Friday, August 24, 2007

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Staunchly telling her parents at the age of three that she was going to be a writer when she grew up, Dayna Hart has taken some time to achieve her goal. Sidetracked by real life, distracted by good-looking men and failing miserably at a succession of ‘real job’s, she’s finally come back to the dreams of her childhood.

Her stories reflect this; full of the whimsy of her childhood, when fairies lurked in the garden, if only she could see from the corner of her eye. Still distracted by good-looking men, they often make their way into her stories, which is the best place for them, as she is happily married to one good looking man, and raising three future good-looking men of her own.

Find out more at   www.daynahart.com


INTERVIEW:

Why did you become a writer?
I've been writing since I was little...but one day I realised I hadn't actually written anything in ages. I asked myself "Can I be a writer without writing?" And the rather obvious answer was "no." So, I started writing and reading about writing like I hadn't been doing it all my life.

Was it a dream of yours since you were younger or did the desire to write happen later in your life?
I was 3 the first time I said "I'm going to be a writer when I grow up." I've never wanted to do anything else :)

What do you love about being an author?
Everything lol. I love researching fairy lore (for the Curtain Torn Series) and history (for historical fantasies in progress). I love the fact I can study whatever catches my interest, and stop studying it once I feel I know 'enough'. I love being able to promo in my PJs :)

Is there anything you dislike?
Deadlines sometimes suck. And edits can be humbling. But they make me feel more like a Real Writer, so I can't say they're all bad.

How do you balance your personal and writing time?
heh. I'll let you know if I ever manage it ;) For the most part, I just notice when I've not done enough with my kids, or on my house.

How do you write? Do your characters come to you first or the plot or the world of the story?
Usually I start with a scene...something which falls, fully formed into my head, and I need to fit the story around it.

I'm a 'plantser'. Part plotter, part 'seat of the pants' writer. I tend to have a few plot-points I know the story has to hit, but I let the characters take their own way there. Sometimes I hit a plotpoint only to realise I don't know what the next one should be. So a few games of Spider Solitaire later, I'll have asked myself enough questions to move forward.

What genre(s) do you write? Why do you write the stories that you write?
Mostly I write fantasy, which are the stories I grew up reading. I used to look for fairies in my back yard (and still sometimes do.) I read a lot of romantic suspense, and those elements seem to have worked their way into my fantasy books as well, as I give my characters some sort of 'mystery' to solve. I've started a few straight rom-susp, but fantasy is just so much fun to write it's hard to give the rom-susp the time they need.

What is the biggest misconception about being an author?
I'm rich. lol Or that writing isn't any work at all. I just sit down, type up a story, and off it goes. I wish!

Do you tend to base your characters on real people or are they totally from your imagination?
Mostly they're just imaginary...however, I'll often find they have traits from someone I know (or from myself). Dumb things often...like I rake my hand through my hair when I'm frustrated, so a lot of my characters do, too.

Out of all the characters that you've written, who is your favorite and why?
Ack! I can't answer that lol It's like asking which is my favorite kid! Honestly, I love different things about each of them. Claire is the most like me. Dell is the hottest! Lael was the most interesting... lol No, I have no answer to this :)

If you were writing a script for the big screen, who would you want to act in your movie?
Oh! Cameron Mathison would make a yummy hot Dell!
( www.cameronmathison.net). Eric Szmada (Greg on CSI) would be good, too. Drew Barrymore would make a good Claire, but so would Clare Danes...

What would you want readers to take away from your books?
Hrm. A sense that there's more to the world than we can see...and maybe a feeling of hopefulness...

Do you have any advice for beginning writers in regards to writing a book?
Write! Write as much as you can, as often as you can, and write stories you like to write. Don't worry about the mechanics, because you can learn those. And write down every idea you have so you can pull them out later.

What are you reading right now?
I tend to read a few books at a time. Which one just depends on where I am. I have one book downstairs, another upstairs, and ebooks on my laptop and IPAQ. So, currently I have:
Lisa Kleypas's Sugar Daddy
Robin Hobb's Fool's Errand
In ebook I'm reading:
Linda Winfree's Truth and Consequences


ABOUT THE BOOK:

Book One of The Curtain Torn series

BLURB:

Between two races that hate each other, at the doorway between two worlds, can Claire find the strength to be the emissary they all need?


Halfway through her twenties, her divorce, and a bottle of rye, Claire opens her birthday present—a “pressed fairy” book.

One of the fairies is neither pressed, nor a picture. He’s the sinfully sexy Dell, who’s been trapped inside the book for twenty years. The moment Claire frees him, goblins attack her house. Dell and Claire’s only option is to use a “Between”—a rift between their worlds — to escape into the land of Fae.

