Welcome to my blog interviews with novelists, poets, short story authors, scriptwriters, biographers, and anyone else involved in the story creation process. Today’s is with author D.B. WOODLING.
Armen: Hello, D. B. WOODLING. Please tell us something about yourself.
D.B. WOODLING: I am the often emotionally drained and passionately determined author of seven novels: Two historical fiction titles—Retribution: A Lovers’ Tale and Shannon’s Revenge: Broken Promises; three detective noirs—Write Off and Final Claim (both currently out-of-print with a rerelease planned in the future) and Over and Out; a YA anthology—SlicesSlices; and my latest, a paranormal novel entitled The Immortal Twin.
Armen: Why did you begin writing and what inspired you to write your first book?
D.B. WOODLING: In 1995, burnt out on my twenty-year career as an entertainer, I longed for another creative outlet. Relocating to a rural, somewhat spooky, mid-nineteenth-century fixer-upper—my husband working a night shift at the time, a sinister sentence crept into my subconscious one fall evening. During my academic years, more than one educator had encouraged me to pursue creative writing. With those fond memories in mind, I acted on a compulsion to drag out my word processor and dust it off. (I’m no spring chicken, and neither is that first draft.) Intrigued after finishing the first chapter, the remainder of the book flowed effortlessly, and I soon realized the writing bug had not only bitten but devoured me!
Armen: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
D.B. WOODLING: Not until many years had passed, which involved several rewrites, and a publisher responded to my query letter, requesting the entire manuscript.
Armen: You write books across so many different genres, female lead westerns, gritty detective novels, and paranormal YA, do you have a favorite? How do you actually choose what to write?
D.B. WOODLING: Shannon’s Revenge: Broken Promises continues to be my favorite, probably because, as one reader stated, the novel has “soul.” A single sentence comes to me, and I eventually find it a home.
Armen: I’ve interacted with tons of writers and you’re the only one whose name and Pulitzer Prize have been in the same sentence. What can you tell us about that?
D.B. WOODLING: Unfortunately, the novel didn’t survive the board’s five-judge-nomination phase and never progressed to the finalist stage. Thank you for reopening that old wound. (Laughs)
Armen: Sorry about that, but as wounded as many authors are, I think most would be happy to have earned that one. Now, working in so many different genres, I bet you have many favorite authors. Can you share any that touched you as both a reader and perhaps had an impact on you as a writer?
D.B. WOODLING: You’re right in that I have many favorites. E. M. Forster remains at the top of my list. For me, there was just something so haunting about Howards End. During passages when the plot stalled, I got a sense he yearned to fulfill his own carnal mastery and attempted to rescue the plot through his characters’ euphoric dialogue.
Armen: Do you get a second opinion on your stories before they’re published – if so from adults, children or both?
D.B. WOODLING: I often feel most of my beta readers are not very subjective. Fortunately, I think most veteran writers instinctively know whether or not their work will find itself at the bottom of a slush pile.
Armen: Do you have any tips for anyone thinking about writing in the YA/tween market?
D.B. WOODLING: Writing from a first-person narrative seems to be the more popular point-of-view, enabling most YA readers to better connect with the protagonist. I tend to avoid colloquialisms, which perceptive readers not only find annoying, but eventually date the novel.
Armen: You’re right, there is a lot of first-person in YA. Do you plot your stories or do you just get an idea and run with it?
D.B. WOODLING: I find outlines extremely beneficial. I’m usually so excited when starting a new book, and an outline seems to ground me, allowing me to fully focus on one scene at a time.
Armen: I’m also a big fan of outlining too, although I treat it more as a guide rather than a gospel. Do you have to do much research?
D.B. WOODLING: There’s always a certain amount of research involved. Because I’m passionate about history, I always weave historical references throughout most of my novels.
Armen: Have you had any rejections? If so, how do you deal with them?
D.B. WOODLING: My first book—Retribution: A Lovers’ Tale —was rejected more times than I care to recollect. I believed in the book, so I never gave up, revising it again and again until a publisher saw what I’d always felt existed in the book.
Armen: Persistence is an underappreciated quality for a successful writing career. Do you do much marketing for your work? Do you think of yourself as a brand?
D.B. WOODLING: I’m constantly marketing. In the beginning, this was something that didn’t come naturally. Although it often feels awkward to shower accolades on one’s own novel, who better to elicit enthusiasm than the book’s creator? Yes, I do consider myself a brand.
Armen: What’s your favourite / least favourite aspect of your writing life? Has anything surprised you?
D.B. WOODLING: Writing is the one thing that truly relaxes me. What surprises me? I suppose I’m always somewhat astonished that some think writing is a relatively easy venture.
Armen: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
D.B. WOODLING: The entire process is challenging. For me, that’s what makes it so alluring. When writing is no longer a challenge, I suspect I’ll attempt a musical composition or arm myself with a brush, paint, and an easel—attempt being the operative word.
Armen: I started painting first, which is perhaps why I’m an author now. I’m sorry, but in all the excitement about your writing career, I’ve neglected to ask about your latest novel, The Immortal Twin. Please give us a little bit of background about that story.
