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Hi Kim, thank you for taking the time to chat with us today.
Please tell us about yourself.
Thank you so much for having me here Elianne. I love the site, it looks amazing. I’m an Aussie girl who grew up on a farm in New South Wales, then moved to Queensland when I was an adult and had a family of my own. I have two teenagers and a husband who works away. We spend as much time together as we can when he’s home. I love Australia. The ruggedness and raw landscape really speaks to me and I take any chance to go camping, fishing or four-wheel driving to experience a little more.
On a personal note, could you tell us a story (or some random fun facts) about you that we wouldn’t otherwise know?
Oh, okay. Lol. I hated cats, until I got one of my own. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without my black beauty. I read a lot of self-help books and I’m always working on my self-esteem. I worked full-time most of my life until about six months ago when I decided to take a chance and make myself happy for once, call it mid-life crisis…lol. My weakness is chinese food and I always cook when I’m happy. I have a weird sense of humor, fart jokes are a constant in our house (and no, I won’t pull your finger). We laugh, a lot and I adore every day we spend together.
We all know how time-consuming writing can be. How does your family feel about your writing?
They are really supportive, they tend to interrupt me constantly, but it’s only because they want to be together. So, I’ll get up early to get some word count done. Family is more important than writing and I love early mornings anyway.
Considering the “sexy times” in some of your stories, do you get any of your family or close friends read them? How do you feel about that? How do they?
No, my husband has read some and wondered where the ‘research’ has come from. But generally no..lol.
Is there a certain type of scene that’s harder for you to write than others? Love? Action? Racy?
Um, some sex scenes, but mostly contemporary is the hardest for me to write. I need the action and the dark scenes to move the story along. I’ve always been drawn to the hard to write, or read storylines. I’ll tackle those things that others usually fear or shy away from. I like to strip away the layers, especially to my own soul, how else are we to understand what makes us tick?
What inspires you to write? Is there a specific place, person or thing that makes the words flow from your soul to your keyboard?
Mostly it’s the need to be heard, for my thoughts and feelings to matter to others, so I create a word, a story or a sequence of events that’s going to make the most impact.
What has been your single most rewarding/exciting experience as an author?
I think scaring the hell out of my author and best friend, Eden. It’s always my goal to make her sleep with the lights on. Then, I know I’ve done a good job.
How about the opposite? What has been your most horrifying experience while writing?
The self-doubt, the constant drive to juggle what I love to write and what actually sells. That’s the quickest way to kill that spark inside you. You have to guard it fiercely.
Your latest release, Beast, looks very intense. If you could choose Hollywood actors to play the lead roles, who would you choose for the hero and heroine, and why?
Can you share an excerpt of your upcoming book, or recently released one?
“Nala changed your clothing, that’s all. No one else has touched you. I promise.”
I wrenched my gaze up and snarled. “You drugged me.”
He nodded and sadness clouded his eyes. “We had to. I’m sorry, Belle. You would never have come with us if we didn’t.”
Come with us? “Where am I?”
I waited for him to answer and for the fog to clear. Both took their time. Mark stared at the wall, unwilling to meet my eyes. “Before I say anything else, I want to tell you a story.”
I could feel the corded muscles in my neck bulge. “You want to tell me a fucking story, Mark? Tell me where you’ve taken me? Tell me how to get out of this place. Tell me where my damn clothes are!”
My arms and legs still felt heavy, but fear made me move. I slid from the bed, keeping one eye on my captor. My feet hit the wooden floor. The room was small and dirty. Thin strips of peeling paint hung from the ceiling overhead. I stumbled to the window.
The derelict room was made colder by the crowding trees and bleak winter sky. White wisps of fog lingered, forcing me to squint to see towering trunks which hemmed me in. Behind me, Mark kept talking in soothing tones that reminded me of my therapist. I gripped the chipped window frame and pushed my body against the glass, straining to see as far left as I could. A waving green ocean of pine needles was all I could see. I wrenched my head to the right. There had to be a way out somehow.
Mark’s droning voice dragged me into the room. I couldn’t take anymore. I couldn’t stand the noise. “Shut up. Why can’t you just shut up?”
I wasn’t that girl who cried, or played dumb, leaving others to pave their way in this world. I was the loner, the soldier. I was the survivor. But as the green sea wavered outside the window, I realized I was none of those things now.
I was a captive.