*What would you be
doing right now if you were not an author?
Oh, great question.
If I were not an author I would be completing my Masters in psychology to
pursue a career as a child psychologist. I love kids and the brain. But my love
for writing over powered understanding the brain complexity of a child's brain.
Now I read to them and give them lots of hugs.
*5 years ago: what
were you doing?
Toughest time of my
life but on a lighter note, I was half way through my BA in psychology and
trying to find out what to do with the little being that popped out of my belly
and wouldn't stop pooping, eating, and crying. Prior to this point I was a
light reader. During reading became my way of coping with life and from then in
I've always had a book in my face. All the time, everyday.
*Do you have a
certain writing ritual?
Um, no, not really.
But if I do not have noise in the background my writers mind bombards me with
scenes and new characters and I start typing too fast which results in a lot of
typos. Which sometimes makes a lot of work for my editors.
*What has been the
toughest criticism given to you as an author?
An instructor from my
English lit class said to me a long time ago "Your detail is flimsy.
(Referring to the details of a short story I'd written) Writing isn't just
something you do because you think you can. Writing is who you are, if there is
no feeling in you, and you cannot relate to the joined letters of crap you
refers to as words that formulate a weakly constructed sentence that you expect
me to read and become infatuated by, this is not your niche." He tore up
my nicely thought out typed words and said "Try it again, and this time
bleed."
I was so upset he
tore up my story, but it worked and I understood. He just could have been less
insulting about it.
*Is there an author
you'd like to meet?
Yes, two. Shakespeare
(that will never happen) and Steven King. He only has to say "hello"
and I would be over joyed.
*Biggest writing pet
peeve?
My biggest writing
pet peeve is punctuations. I hate them, but their important.
* Do you read other's
reviews of your books?
Yes, I like to see what other people think of
my work, their likes and dislikes, and their rating. I like knowing my readers
and connecting with them.m, even if they don't like my books. They might
inspire me to write something they will like.
Fun Five:
Let's see, painting
and writing with my daughter (really everything I do with her is fun, she's a
joy. Expect Chuck-E-Cheese. I hate that place.)
Zuma (the game with the frog), rock climbing (indoor), paint balling (as
long as I don't get hit in the face-it hurts), and reading to the
"hubbs" and we both are deeply into the book.
Fav Color
Orange (All oranges,
just not like Effie's hair.)
Fictional Character
you'd like to spend the day with?
Hands down, Thor (Oh
how I would spend a day with Thor, and then be angry with time when the day
ends.)
Fav food
Peanut Butter is my
favorite food. I don't know why, it just taste delicious, on a spoon and out of
the Jiff jar.
Fav song and/or
singer
I have a million
favorite songs, but I'm going to go with one that's currently out today that
I've been keeping on repeat Latch (feat Sam Smith). My favorite singer out
right now is Bruno Mars, he's suave.
Guilty pleasure
My guilty pleasure is
consuming an entire box of Twinkies. (I was so angry when hostess went out of
business. And was the first in line for a box when they came back.) Shh, tell
no one.
Twitter - @peiriann
Facebook like page -
@peiriann
Google+ - peiriann
Barnes and Nobel -
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/burdened-a-burdened-novel-peiri-ann/1117916878?ean=2940149233397&isbn=2940148941927
Getting in my Mazda
6, there is a flyer on my window. They are really planning on advertising this
party everywhere. Really, flyers? And on my car of all places. I hate shit on
my car. Throwing the flyer to the backseat, I turn up the radio. There are little-to-no
cars left, and I am so ready to be at home, on a couch, watching something not
relevant to life.
Maybe there will be
something on MTV, no, E, no… Maybe there will be a good movie on HBO, no, maybe
on FX. Yeah, FX always has a good movie on. I’ll sit back in the family room
and wa—
There’s a loud
screech and a hard bang. I jolt forward and back—my body slams against the
seat. Blinking, trying to get my eyes to focus, I’m dazed; my vision fades out
then back in. I think—I think I just got hit waiting at a stop sign. Panic
kicks in as I look myself over. Am I okay? Oh my goodness, am I hurt?
What the hell!
