I recently read Jewel's novella, 'Tales by Rails' and if you like to read sizzling fiction, I would suggest getting on to it asap.
Q1. When did you begin writing?
I have been writing for a while now (my earliest story, which I still have in my possession, dates back to prehistoric times—1984). I wrote fanfiction for a couple decades before switching over to my own worlds. (I was getting sick of having to reply to "when are you publishing it?" with "I can't, it's fanfiction and I'd have Disney's lawyers on me so fast . . .") I started on my professional pursuit of writing with The Witches' Rede series about 3 years ago. It's been a very long time coming.
Q2. Do you have any writing rituals or routines?
I wish I did but being the mom of a 7 year-old son and 20 month-old daughter means I need to have some flexibility in my approach to writing.
And by "some" flexibility, I actually mean I have no routine at all. I write how I can, when I can and wish my characters all the luck in the world. Some days (weeks months) I just can't get words to page. Other days it just won't stop until the kids are screaming, the dishes are piled up and my hubby has to pry the paper from my carpal tunnel'd hands.
I do like to write with pen and paper before I type up my work, and there's a specific kind of pen I prefer to all others (Pentel's RSVPs, medium point).
Q3. What do you do on the days the words just don’t seem to flow?
Nothing else. Anything else. I like to knit, crochet, watch TV, clean the cat box, wash windows, draw, color, make jewelry, chase the cat around with my camera . . .
During NaNoWriMo, I'll force the words anyway and cry the whole time. Just kidding.
I cry only half the time. ;)
Q4. What else do you love doing, besides writing?
I could just copy and paste from question 3. But I don't actually enjoy cleaning the cat box, washing windows . . . But the rest of that is true. :)
Q5. If you could live any part of your life again, what would you change and why?
I think I would relive my pregnancy with my daughter. It followed my son's pregnancy, during which I was on bed rest for a subchorionic hematoma (and so I was horrified the whole time) and a miscarriage . . . so I was constantly afraid of every. Little. Thing.
My daughter does have a genetic condition that will impact her life greatly but there's nothing I did or could have done during my pregnancy to change that in any way. Knowing that, I'd love to go back and actually enjoy being pregnant with her. My fears robbed me of the enjoyment of such a magical time (that I otherwise would have derived much joy from).
Q6. Describe yourself in three words
Q7. Are you able to tell us something about you we may not know?
Well . . . for those who followed me on Twitter during my "for each Like I'll reveal a secret about myself" circus . . . There isn't much you don't know! LOL!
Um . . . Only a very small handful of people know that I'd give my eye-teeth to be able to write something without a romantic/erotic element.
Until that happens, I will enjoy what I do. Otherwise, what's the point? :)
Q8. What is your biggest fear?
Scorpions. (That pops up many times over in my Witches' Rede series.)
Q9. What is one thing you would like to fix in the world, if you could?
I'm so tempted to say I'd love to remove all scorpions from the world but as much as I fear (and hate) them, I understand they serve a great purpose (the eat virtually everything . . . like roaches and other arachnids).
However, I have yet to see what's so damn good about mosquitoes. Kill all mosquitoes.
Q10. What are you hoping to achieve in 2016?
I'd sure love to secure an agent for The Witches' Rede.
Let’s play This or That
Cake or Ice-cream? Cake! The One True Dessert.
Winter or Summer? Winter. You can only take off so many layers in the heat.
Beach or Forest? Forest. (Don't tell Surfer Boy I said that!)
Airplane or Car? Car. Definitely, absolutely car. I love my road trips and I've got a key chain collection from states I've driven through.
Paperback or eBook? They both have their perks. I prefer to read paperbacks but I'm love to support indie and self-pubbed authors. Also, I can have as many ebooks on my Kindle as paperbacks I have on my bookshelves . . . and I can tell you which is easier to deal with when it comes to moving from home to home! ;)
Cat or Dog? Cats. ALL the cats.
Country or City? Can I have suburbs? :)
Coffee or Tea? Coffee. (Tea when I'm ill. Speaking of which, time for tea . . .)
Late nights or early mornings? Sleep. (I am definitely not a morning person.)
Small talk or deep and meaningful? Deep and meaningful. Small talk is one of the banes of my existence.
Where you can find Jewel online:
Excerpt from From Heart of the Flame, book 1 of The Witches' Rede:
"What's the matter, Ducky?" Edison asked.
"How did ye get involved in . . . tha' . . . tha' terrible group?"
Edison sighed, setting the cup on his bedside table. "Long story, short, Shadow Wolf was the only one who saw value in any of my inventions. He was one of few who didn't brush me off as a lunatic. Prior to Redington? I was institutionalized. Do you know how they treat people at insane asylums?"
Maeve shook her head, frowning.
"Good," replied Edison, brushing the hair from over the scar on his temple. He turned that same gentle hand to Maeve's face, caressing her cheek the way her father used to. "Keep it that way."
"Ed? What do ye mean 'Shadow Wolf was?'"
"Huh? Oh—that—that all happened many years ago. Let's not talk about me, okay? I can't even begin to tell you the kind of guilt I have for introducing you to this awful group. You risked your life for us, and for those passengers—without so much as batting an eyelash! Do you know what that makes you?"
She snorted. "Immeasurably stupid?"
"Heroic," said Edison. He patted her forearm.
"Is it heroic if I was hopin' maybe I would lose me life in savin' theirs?"
"Maeve!" Edison exclaimed, prompting her to flinch. "Have you no reason to value your existence?"
Rafaele Forino. Maeve's mouth dipped into a deeper frown. If all she came up with was a man's name, she had no reason, at all. Not a good one, anyway. "Me life hasn't meanin'! All I can aspire to is wifedom, 'n' I can't even do tha' here as I remain betrothed to a man I'll never see again! Second to wifedom is whoredom, 'n' that's no option either! 'N' should I manage to espouse someone, I still remain a failure in the eyes of society!"
Edison gawked. "How is that?"
"Me only role as wife is to be a human—a—" Maeve struggled for the word in English. Failing that, she fell back on her mother tongue. "—a gorlainne!"
"I don't understand."
"I'd be expected to have babies—" Maeve's face flushed atop her already sun-scorched cheeks. "'N' I can't! I've seen it, Ed! I've seen it! Have ye?"
He shook his head.
Maeve reached up, snatching Edison's shirt to hoist herself up off the bed. "It's horrible! It's a bloody, messy, disgustin', painful affair, the likes of which ye'd never forget!" Her parents had done her a disservice in apprenticing her to a midwife at an age when she was so easily scarred and—besides—Maeve's maternal instinct had always been lacking.
She released Edison's shirt, flopping back onto his pillow.
"For what it's worth," he replied, "I think you're destined for greatness."
"Based on what?"
"Well . . . Your heroism is a special kind of greatness," Edison explained. "I don't see it ending on that. Someone with such passion—such a spark—will not live out her days in obscurity. When I look at you, I see a woman who should be waited on, hand and foot. Not one who's doomed to . . . service others." He continued after a fat pause, "I think you need the right adventure to spirit you away from this miserable place."
Maeve tried smiling, but for some reason, his kind words left her feeling worse. "Look at ye . . . Makin' up tales for me!"
Insistent pounding at Edison's front door interrupted their conversation.
"Please excuse me," he said, getting to his feet despite the loud snapping and crackling protests of his joints. "Stay here. Rest." On his way out, he extinguished the oil lamp lighting his room.
Maeve nodded in the darkness, turning her eyes to the ceiling. It was silent for several minutes before the edges of consciousness slipped away.
© Jewel E Leonard