Thanks so much for having me on your blog today, Delilah!
I’ve always been fascinated and inspired by reading other author’s biographies. When I find a new author that I like, one of the first things I do is go to their website and read their about page to discover their story about how they got ‘the call’ (from their agent or publisher) or how they began to seriously pursue writing. It’s a bit like a fairy tale to me.
Most authors say they’ve always been writing since they could hold a pencil, and I’m no different. But while writing my recent release, EVIL SPEAKS SOFTLY, I thought, what if the relentless muse was more of a curse than a fairy tale?
My heroine in EVIL SPEAKS SOFLTY, Liv, is a successful author. Writing is the only thing she ever wanted to do. It’s all she’s ever known. Most of the women in her family were writers so it was a natural choice for her—or was it? Once she discovers that her success could be attributed to an ancient family curse she begins to question whether her talent to write is genuine.
Everyone has a story to tell. Even the dead.
They were never supposed to meet. Fame came easy for Liv by following in the footsteps of the female writers in her family. The cycle repeated for decades…until Liv changed the story. Her villain doesn’t like the revision—and he isn’t a fictional character. In his story, the bad guy always wins.
They were never supposed to find love. Liv never questioned her demanding nocturnal muse, or the strange incidents in her old, family home until she met Gage. His job was to watch her from afar, not reveal the truth about the curse and the stories of the dead. They’ve broken all the rules. Together they unravel secrets as they strive to stop the cycle. Liv’s ability to find love, and protect her loved ones, hangs on the fickle whims of the dead—and they’ve got nothing to lose.
“I met this strange man at the bar last night. He told me some really weird stuff.”
I paused. When she remained silent, I continued. “He said it was related to my writing.” She watched me with the fascination of one who desperately wanted to look away but couldn’t. As if a deer blinded to the oncoming headlights, she was fixated, trapped. “He said to talk to you.”
I searched her face. I knew my Grams. When resignation settled on her features a knot clenched in my stomach from either fear, or the excitement of validating Gage didn’t fabricate the story. Perhaps he wasn’t crazy.
Grams slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. “He found you?”
She turned to stare out the frosted window where the birdfeeder sat frozen over from the recent snow. “I can’t believe he took that risk. Watchers are never to approach the Recorders. It could totally upset the balance.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth.
When she used the same terms as Gage, my anxiety elevated. I expected her to deny his claims and then we’d laugh about the incident. “Grams, please tell me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a deep breath. “Some weird things happened last night. Occasionally I notice unusual things, but it’s an old house and I have an active imagination, but this time it scared me.”
About the Author
Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line.
Amazon Author Page: