Today's guest is fiction author, Larion Wells whose writing talent takes her across a number of genres.
AUTHOR: Larion Wills also known as Larriane Wills
BOOK TITLE: White Savage
PUBLISHER: Muse It Up Publishing
- When did you first consider yourself a writer?
As soon as I started putting my stories to paper, I considered myself a writer. I was about 23 when I started doing that. A looooong time ago. I didn’t hit the author definition until about 6 years ago with my first published book, The Knowing, through Swimming Kangaroo Books, a company inactive now, sadly, but they still have my books available through their website.
- What inspired you to write your first book?
I read a knock off of one of Ian Flemings’ Bond books and thought I can write one as good as that. Of course, I had to learn the difference between ‘story telling’ and putting the story into written words. I read it last year when cleaning out my closet. It was sooo bad. Someday I may re-write it, less the bad grammar and even worse punctuation. As I recall, the story was a bit cheesy also.
3. Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
I think just a basic good over bad. Sometimes very bad, but with not giving up, a happy ending is the result. I hope that isn’t too much of a spoiler for my readers, but I don’t care of unhappy endings. We see too much of that on the news. I want my readers to be entertained, not depressed when they read my books.
4. Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life? (Has anyone ever realized it?)
Good heaven, no, to the first part of that question. That isn’t to say there aren’t some wonderful people in my life whose traits I wouldn’t incorporate into a character or minor incidences, but I’ve never based a character on someone I know. I’ve just never known anyone who has been put into the type of situations I put my poor characters through. Now some of the quirky humor and fun with the pets that turn up, that’s a different story.
5. If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
I can’t give you one answer to that. Who would be the best mentor would depend on what genre I was writing in at the moment. The closest I think would be Elizabeth Peters, under any of her pen names. I love her humor that I give a giggle over no matter how serious the story, drawing some strange looks from my husband. Her paranormals I know have been an influence in mine with witches and or ghosts.
6. What book are you reading now? What do you like, or not, about it?
I’ve been trying to read Sandra Brown’s Smash Cut for about 2 months, which gives you an indication of how busy I’ve been. So far what I dislike about it is the hero comes across as an arrogant, how shall I put this, south end of a north bound donkey? What do I like about it? I’ve read her books before. I know he’s going to turn into a pretty nice guy, one I’m going to be glad manages to hook up romantically with the heroine while they solve the mystery—that, and another point I like, I get to solve along with them. I like a book that challenges me a bit in picking up the clues as the story rolls along.
7. What are your current projects?
I’m into the editing process for books coming out, Nov. of this year, one in the spring and one in the fall of next year, along with getting a new one typed into my computer to edit for submission. Along with that, I edit for others. You can see why it takes me so long to read a book anymore. I used to read no less than one a week, sometimes two or three. Sigh. I miss that.
8. If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
Just don’t give me the chance to. I drive publishers crazy wanting to make last minute changes that occur to me when I’m supposed to be going to sleep. I don’t care what stage a book is at in publishing, if I get my hands on it, I’ll make changes.
9. Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
As far back as I can remember stories went through my head. I suppose some would call them daydreams, imaged people in imaged places, doing make believe things. I used to tell them to myself, speaking for all the different characters to the point my mother still believes I had imaginary friends. I hate to tell her any different. I toyed with the idea of putting them on paper, got discouraged with my ability to do so in high school, and dropped the idea until my early twenties when I put that first one down. I had a lot of interruptions, but basically I wrote and wrote, putting the manuscripts in a drawer, playing with the idea of publishing off and on, getting a typewriter, getting a word processor, and finally the home computer. Once I got that first computer all my flimsy excuses for not being able to produce a decent copy to submit went out the window. Just about all my excuses had until one day I got down to the real reason I didn’t submit seriously, lack of confidence. I had this serious talk with myself, telling me I was tough enough to take rejections and I would never know if I didn’t get brave enough to try. That was about, oh, 15 or so contracts ago.
10. Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
My selected mentor. Grinning here. I have a lot of favorites in different genres, but as I’ve said before, overall, Elizabeth.
