Today we have a special treat! A witty encounter with my dear friend and Harlequin author, Kris Fletcher. She's always been an inspiration for me, giving true meaning to Galaxy Quest's famous charge to action--"Never give up, never surrender!" Finally, the writing world has sat up and noticed what I knew all along--Kris Fletcher writes a heck of a romance story! The chipmunks say so.
So, without further ado, a chat with Kris Fletcher!
Kris' Quick
round:
Coffee, tea or…what’s your vice?
Day to day – my homemade iced lattes.
Special treat: Tim Horton's Iced Capp. Hazelnut. Milk, not cream.
Favorite Movie:
I have a top 5 that can't be ranked: Witness,
Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,
(sensing a theme yet?) Love, Actually, and Galaxy Quest.
Favorite Color:
Cranberry
Favorite book/author:
The Night Before
Christmas, which may or may not have been
written by Clement C. Moore. Though lately I am partial to Goodnight Moon,
as it means my youngest is on her way to bed.
How do you feel about bacon?
I'm sorry, I can't hear the question
over the sound of the sizzling and popping.
I knew I loved Kris for a reason! I should have asked Canadian or American, but it's all good. Bacon mustache for you!
So. The
REAL questions…
Tell us a little about yourself.
No. I am far too boring. Let's talk
about you instead. Is it true that you were the inspiration for the whips and
chains song?
Hahahahaha! Yeah, I taught Rihanna everything. ::wink:: So next...
What’s under your bed?
I'm not great with grammar, but I
think the correct question is WHO, not WHAT. In which case, the answer would be
Nathan Fillion. Or should that be WHOM? Like I said, not great with grammar.
He ain't there no more, lady!!! (How's that for grammar. LOL) Be still my heart. Okay, next question.
What comes first, plot or characters?
It's different with every story. Which
bugs the hell out of me, because I have no idea how to start.
Pantser, plotter, or hybrid? Tell us about your
writing process.
My process sucks and I would not wish
it upon anyone. Mostly it consists of me getting an idea and doing a lot of
work, then writing a lot of words, then realizing that they all suck and must
be tossed. But I've got a better grasp of the original idea, so I start all over.
Do more work, write more words, suck some more. Lather, rinse, repeat. Needless
to say, I work in a state of perpetual terror.
Oddest thing on your desk?
At the moment, a chipmunk. Though I'm
working outside on my deck so I guess that's not so odd.
Awww, even the chipmunks are inspired by Kris' talent for a good tale!
What’s your most interesting writing quirk?
You mean other than the paranoia and the
weeping?
What’s your favorite thing about the genre you write
in?
The happily ever after. I really hate
investing my time and energy into a story that ends up with everyone more
miserable than when they began. (Though I will make an exception for Up In
The Air, because seriously, that final shot of George Clooney in the
airport just made me want to take him by the hand and feed him soup and make it
all better.)
What is the hardest thing about being an author?
Making myself do it.
What’s the easiest thing about being an author?
Cashing the checks.
Tell us about your latest release!
From the back cover of Now You See Me...
Who’s a good girl now?
Café owner Lydia Brewster wants to
shake things up. And J.T. Delaney, infamous legend of Comeback Cove, just might
be the man she needs. With his wild reputation, who better to help a girl shake
off a “poor widow” image she’s too young to keep wearing?
Despite the rumors, J.T. doesn’t seem
quite the troublemaker Lyddie’s heard about. He actually seems focused on
business—the subject they don’t see eye to eye on. Really, all she wants is a
fling. But after a few long, hot nights together, the most dangerous thing
about J.T. is the unexpected way he makes her feel….
~*~
An excerpt from Now You See Me:
There was nothing like walking into the town he'd almost
killed twenty-five years earlier to make a man feel there was a bull's-eye
painted on his back.
For the fifth time in as many minutes, J. T. Delaney forced himself to stop checking over his shoulder. He wasn't in danger—at least, not of the physical kind. Comeback Cove, Ontario, was a small tourist town on the St. Lawrence Seaway. Quiet was the word most often used to describe it, especially at dinnertime on an early June weeknight. He'd passed all of three people since he set off down Main Street toward the river.
