Thank you to Alex J Cavanaugh and the team of co-hosts for May!
We have: Stephen Tremp, Fundy Blue, MJ Fifield, Loni Townsend, Bish Denham, Susan Gourley, and Stephanie Faris! If you have time, visit each one and say hi!
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Now, take it away, Misha!
About Insecurities
The first time I managed to finish a book, it was a huge, almost terrifying tome that took me six months only to figure out the concept.
So when the time came for me to write Endless, my second story, I was terrified of starting it.
All because it felt like I didn’t have enough understanding of the story to write it. Endless started as a concept; more than two years before that I only thought of tangentially while drafting The Vanished Knight and The Heir’s Choice. Sort of: “I wish I could write a story about an amnesiac immortal.”
Then I had a sudden blast of inspiration right before NaNoWriMo. I didn’t have anything else to write, so obviously Endless was the best option. But I didn’t think about the world. Didn’t even know any of the characters. (Which was a new experience for me.)
I freaked out for the whole week before NaNoWriMo started, which of course meant that I couldn’t figure anything out either.
This sounds like the recipe for a disaster, doesn’t it?
Well… actually...
I started on November 1 with no clue other than the main character having amnesia.
I finished the rough draft in fifteen days. (Which was my personal record from November 2011 to September 2015.)
The rewrite took me three weeks. (I rough draft in pen.)
The book basically wrote itself. Twice.
Which does go to show you.
Sometimes, we really freak out about the stupidest things.
What has caused you to be insecure about your writing, only to turn out not to be worth worrying about?
About the Book
“First, do no harm.” Blake Ryan swore that oath to become a doctor. Ironic, given that he spent most of his thousand year life sucking souls out of other immortals.
Things are different now. Using regular shots of morphine to keep his inner monster at bay,
Ryan has led a quiet life since the Second World War. His thrills now come from saving lives, not taking them.
Until a plane crash brings Aleria into his hospital. Her life is vibrant. Crack to predators like him. She’s the exact sort of person they would hunt, and thanks to a severe case of amnesia, she’s all but defenseless.
Leaving Aleria vulnerable isn’t an option, but protecting her means unleashing his own inner monster. Which is a problem, because his inner monster wants her dead most of all.
AmazonUS | Amazon Universal | Apple | Barnes& Noble | Kobo |Goodreads
About the Author
If you’d like to see what Misha’s up to at the moment, you can find her on these social networks:
Excerpt
This had to be what
dying felt like. Floating outside my body, waiting for that final link to my
life to be severed, only vaguely aware of indescribable pain. More screams than
I could count rose up around me. Hundreds of footsteps beat against tiles. I
couldn’t open my eyes if I wanted to. Not when it was easier to listen and
wait. People shouted for a doctor or an IV, or a thousand other things that
made no sense. I listened to all the chaos, trying to untangle it in my
thoughts.
Soon, I could go.
The peace around me was so relaxing, completely out of place in the clamor I
heard. I wanted it. To rest forever in that peace. Why not? There was a very
good reason, but I couldn’t call it to mind.
A numb buzz shot
through my body and shattered my serenity.
It happened again.
Only this time was more of a sharp pulse. The third time jolted like lightning.
The fourth…Hell. Suddenly, the screams were coming from me. My heart’s
relentless thundering added to my torment.
Pain.
Everywhere.
My chest burned
like fire. It hurt to breathe. Cold air drove down my throat and into my lungs,
amplifying the inferno in my chest. My skin felt scorched. It couldn’t be. It
wasn’t right.
I had to see. I had
to understand why pain dominated my existence like this. My eyes were fused
shut. My breaths grew shallow, trying to draw air when there was none. I tried
to clench my teeth. I bit hard plastic. A pipe. Cold air suddenly forced back
into my lungs, out of time with my own breathing. This was wrong. It wasn’t
safe. I had to see. The best I got was a little fluttering of my lashes.
A high-pitched beep
shot through my head. It repeated again and again. I wanted to reach over and
slam my fist into its source. My arm wouldn’t lift. Something kept it trapped.
A scream rose up from the depths of my soul, but the pipe jammed inside my
throat stifled the sound. I only managed a whimper, trying my best not to gag.
More air blasted into my lungs against my will. What was going on? I was
trapped in my own body, but why?
I needed to move. I
had to move. Now. Before… Even… Even though… Panic gripped me. The beeps
increased at a frenetic pace. I needed to
move. To be gone. Didn’t matter where. Just not here. Not defenseless. Not
trapped.
The air sucked out
of my lungs. I gasped, choking on nothing, strangled by invisible fingers. I
tried to convulse my body. To twist myself free of what’s holding me.
Nothing.
The air rushed back
in a cold flood. Seconds later it left, only to return in the same amount of
time.
There was a rhythm
to the air. In… out... in… out… The breaths were slow—sleep-like. I
concentrated on this rhythm, striving to clear my head. If I wanted out, I
needed to think. Calmly. Clearly. Eventually, those irritating beeps slowed. I
tried to focus past the sound.
Voices buzzed about
me, adding to my need to see, to do something to protect myself. No one seemed
to pay attention to me. Good. I could use that to my advantage.
I centered my every
thought on moving my little finger. It finally jerked, but collided against
something solid. So the thing trapping my arm was physical and too heavy for me
to lift. It was better to be trapped than paralyzed. With luck I could escape
my restraints. I tried my other hand, but it was cemented stuck as well. Right
leg. Left leg. Damn it! Both trapped. I had to move!
No.
No, I needed to
stay calm. I tried to make larger movements, biting the pipe in my mouth
against the urge to scream in pain. There was no wiggle room.
Fearing that I
might be blindfolded, I focused on blinking. It worked. My eyes opened and the
blur faded, revealing ceiling tiles. Why would there be tiles? Where was the
canvas of hospital tents? The distant sounds of bombs dropping? The power of
their explosions rushing through my blood?
No. That wasn’t
right. I wasn’t there.
Where was I, then?
I hope you enjoyed visiting with Misha today and that her new book has captured your imagination. Please leave an encouraging reply for Misha. You know how insecure we writers can get.
And here are a few China pics of the Great Wall of China--that climb is a truly exhilarating, yet at times terrifying experience. Coming down is just as dangerous as going up! But I'm glad I've had the experience. For those of you who've asked for more pics/stories, they will be forthcoming in my next post!
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| Where I climbed the wall. Base camp at the Juyongguan section of the Great Wall of China in the Guangou Valley. Upgraded during the Ming Dynasty. Here Genghis Khan passed through on his thunderous journey to Beijing. |
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| From my vantage point on the Wall--looking down on the village below. I climbed the largest ancient structure on the planet!! Go me! |