11. Do you have any advice for other writers?
Go back up to the answer I gave for question 9. Don’t make excuses. Like the commercial says, just do it. True the majority of rejections you get will be nothing more than a form letter, but, and this is a big but, there are those, Muse It Up Publishing for example, who will take the time to write you a note as to why you were rejected. Study those, learn and incorporate what they tell you and do it all over again until you get the one that says either they’ll be sending you a contract, or they would like to see the entire manuscript.
12. Who are your publishers and how did you connect with them?
Muse It Up Publishing--https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/ and Swimming Kangaroo Books—
How can we find you? Website, Facebook, Twitter, blog, etc. - please share your public links.
http://www.larriane.com http://larionmusing.blogspot.com/ http://www.facebook.com/people/Larriane-Wills/1535007230
and I love visitors.
No one knew how long the Indians had the boy; only that it was too long for Jimmy to learn to be white again. The local authorities locked him in their jail, beat him, and fed him garbage leaving him no choice but to run. Had Jimmy returned ten years later for revenge, to rob, murder, and kidnap a woman? Or did they push the man who called himself Clay into proving there’s a savage in all of us, dragging along the woman with him when he escaped again. His captive had to make a decision, keep her secrets hidden or help the White Savage.
The dog stretched, his nails scratching on the bare wood floor as he wiggled to a more comfortable position. Clay watched him squirm, thinking it was funny how a dog would choose to lay on the hard wood when there were so many rugs scattered around. One was behind him to the right, in front of the door, one to the left, behind him, in front of the cook stove. Rugs scattered all around him, but the dog had stretched out right in the middle where there was no rug.
Right in the middle stuck in his mind, and Clay studied the room again. He couldn’t reach the pantry or front door without walking by the dog, and if he walked to the bedroom, he’d have to walk in front of him.
“Thought you wanted me to talk to you,” he said to break the silence.
She startled, jabbing herself with the needle. “You didn’t seem so inclined,” she said, trying to hide the fact that her finger was bleeding.
“I changed my mind. That dog got a name?”
“No,” she said quickly, and then changed it. “Yes. I call him Wolf for obvious reasons. I’m going to bed now.” Her basket thumped to the floor beside her chair as she set it down and stood. “There are blankets and a pillow in the chest to make a pallet.”
She pointed to a chest situated conveniently against the wall farthest from the dog.
“More than one way to kill a dog,” he said, walking over to the chest. “Safest way is to shoot him, if he’s far enough away.” He sat down on the chest, looking at her. “Unless he’s running at you. Hard to hit then. Best thing to do is let him jump you, so you can break his neck or his jaw.”
“You couldn’t,” she said in a strained whisper.
“When he jumps at you, you grab his jaw and nose. All you have to do is pry them apart. That’s the easiest way.”
“He’s mauled men badly before,” she warned.
“Because they were afraid of him. I’m not. There’s not a dog alive that a man can’t beat if he keeps his head.”
“Don’t ever set that dog on me or I will kill him,” he warned coldly.
“A man like you would never know or understand fear. You have to live it to know how desperate a person can be to never be alone.”
Even if it was someone she despised as much as she did her husband or feared as much as she did him, he thought. He said, “Having someone with you won’t make it go away. You just need someone to make you feel safe long enough to know you don’t have anything to fear.”
“Who? Henry? The man who left me with a total stranger?” she asked with an sardonic smile and scoffed. “A man who’d just as soon be rid of me? No, no one can, not even a man like you who’s never known a day of fear in his life.”
Clay watched her silently as in defeat and resignation she put the dog out of his way in the pantry and closed herself away with the bedroom door. She was wrong, of course. He did know what her kind of fear was like. If he could stay longer than the time it would take her husband to return, he might even be able to help her learn how to control if not conquer the fear. But he couldn’t stay longer than he’d given his word he would. He shouldn’t even be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Every minute made the fear he fought to control claw stronger in his guts, just knowing they were near. Telling himself there was little chance they’d ever know he was anywhere in the area didn’t do any good. He shouldn’t have let his first look at the blond-haired, green-eyed beauty influence him into staying, no matter how afraid he thought she was.