

A: Yes, D. I am.

D: Just so we’re both on the same page here.

A: (Eyeroll). Right. Anyway, go check out the Mirror Interview that Ionia was so very kind to allow me to do on her blog space (and Charles was so kind as to post)!

readful things blog

Katie Sullivan Katie Sullivan

It was a nice change, talking to myself as me, instead of talking to myself under the guise of my character/muse/monster, the druid known as D.

Give those who may not know Changelings: Into the Mist a snapshot of the story.

Irish teens Maureen O’Malley and Sean McAndrew are lost to time. Lured from the abbey they call home by the vision of a warrior shadowed by mist, they are tossed between pirates led by Grace O’Malley in 1584 and revolutionaries dreaming of a new republic in 1916 Dublin. To return home, they must defeat the man – the myth – responsible for their misadventures: the tyrannical Faerie king, Nuada Silver Arm. Maureen and Sean are the strongest Changelings in one thousand years, and the king would rather the last of the descendants of Man and Fae remain lost to time forever. Aiding them is the man in…

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Adventure with us: At Deanz Doodlez

adventureswithD-final (1)

A: The talented Dean at Dean’z Doodlez was kind enough to invite me to be a guest for his Guest Blogger Sunday feature, where Dean asked his guests to tell the tale of their journey into self publishing or writing itself.

D: So, have you really been writing for 20 years?

A: Yep.

D: Wow, you really are old.

A: This coming from the 1300 year-old Pict.

D: Indeed. I know from old, A. Say, is that a white–

A: Well, I think we’re done here. Head over to Dean’z Doodlez, read my guest post, check out his new book and peruse his great artwork!

And so it goes

Where TC spent his summer vacation . . .

Where TC spent his summer vacation . . .

D: Admit it, A. You missed me.

A: That was supposed to be my line.

D: Perhaps – and perhaps I may yet answer it – but you missed the snark.

A: Maybe. You aren’t nearly as fun in the book.

D: I’m a Druid fighting for his life and the life of his charges in the book. I have responsibilities there. How much witty repartee would you like?

A: Well, a smile wouldn’t kill you!

D: . . .

A: Then again. . . so maybe I did miss you, a little. I had plenty to read though, D. You kept the banter going with quite a few people.

D: They did well to keep me amused.

A: Excuse me? What are you, King of the Blog, now?

D: It’s good to be the king.

A: (Eye-roll) No more Mel Brooks for you, Laddie.

D: I promise nothing. I tremble to ask, but how did you manage during your two-week hermitage?

A: I think I did fairly well. Part 3 is complete and I have Part 4 outlined and begun. There are 11 days left in July. I may not reach 50k words for Camp NaNoWriMo, but I’m sure as hell going to try. I want this book done. I’m already thinking of ways to re-block the story for Book 2 into a format that will work with the series idea.

. . . and where I spent the last 2 weeks.

And where I spent the last 2 weeks.

D: So have you discovered how you’re going to work my character in there yet?

A: Oi! How did you know about that, D? That was supposed to be a surprise.

D: A, I live in your head. (Whispers:) I know everything!!

A: That is terrifying.

D: I do what I can, woman.

A: You do indeed, Druid.

A’s telling the tale today, Baby!
The turkey that guards the employee entrance at work. Not kidding.

The turkey that guards the employee entrance at work. Not kidding.

Because I’ve been gone so long, and I have so many wonderful people to thank.

I am humbled by the talent and insight I’ve read on these pages over the last two weeks. Whether it was a conversation with D, a reflection on writing or a merging of D into a writer’s world, talent, wisdom, humor and beauty has graced this page.

Each guest author and their piece gave me a side to D that I recognized but hadn’t experienced. To see D through your eyes was incredible and priceless. I cannot thank you enough for that gift, but I will try: Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

To recap the last two weeks:

It started out with Charles of the Legends of Windemere as he demonstrated just how an author’s interaction with characters affects writing and story.  Helena , of Being the Memoirs of Helena Hann-Basquait, Dilettante (and yes, she is our favorite Dilettante) caught D being. . . well, D. Sparks flew with Helena’s sharp wit and D’s penchant for crotchety autocratic behavior. I think D has a crush. Next came John W. Howell from Fiction Favorites. D was a little confused and apparently thought he was John Milton (and tried to blame me, the rascal), but the interview was still full of John’s dry wit and self-deprecation. He has to come back, and this time, D will be on slightly better behavior.