But three people was enough. Especially when they were all old-timers who reached protectively toward their wallets the moment they recognized him. That hurt. He might have been the terror of the town when he was a teen, but he'd never picked pockets.
Taking the heat for things he'd done, he could handle. Taking the heat for things he hadn't done was not gonna happen.
His steps slowed as he walked past the hardware store. Other than a new coat of paint and fresh awnings, it looked the same as it had back when he used to buy supplies for his adolescent pranks. Same story two doors down, in the drugstore where he'd shoplifted his first pack of condoms. Now, with the wisdom of forty-two years behind him, he knew what a damned fool chance that had been. But he still could empathize with the testosterone-driven youth who would rather risk being hauled in front of the police than pay for rubbers under the eagle eye of a pharmacist who'd known him since birth. Ah, memories.
Seeing the stores and walking the still-familiar route to the river made him keenly aware of the fact only a fool would forget: small towns don't change. Not the buildings, not the faces, not the sentiments. The only thing different, it seemed, was him.
For as he'd learned the hard way over the years, the last thing most people wanted was change. Especially when it came to changing their minds.
At last he reached the corner of Main Street and River Road and the sight that had drawn him downtown on his first night back: the St. Lawrence River. It lay straight ahead, peaceful on this cool evening, calling him from the other side of the parking lot that connected Patty's Pizza Express and River Joe's coffee shop.
Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hurried across the lot. Technically, this land—and the pizza place and coffee shop, and a few other buildings around town—was now his, bequeathed to him by the father who had died last year. But he hadn't come to play landlord. Not yet. Tomorrow he would begin the task that had brought him back to town—selling off the buildings and helping his mother move to Tucson with him.
Tonight, though, was his. He increased his pace as he rounded the corner of River Joe's. Tonight, it was him and the river—
And a woman. There was a woman sitting in his spot.
For the fifth time in as many minutes, J. T. Delaney forced himself to stop checking over his shoulder. He wasn't in danger—at least, not of the physical kind. Comeback Cove, Ontario, was a small tourist town on the St. Lawrence Seaway. Quiet was the word most often used to describe it, especially at dinnertime on an early June weeknight. He'd passed all of three people since he set off down Main Street toward the river.
But three people was enough. Especially when they were all old-timers who reached protectively toward their wallets the moment they recognized him. That hurt. He might have been the terror of the town when he was a teen, but he'd never picked pockets.
Taking the heat for things he'd done, he could handle. Taking the heat for things he hadn't done was not gonna happen.
His steps slowed as he walked past the hardware store. Other than a new coat of paint and fresh awnings, it looked the same as it had back when he used to buy supplies for his adolescent pranks. Same story two doors down, in the drugstore where he'd shoplifted his first pack of condoms. Now, with the wisdom of forty-two years behind him, he knew what a damned fool chance that had been. But he still could empathize with the testosterone-driven youth who would rather risk being hauled in front of the police than pay for rubbers under the eagle eye of a pharmacist who'd known him since birth. Ah, memories.
Seeing the stores and walking the still-familiar route to the river made him keenly aware of the fact only a fool would forget: small towns don't change. Not the buildings, not the faces, not the sentiments. The only thing different, it seemed, was him.
For as he'd learned the hard way over the years, the last thing most people wanted was change. Especially when it came to changing their minds.
At last he reached the corner of Main Street and River Road and the sight that had drawn him downtown on his first night back: the St. Lawrence River. It lay straight ahead, peaceful on this cool evening, calling him from the other side of the parking lot that connected Patty's Pizza Express and River Joe's coffee shop.
Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hurried across the lot. Technically, this land—and the pizza place and coffee shop, and a few other buildings around town—was now his, bequeathed to him by the father who had died last year. But he hadn't come to play landlord. Not yet. Tomorrow he would begin the task that had brought him back to town—selling off the buildings and helping his mother move to Tucson with him.
Tonight, though, was his. He increased his pace as he rounded the corner of River Joe's. Tonight, it was him and the river—
And a woman. There was a woman sitting in his spot.
~*~
Where to find Now You See Me?
~*~
Where to find Kris Fletcher...
Thanks for stopping by, Kris!
1 comment:
I got a bacon mustache! Wheeeeee!!!
Thanks so much for having me, Mia. I mean, having me VISIT. I had way too much fun with this interview :-)
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