BLOG TOUR – Goddess of the Wild Thing
The SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS weekly column is a place at Shannon Muir’s author website open to interviews and guest posts from other authors. One thing Shannon firmly believes in for readers not only to learn about new books available, but about those who craft the tales behind them. As its name implies, SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS weekly column features writers from all genres of fiction who want their potential audience to get to know them, and their works, better – and occasionally may offer features from Shannon herself that support readers to discover words.
This week, find out more about the book GODDESS OF THE WILD THING in an interview with its author.
DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.
1) What inspired you to write books? Books are and always have been my thing. My lovely lady, Kate, kindred soul, wife and mother of our four adult children inspired me to move into dramatic fiction. She said, “You can write visionary thrillers loaded with archetypal gusto just like you write psychology except these’ll be even more compelling, captivating, riveting! Kate’s my inspiration.
2) What do you love about writing in general? Words are a psychic narcotic, a real high. When I read good indie writers like Tamara Ferguson, Uvi Poznansky, Luna Saint Claire, Rayna Noire, David P. Permutter, and Lorraine Carey my mind is tuned in and turned on. When I write there’s a sense of being transported to another realm filled with mystery, insight, and age-old wisdom. I love it.
3) What advice can you give aspiring Authors in your genre? If you feel it do it. Doubts come, fears abound, but inspiration was there from the beginning, so see it through to the end. You felt what you felt, the need to write, so stay true to that feeling and true to your dream.
4) What’s your favorite part of being an author? Along with setting dramatic narrative and white-hot words to the page, a story building, fulminating and completing itself I love meeting wonderful readers who write and tell me of their impressions and emotions while immersed in the tales I’ve woven.
5) What is the worst part about being an author? There is no worst part. Writing is about being true to what’s in you to do, and there’s no worst part to that. There’s dark times and light times for sure; but the dark and light are the composites of shading and color and texture that take visual form in the art that is storytelling.
6) What do you do for fun? I love it when Kate and I hang together, just the two of us, and see movies, go to lunch and dinner, talk long talks, and come home and nestle into each other. That’s a fine, really fine time.
7) How do you find time to write? I write a little each day. Freud wrote a page a day. That’s a good rule of thumb for me. There’s always time for a page, and one page often leads to another and another and another . . ..
8) What is in your WIP or next book you thought about writing? After writing The Unholy and Goddess of the Wild Thing I’ve thought about resting; but the resting is in the living and writing that are an everyday experience. The new book The Goddess of Everything is a hottie – there’s a woman who thinks she all that and more to boot – can control, cajole, and bag whomever and whatever her nefarious heart desires. It’s a visionary thriller of mother love gone bad and a son’s desire to break free. There’s twist and turns and an unexpected heroine – The Goddess of Everything!
9) Where do you write? Right now I’m downstairs on the oak kitchen table. I used to write only in my study. I like varying it up. It keeps the flow going. The study is good, old gothic masters up there whispering in my ear. On the kitchen table is good too. They follow me down the stairs and whisper their words, dark machinations, and eye-popping revelations. I set these to page and they smile.
10) Are you a fulltime author? I am a full-time depth psychologist, therapist and writer. It all comes together in the consultation room in treating traumatized patients and on the page where trauma and despair meet the potential for hope and transformation in a rip-roaring visionary thriller.
necessary to life and well-being. She was educated, had plenty of common sense,
and was street-smart. Countless members of the male species spoke of her in
hushed tones at the cantina, in university hallways, and at social events
when friends and colleagues were relaxed and enjoying themselves during
the cool, high-desert nights. The thought of hooking up
with the most desirable of fantasy felines for the evening rippled through the
undercurrent of verbal exchange. She should be able to attract the right kind
of man, one who was kind and caring and didn’t bring tidal waves of emotional
no time to waste. She needed the counsel of her trusted friend and spiritual
guide. This turn of events was unlike any she’d ever encountered. It was
violent and bloody and made her fear for her safety.
genuine, courtly, romantic, and hot. He gave off a world-wise and street savvy
vibe. There was a gentleness and sensitivity to him, more so than the typical
single, middle-aged male on the lookout for female companionship and mind-blowing
trouble and needed guidance from Graciéla, a seventy-eight-year-old wise woman,
crone, and seer into confusing matters of the heart. Graciéla waited for Eve at
the Sage Metaphysical Bookstore where she served as resident manager for an
absentee owner. Even after an exhausting day of seeing one desperate soul after
another, Graciéla agreed that Eve’s situation was critical. She’d stay late for
a friend and frightened soul.
store because lately, downtown had become a hub of clubs, theaters, and trendy
restaurants appealing to a congestion of new money and hot times. Close-in
parking was locked up by happy hour, so blocks away was her only choice. She
caught herself looking nervously from side to side and down twilight-shadowed
alleyways as she hurried along the cracked sidewalk. She felt safer along these
edgy streets with Shirley by her side, a genuine person and mystic cohort.
before going on.
because she was trying to be conciliatory—not an easy talent for a hard-bitten
hand, maybe if bad love is what we get, bad love is just what we take. If there’s something better, I’m in . . . just
saying I’ve never seen it. Till I do, I for one gotta go with what I get.” Her
look toughened. “It’s just not come my way, and I’m not holding a
sure-to-turn-me-blue breath.” A tough attitude toward life, love, and men was
friend and all her rough spots and edges. There were people who were mean but
not nasty, malicious, or toxic. Shirley was hardened and mean but only when and
if she needed to be.
inches away from her shoulders, static currents conjuring magic. Eve’s
peripheral vision caught the streaks of what she imagined as a bonfire during a
war dance. Shirley spoke from experience, a woman smitten by man potential
going south quicker than a rattler hisses and bites.
contemplated Shirley’s words. Settling for less than what she wanted was no
good. It left her cold and empty. It was definitely no good. Plus, Shirley
didn’t know the whole story, only that gloom about the prospect of men and love
had descended, and Eve was taking it hard.
good for me. If I need to cut this thing short, so be it. But I’d rather see it
through. Maybe there’s a chance that the bad I’m afraid of isn’t there. Maybe
I’m blowing it up into something it isn’t. Maybe there’s good and I’m thinking
it’s bad. So if the good is down deep, real deep—I want to hold on and give it
a chance.” Eve pondered the words as a light rain started up. Then she went on,
“I need to hear what Graciéla has to say. I’d like to give things a chance. I’m
not giving up unless there’s no way out of emotional dead-ends and never-ending
and cracked sidewalks. They twisted and curled, arising out of a subterranean
ether sphere. Usually, they arose during the early morning and hovered inches
above the downtown park’s green expanse, hardly ever at night with its fading
daytime desert heat, and hardly ever along the paved spaces. Darkness descended
and pressed down like a heavy hand, edgy and ominous.