Ionia from the Readful Things Blog stole the show then with her question about perspective – who are we when we write? D is a cad on the blog, but in the book he is almost likeable – no really, he is (the lady doth protest too much. D, you are not helping). Marie Ann Bailey at 1WriteWay and D had a delightful conversation in which D tried to prove he could do modern (when he wasn’t falling asleep). While Marie thinks D may have missed me, I think he was having more fun being King of the Blog (Well, maybe a little. What was that, D? You heard me. And that’s all I’m likely to get!).

A sneak peek at a project I hope to debut in August.

A sneak peek at a project I hope to debut in August.

Craig, the Old Hand from A View From the Wheelhouse completed a two-part post (Pt 1 & Pt 2) that delved into D’s mystical side as well as the beauty and pain of Ireland that once spoke to me enough to seed D’s story. It is a haunting piece and D loved doing his enigmatic bit for the blog (I don’t let him wear that hat very often out here). Andra, from The Accidental Cootchie Mama, tapped into D’s darker side and gave us a glimpse at her work. It was rich, complex faintly disturbing and wonderful. I can’t wait until it’s available to read in its entirety, Andra!

TC contributed a post from his blog, the Adventures and Misfortunes of Hector the Aimless. Remarkably, D works very well in the world of Dark Souls. Of course that really should not come as a surprise (I’m not sure if that is a compliment or not, A. Keep guessing, D!). And finally, Briana Vedsted from When I Became An Author, treated D to a trip to the Old West. Briana is the one among us who tames D’s ornery ways and allows his more-innocent enthusiasm to shine. Thank you, Briana.

Check out the posts, if you missed them, and stop by the authors’ pages. They did a tremendous job keeping this blog afloat.

D: A, you aren’t done.

A: What do you mean?

D: I know you went ahead and did other fiction while you were supposed to be writing my story, you faithless–

A: Watch it, Druid! Your story is heady and intense at times, D. I needed a break. But, since it all counts towards the word-count in my world, here it goes:

There have been quite a few entertaining prompts at The Community Storyboard of late. Check out Sweet Dreams, my fantasy entry for the “fire and ice” prompt. Then there’s Being There, for the “You just had to be there” prompt, and finally, Squirrel Commandant Rodrigo does his best to save the world by saving the Princess, in get-well tribute to Ionia. Get well soon, lady!

Old Hand’s Voyage to Ireland, Part 2

While A is away, the blog still gets to play. Please enjoy Part 2 of “Old Hand’s Voyage to Ireland,” from A View from the Wheelhouse. (Missed Part 1? Click here.)

The silence was broken by a cacophony of seabirds as the anchor fell with a rattle of chain into the green waters of Dingle Bay. I threw water jugs into the skiff, rowed to an ancient stone building at the head of a rickety wharf and, on rubbery legs,  walked up to the pub.

I pushed open a weathered, oak door. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw men around tables in conversation.  A one-eyed galoot was yelling at a tweedy gent who bore an uncanny resemblance to Nigel Bruce.

“I tell ya, his foul betrayal will forever be a curse upon us all!”

Against the other wall, a lanky guy with glasses recited in a clear tenor:

…but maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing

because it was your prayer

recovered him upon the bed of death.

In the back sat a guy in a hoodie, staring at an empty mug like he just emptied the last beer on God’s green earth.

D: Are you McWhirr?

I felt a dull pain in my chest. The Skipper may have been a pain in the ass, but he was steady and could tie a one handed back splice under water.

C: He was lost at sea.

D: What is mine or anyone’s death? Best to renounce that too.

C: What?

D: Death.

C: Can you help me with this post?

D: Brevity is key.

C: Brevity isn’t the issue. Having something to write is the issue.

…for your soul’s sake

Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,

D: Let’s get real for a change. Why did you name your engine after your mother?

C: What’s she got to do with this?

Nigel Bruce mumbled something about another pint. The one-eyed guy pounded the table:

“Parnell will return someday as sure as I’m sittin’ here and we’ll all have again our ancient birthright restored in the full light of God’s glory-all except those land grabbin’ traitors, who’ll burn in hell for their greed!”

D: Why did you volunteer to guest blog?

C: I’m starting to regret it. I don’t know anything about time-traveling Pects…

D: Picts.

C: …or Irish history.

So great her portion of that peace you make

By merely walking in a room.

C: So what’s all this about time travel?

D: The portal is always there, 6 inches behind your left scapula.

C: How can you pinpoint it so exactly?

D: You must shut off the inner dialogue and attend to the conversation that sounds like a grand symphony among all creation.