D.B. WOODLING: Twins—Celeste and Nick Crenshaw, orphaned after a terrorist bombing, are adopted by vampires Razvan and Bianca Torok, sworn protectors of all mortals. Years later, Nick learns the Toroks had the opportunity but chose not to immortalize his biological parents. Consumed with hate and a sense of betrayal, he heads down a path of no return. Surrounded by renegade vampires who pose an eminent and constant threat, Nick’s rebellion places the entire family in unfathomable danger.
Armen: Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
D.B. WOODLING: The Immortal Twin was my most challenging novel to date. I have a lot of respect for fantasy, sci-fi, and paranormal writers. After all, it’s much more difficult to create a world that has never fundamentally existed.
Armen: It’s funny you should say that about those genres. As a fantasy writer, I’ve always admired the way others fit their stories within the bounds of reality. Do you have a favorite quote or catchphrase from one of your characters or from someone else?
D.B. WOODLING: Absolutely! From Retribution: A Lovers’ Tale—Shannon Cook: “There won’t be any horizontal refreshments served around here.”
Armen: Very nice! What do you do when you’re not writing? Any hobbies or eccentric habits?
D.B. WOODLING: Like most writers, I think reading is an essential part in perfecting one’s craft. When I’m not reading or writing, I’m entertaining four-legged friends or creating a mess in that dreadful room most call a kitchen. In fair weather, I’ve been known to stir up a plume of dust propelling my Harley Davidson down country backroads.
Armen: Do you have any future projects you’d like to share? Where can we find out about you and your writing?
D.B. WOODLING: Currently, I’m absorbed in writing the sequel to The Immortal Twin with a possible series to follow. I hope your readers will connect with me on Twitter, Goodreads, Facebook, Linked In, or through my website www.dbwoodling.com
Armen: Thank you so much for sharing your time. Is there anything else you’d like to mention?
D.B. WOODLING: To view my recent book trailer, please visit https://www.facebook.com/DBWoodling/
Armen: Would you care to share an excerpt from The Immortal Twin?
D.B. WOODLING: I’d be honored!
Excerpt
I led Rebel back to his stall and latched the door. He whinnied, low and mournful, and I slipped back in and plunked down in the far corner. He joined me there, nestling into a bed of straw, resting only a portion of his massive head against my thigh. I wondered if he too reminisced, remembering the exciting times with Nick, as we rode over acres of Torok Land, jumping fences and traversing creeks, the banks made slippery and perilous by periodic rainfall.
Just as Rebel closed his eyes, his soft snoring upsetting several blades of straw, he suddenly sprang on all fours, and his tiny ears—the only thing small about him—twitched a warning. Managing to maneuver out of his way in time, I remained in the corner, cooing softly and encouraging calm.
The sudden ear-splitting and unseasonal sound like ice contracting, then cracking, filled the barn. Cautiously, I eased a path between Rebel and the door, all the while whispering words of reassurance.
The needlepoint ivy, covering the majority of the large, old wooden structure, suddenly expanded, each bough twisting as its shadowy tentacles multiplied, and the inexplicable vegetation quickly obscured every window and both doors. The wind came up, its hurricane force whipping the phenomenal feelers free, and as I watched, the unfettered appendages took on the appearance of angry black crows.
The gale-force wind increased and, even though I’d grabbed hold of a support beam, my lower torso pitched north as the southern gust whistled through the barn; the continuous rumble similar to that of a freight train. Frantically clinging tightly to the beam, I curtained my eyes against the swirling debris. A few long minutes later, the tempest ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Surreptitiously peering out the nearest window, I tracked those things resembling crows to the woods. They perched on nearly every tree, like spectators at a sporting event, somehow unaffected by the hurricane-force blast. Their calls were atypical, not the usual mix of gravelly caws and clicks, but rather sinister and manic cheers. At least one hundred or more of these winged creatures suddenly swarmed two much larger soaring objects seemingly engaged in a vicious battle, bringing to mind a bizarre flash mob.
The wind further receding, I scaled the old wooden ladder, which led to the hayloft. Once there, and not satisfied with the limited view, I mounted a newer, aluminum ladder and, rung by rung, made my way to the observation deck constructed years ago for Nick and me. From there, one could see for miles; in typical Torok splendor, the observation deck not only resembled a lighthouse but came equipped with a pair of Celestron Skymaster binoculars, as well as an Orion Refractor telescope. Mercilessly squeezing the binoculars, my sweaty palms marring the gutta-percha leather-like shell, although I was able to, transiently, glimpse my subjects, my mortal eyes were incapable of following such mystical momentum. Stunned deer appeared awestruck, the herd creating a safer distance just outside the woodlands, where these timid animals seemed to commiserate with the smaller woodlanders. Raccoons, squirrels, and chipmunks squatted alongside one another, while a few red-tailed hawks, three or more red-shouldered hawks, a barred owl, a great-horned owl, and a sprinkling of cardinals and blue jays huddled together near the trunk of a large oak tree. Each appeared to study the sky as if debating what kind of unworldly aberration had decided to invade their sanctuary.
The violent clash overhead increased, and the animals stampeded, the raptors and songbirds rocketing overhead in the opposite direction, the sudden cacophony of flapping wings nearly as loud as a hovering helicopter. Frightened, my trembling fingers lost their grip, and I dropped the binoculars, as the adversaries emerged from the woods, shrieking as they attacked one another, their battle far from over. One appeared to dominate the exchange, having intentionally lured its opponent from the shield the forest’s canopy provided.