Somebody just hit my damn car! I grab my head, feeling it starting to throb. I
think I hit my head on the—
A tap pulls me from
my self-examination.
No, the idiot who
just hit me is not tapping on my damn window!
I open the door,
pissed. “What? What the hell? You just hit me!” I yell, still trying to get my
eyesight to focus.
“Um, yeah, I know.” I
look at him. “I am so sorry.” The apologetic voice comes from a perfectly
chiseled face that responds to my anger subtly.
He looks at me with
slanted, brown, prominent eyes. When he turns a little away from the sun, they
turn a slight hazel. His strong nose ends in a rounded point, and his
hair—maybe black or brown, depending on how the sun hits it. Very attractive
lips that say ‘Hey, I am here, kiss me.’ He is tall-enough to block the sun and
that adds to his presence in a way that is equally hypnotizing. And his
shoulders are broad-enough to block a tackle from a football player.
“I know this is
probably the worst thing that could happen right before your break. I am truly
sorry. I can get the car fixed for you.” His exposed arms show off his tanned
skin tone, which somewhat glistens from the rays of the sun, and it’s as if I’m
watching it soak up every ray.
I swing my legs from
the car and step out. The world seems to shift. I grab my head, feeling dizzy.
The earth feels like it’s moving beneath my feet, and I lose my balance.
He catches me with a
quick grab of my arm and cuff of my waist. There is a tingle, slight burning
feeling, where his hand touches my bare arm.
He makes sure I’m
standing on my own, then quickly pulls his hand away. The earth shakes again
and I become a little wobbly. He touches my shoulder, holding me in place, and
makes sure not to let his hand touch my bare skin.
“Um, are you okay?
You look a little out of it.” His voice is lyrical and smooth, with a base
sound that adds a manly tone. Faultless. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
Damn, he’s talking to
me. Remember words, Tracey, say something. “Um.” Better words. “Yeah, I think
so. How did you hit me?” My voice sounds distant to me, and too calm.
“Completely not
paying attention. I came here to pick up my cousin from school and didn’t see
him. While searching the parking lot and texting him, I kind of lost focus on
the important part of driving.”
“You do know you are
not supposed to text and drive, right?” Holding my head, I walk around to the
back of my car, checking for damages.
He follows. “Again, I
apologize for any damages. I will get everything fixed.” His voice, now
factual, has lost the apologetic tone.
Examining the back of
my car, there are no real damages, besides some scratches and a ding by my
license plate. But as my mom would say, ‘the damages can be under the car and
not noticeable, honey.’ “Well, looks like the only real damage was to my head.”
I lightly let my palm touch my head, feeling a knot start to protrude from the
side of my forehead.
“Can I take you to
the hospital? You do seem a little dazed.” He moves to look at the car. “And
after we leave the hospital, we can take your car to the body shop, because
even though it doesn’t seem like there are any damages, doesn’t mean there
aren’t any under the car.” Really, Mom?
“That’s true, but I
don’t think I need to go to the hospital. My head just hurts. I think I will be
okay once I get something to eat and a Tylenol.” Each of my words comes out
slowly. “I am just going to head home and maybe go to the body shop later.” I scrunch
my nose, feeling disoriented. “I think I need a nap.” My thought process is
off. I put my hands out to my sides when the earth starts shaking again.
“I don’t think that’s
a good idea,” he says in a concerning tone. “You may have a concussion and it’s
never good to go to sleep. You could slip into a coma.”
“Humph, maybe.” A
striking pain shoots through my head. I reach up to touch it, seeing him do the
same. His thumb grazes my hairline next to my temple, and that’s it. Everything
goes black, and my body hits something hard. Maybe the car or…the ground.
I have never felt
anything like this. I have been touched by many guys. Well, not touched but
touched—brushed by them in the hall, held hands, given a hug. I have kissed a
few guys, and not even with my first. Yes, that first. None of them ever had
that type of effect on me, where I was knocked unconscious. This cannot be
good. My dad is so going to kill me
Thank you again. I
think I got everything.
Hi Mandy, thank your for the interview on your blog!!
ReplyDeleteNice answers! Loved the interview
ReplyDelete