“I tell you, the suppression of our own sweet, native tongue is the greatest weapon wielded by perfidious Albion. The Gaelic League is the advance guard in the struggle to throw off the oppressor’s yoke!” Says the Cyclops.

D: You only need to change the world.

C: How do I do that?

D: Just start with your own world, the rest follows.

From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged

In rambling talk with the image of air…

D:  Anyway, get McWhirr to help you with the post.

C:  He’s dead.

D:  Are you sure?

The door creaked.  All turned their heads to see,  framed in the brilliant light of the doorway-like Lazuras risen from a watery grave-the gaunt form of Saturnius McWhirr.

“A pint of Guinness, for the love of God.”

Read Part 1 in this series from A View from the Wheelhouse

Poetry Credit: WB Yeats, “Broken Dreams”

Old Hand’s voyage to Ireland Part 1

While A is away, the blog still gets to play. Please welcome a swab on the Old Hand, from A View from the Wheelhouse.

Blinded by spray, I grabbed the weather rail as the north wind collided with the ebb and turned  Saint George’s Channel into a churning mass of breaking seas. We beat westward until the conical shapes of the Skelligs rose out of the Irish Sea like the Tall, Shining Ones of ancient Celtic lore.

McWhirr peered through the wheelhouse windows.

“Looks like there’s some dirty weather knocking about.”

A wall of black cloud bore down on us from the northwest.

“Aye Captain, it looks forbidding enough. Should we shorten sail?”

“Shorten nothing lad, this is just the fair wind we need to make our offing. Better get some shut-eye, we wont fetch the Blaskett’s before noon.”

Though hard pressed, Old Hand was holding steady, and for an old salt like McWhirr, it was but a pleasant Sunday sail. The crew had, perhaps too hastily, volunteered to guest blog on D&A Dialogues. So here we were sailing through some of the most treacherous waters in the world; where Atlantic gales hammered the coastline into fantastic stone megaliths, in search of some Druid prince with a name you could hang your oilskins on.

I lay on the pilot berth below as the rush of water along the hull eased me into fitful sleep. I seemed to float in a a gray haze that hung low over the water. A hooded figure in an ox-hide boat came out of the fog and hailed across the waters:

“C’d M’ile Failte.”

C: Are you D?

D: Yeah. Are you McWhirr?

C: No I’m only a swab on Old Hand. Katie said I might find you here.

D: Why have you come?

C: Well, on a rash impulse I signed on for the voyage. What’s all this about time travel anyway?

D: It all comes down to awareness of intent.

C: Come again?

D: A warrior from the Sidh must have respect, awareness of fear, wakefulness at all times and total confidence.

C: Is it true King Arthur is asleep below some hillside waiting to return and right wrongs?

D: More to the point: are you awake?

C: Of course I’m awake.

D: Do you know that all directions-each way-point along the course you sailed to arrive at this particular point on the globe-extend into eternity?

C: What does that have to do with anything? I thought this was about dialogue.

D: You only want answers that conform to your conception of the world-to your mental habits. The Druid warrior must give up all these up as so much flotsam on the sea of infinity. He must give up everything-even his death.

C: We almost sank off the Horn getting here and you go all esoteric on me. Can’t you just give me a straight answer?

D: What do you want to know?

C: Is it true that Parnell never died, but awaits the hour of return?

D: More to the point: who are you? The way your always going about McWhirr. We know he’s a stiff-ya don’t have to go on and on about it. In fact, McWhirr doesn’t even exist outside your mind.

C: Of course he exists. He’s at the helm now.

D: Are you sure?

With a loud smash the ship made a sharp lurch to starboard.  I jumped from the pilot berth and, on mounting the deck, beheld a dismal scene-the wind had risen to gale force and the steering station was abandoned!  Old Hand was being relentlessly driven by the foul tide toward the jagged rocks to leeward…


To be continued – A View from the Wheelhouse will be back on July 18 to continue his story!

D Meets Yet Another Guest Blogger

While A is away, the blog still gets to play. Please welcome Marie Ann Bailey, from 1WriteWay.

Brittany woke to the sharp odor of damp soil and something else, something familiar, something sweet.  She tried to stretch out her legs.  Her feet touched a solid barrier before her legs were fully straight.  She was lying on her right side, in a fetal position.  She tried to lift up but, again, she met with a barrier.  She opened her eyes wide but it was dark all around her.  Her throat tightened and she felt a rising hot bubble of panic coming up from her stomach.  She was in a box of some kind.  Soil beneath her, wood on the sides and above her.  She stretched out her hands and felt around the small, close space.  The smell of the soil and the “something else” was adding to her panic.  She clenched her jaw to try and keep the acrid fluid down in her stomach.  She wanted to cry out, but was stilled by the thought that he might be there.  He might be outside the box, waiting for her to cry out, waiting for her to give him another reason to beat her.  

D:  Oh, lovely.  A goes off with barely a goodbye and now I’m stuck with … well, all these “friends” of hers, mucking around her blog, smelling it up with things familiar and sweet.  I need a drink, a pint of mead … where did she put the mead?!

1:  Ahem.

D:  What?  Who are you?  What are you?  A number, the number “1”?  Good lord, A has some strange friends.  I never …

1:  Ahem.  Mind if I speak?

D:  Oh, sorry, I’m just a little rattled without A around.

1:  Uh huh, your mouth runneth over.

D:  Oh, a cheeky little lass, are you?

1:  Hmmm, cheeky, yes; little, no;  lass, not anymore.

D:  Do you always speak in semi-colons?

1: … ; ?

D (silently weeping):  …

1:  Oh, D, please don’t cry.  I can’t stand to see grown … Druids … cry.  A will be back before you know it.  And I’m really harmless.  I write about bad things but I’m not a bad person.

D (sniff):  Can I borrow a handkerchief?

1:  Ah, yes, but just keep it.

D:  Thank you  (sniff).  I feel better now.  So, what’s this little ditty you have up here?

1:  It’s the beginning of my first novel in a series that I’m tentatively calling The Widow’s Club.

D (yawn):  How fascinating.

1:  It has three widows in it.  Young, lovely widows.

D:  Oh!  Lovely young wenches … well, you should have said so at the outset.  Do tell me more!

1:  You may be old, but you’re not dead, I guess …

D:  ?

1:  Never mind.  These three widows are cousins who were all born on the same day in the same year:  Mary, Melissa, and Maggie. They were very close growing up, but they each married and started going their separate ways.  Then each of their husbands die, in very different circumstances, but in close temporal proximity.  This first novel begins with all three of the cousins living together, trying to survive on the meager finances left to them.  Mary is the extrovert and most headstrong of the three, and it’s her idea that they form a private investigation firm.  Their first case will involve Brittany.  What do you think?

D:  ZZZZZZzzzzzzzz

1:  D!

D:  zzz…What?  Oh, sorry, I was just resting my eyes.  Continue, please.

1:  I’m done.

D:  That’s it?  That’s all you woke … I mean, that’s all you want to tell me?

1:  Well, like I said, that’s one novel.  I wrote a second one for the April Camp NaNoWriMo, and I plan to write the third for July …

D:  Correction.  You are writing the third.

1:  I stand corrected.  I am in the process of writing the third.

D:  Any place for a Druid in your series, perhaps as a love interest.  I rather like the sound of Mary …

1:  Ah, no, there’s no time traveling.  All the action is contemporary.

D: I can do contemporary.  I’m here, aren’t I?

1:  Good point.  Maybe I should consult with A about that …

D:  Consult with A?!  Whatever for?  The silly woman doesn’t own me!

1:  D, please calm down.

D:  I mean, really, I’ve just about had it with …

1:  D, please.  This is my first time as a guest.  Don’t blow it for me.

D:  I think you’re blowing it just fine on your own …

1:  @#$%

D:  Please stop using punctuation to express yourself.  It’s so childish.

1:  Sorry …. (not really)

D:  I heard that.  Really, 1, I don’t mean to be hard on you.  Please accept my apologies and don’t tell A that I fell asleep while you …

1:  AHA!  You admit it!

D:  Whatever.

1:  Hmmm … I guess you could do contemporary.  But Mary already has a love interest.

D:  The harlot.  Her husband is barely in the grave and she’s already taking up with another man!

1:  No, no!  She’s been widowed for a while and this new love interest is an old friend.  Don’t get your pantaloons in a wad.

D:  I don’t wear pantaloons!

1:  Whatever.

D:  #$%

1:  Same to you.  Well, I think I’m done here …

D:  (in more ways than one)

1:  I heard that!  D, let’s part as friends.  Really, isn’t it better to have some guests while A is away rather than just rattling your bones by your lonesome?

D:  Well, when you put it that way …

1:  And you are kind of cute for a Druid.

D:  You’re too old for me.  Just look at all that gray hair!

1:  one … two … three … four …

D:  What are you doing?

1:  Counting to ten in the hope that I won’t still want to murder you when I’m done.

D:  Oh, dear.  Well, what I meant was, you have lovely silver hair and it’s been a true joy to have you here.

1:  That’s better.

D:  Please, come again soon.

1:  I’m not holding my breath.

D:  Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

1:  $%&

OK, so D and I didn’t exactly hit it off.  In fairness to him, I just think he misses A, more than he would ever want to admit.  And I can see how he might grow on A.  There is something appealing about the old sod.  They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, so watch out, A!  I suspect D will be beside himself when you return 😉

Marie Ann Bailey

I am a writer, living with three cats, more yarn than I can knit up in a lifetime, and a dear husband who doubles as my best friend.  I started this blog a few years ago when I was toying with the idea of becoming a freelance editor.  I wanted to be a serious resource of all things related to writing and editing.  But then life happened, I got distracted, and went offline for awhile.  Now I’m back but with a different purpose for my blog.  I just want to write.  I’m old enough to be looking forward to retirement (as opposed to what my next career move should be), and the more writing I can do now, the better shape I’ll be in to make writing my primary focus when I’m no longer at the office 40 hours a week.  I enjoy my current job and my coworkers and that actually has made it more difficult to be disciplined with my writing.  I do derive intrinsic satisfaction from what I do at the daily grind, but the urge to write hasn’t left.  In fact, the more I think about retirement, the more I want to write. . .

Read more about the wonderful Marie and her blog, 1WriteWay.

Guest Blog – Interview is as Interview Does

Announcer: Today’s guest author is John W. Howell who writes a blog named Fiction Favorites. It can be found at John will be interviewed by D. So D you are on.

D: Since A is still out of touch today we have with us as a guest author; Mr. John W. Howell the world-famous scientist and writer of intriguing stories about the early mating habits of the Druid clan─

J: Um excuse me D but that is not correct.

D: What part is not true? Scientist? World famous? Writer?

J: I know nothing of the mating habits of Druids and I am not a scientist nor am I world-famous.

D:  These are the notes I have. Oh wait, these are about John Milton. Did A made a mistake in asking you to guest today?

J: Well that remains to be seen, but I am not sure where you got that bio, but it is not me.

D: Your name is John right?

J: That is correct.

D: You are a writer?

J: Yes that is also correct.

D: What have you written?

J: Well my second novel is being edited by the publisher as we speak and the third is about three quarters finished.

D: Your second you say? Where is the first?

J: Well I printed the manuscript on my computer and it is in my laundry room.

D: Laundry room? What’s that and what is your manuscript doing there?

J: A laundry room is where you wash clothes and it is holding the door open.

D: You have a door on your creek? How do you do that?

J: Creek? What do you mean creek? *sigh*

D: We druids wash our clothes at the creek on the rocks.

J: No, no today there are rooms set aside to wash clothes.

D: How do you get a creek to run through a room? Oh never mind.(rolls eyes) Why is the manuscript holding the door open?

J: So the wind won’t slam it shut.

D: I am getting the opinion you are avoiding the question. Why isn’t the manuscript where it can be read?

J: Because it is lousy.

D: Covered in bugs?

J: The story needs work so there it sits. I guess I should look at it again but I have been so darned busy.

D: Yes busy is the curse of creative people I have found. Too busy for this, too busy for that.

J: Is the interview over?

D: I didn’t even get to ask you about your book.

J: That’s okay. When I get a launch date maybe A will let me come back.

D: *mumbles*

J: Sorry, I missed that.

D: Yeah sure she will invite you back to describe a little more your clothes washing habits and your first book. You’ll pardon me if I don’t see you out, but I need to prepare a report for A on this meeting. Goodbye John er…

J: Howell. The last name is Howell.  That’s okay I dropped some crumbs and can follow them out. Bye now.

D: Very well.*Mumbles* Damn mice. Good luck

John W. Howell

John’s main interests are reading, writing and sometimes arithmetic.  He turned to writing as a full-time occupation after an extensive career in business.  John writes thriller fiction novels and short stories. His story Cold Night Out won an honorable mention in Writers Digest Popular Fiction contest this year. He also won first place in the Kurt Vonnegut Kilgore Trout novel contest just announced in April, celebrating Kurt Vonnegut as an author. His short story Never Give Inn was selected to be published in the Miracle E-zine fifth issue published in April.

He spends off time reconditioning a 1978 Toyota FJ40 Land Cruiser and consulting with major companies in the areas of strategic planning and marketing. (The arithmetic part)

John lives on Mustang Island in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of south Texas with his wife Molly and their spoiled rescue pets.

John has finished his debut novel and has signed a contract with Martin Sisters

Read more at Fiction Favorites – and many thanks to John for joining the D/A Dialogues today!