There, Claire discovers the elven queen, Eliane, has a mission for her — one that has her keeping secrets from Dell. And ousting the goblins from her home is only the start.


EXCERPT:

Claire smothered a gag that had nothing to do with the rye she’d been drinking. Glaring at the birthday gift, she hefted the bottle in her hand. So it was only a mickey. Claire was a cheap drunk. With her almost compulsive tendency to finish what she started, a forty in the house would have just been stupid. She wanted enough to ease her pain, not end up standing on her balcony, naked and screaming at passers-by. Not again.

The no-name cola she’d been using for mix sat on the coffee table, too far away. After a moment of consideration, she swigged the rye directly from the bottle. Her eyes burned, and her cheeks bellowed, but it stayed down. She grinned with a fierce pride. The smile froze when her eyes fell on the papers on the ottoman and the gaudily wrapped package beside it. Reminders of what had caused her to crawl into the bottle to begin with. One was her birthday present from Ryan. Not the overly festive package, either. No, her high school sweetheart and husband of 5 years had served her with divorce papers. On her twenty-fifth birthday. Not that the divorce was a surprise, they’d been separated for over a year, but as always, Ryan’s timing sucked.

The only one whose timing was worse was her sister Marielle. Because she had just opened the divorce papers when another messenger arrived. Carrying the package. Neon green wrapping paper with tiny purple and aqua polka-dots, tied with a huge hot-pink bow; it was the ugliest thing Claire had ever seen. And whatever was inside it could only be as bad. Maybe worse. Marielle had some strange ideas of what Claire wanted, and who she was. Past birthday gifts had included edible underwear, adult-only Twister, and fuzzy socks. In the same package.

The eye-popping paper didn’t disguise the gift—it was a book. But what? She’d spent an entertaining half-hour taking wild guesses. Her latest: The Kama sutra, with full color illustrations. Bound in leopard print velour. Claire studied the package again, letting her eyes trace the lines of it, too afraid to let her hands do the same.

Lifting the bottle for another swig, she checked the level of the amber liquid inside. Half-empty. Or was that half-full? She giggled. It didn’t matter. Either way, she had half of a bottle to self-medicate with. If the book turned out to be the Nazi manifesto, bound in human skin, she’d have enough alcohol to drown the memory. With the bottle tucked into the crook of her arm, Claire pulled the ottoman closer with her free hand. Hefting the book in her arms, she debated putting it back, ignoring it, pretending it never arrived. She knew Marielle would phone, though, asking pointed questions to make sure Claire had really opened the book.

Sighing, Claire tore off the ugly pink bow.

Peeling away the wrapping paper, Claire stared in disbelief at the cover of the book in her lap. It was a Squashed Fairy book. Each page featured a different illustration of a fairy, supposedly pressed between the pages of the book like a flower. She traced the gold-gilt lettering of the title with one finger, a smile tilting the corners of her mouth. Warmth that had nothing to do with alcohol spread through her body. She and Marielle had gotten a similar book when they were kids, from some aunt they hardly knew. They’d spent hours staring at the pictures, giggling at the expressions on the tiny faces. Each turn of the page they would try to convince each other they’d seen one move before the giggles would set in again.

The happy memories made her feel worse as the reality of her current situation slammed into her. She was twenty-five. The middle of her twenties. The middle of a divorce. The middle of a crisis. She took another swig and then put the bottle on the floor beside her. Peeling off the plastic that bound the book, she inhaled the new book smell.

Leafing through the book listlessly, she stopped after a page or two. Red, brown, green and gold leaves appeared to swirl across the page, as though being tossed by a gentle breeze. The male fairy, wrapped in an autumn-red leaf, was almost invisible. His hands were outstretched, palm up, as though he was trying to push the pages off of himself. His hair was like spider webs around his chiseled features, which were pinched with his efforts. Without those tiny hands, she might never have found him in the tumble of leaves. Peering into the book, she followed the line of his wide shoulders, down his chest to a narrow waist. Not badly built, for a Little People. Little Person? Claire considered that, reaching over the book to grab the mickey. Something bit her breast, and she jumped, the rye sloshing in the bottle, but not spilling.

“What the hell?”

A spider. Maybe an ant. She looked at the page, expecting to see some kind of biting insect skittering across the page. Never mind that it’s winter in Canada and the bugs were all hibernating, or whatever they do when it’s cold. There was nothing on the page but the little fairy, his tiny hands clenched into fists, his chin jutting at her in defiance. Something about that wasn’t right. Claire turned the page, and then took another swig, her eyes closing against the fierce burn.

Looking down, the page had flipped back to the leaf-fairy. She’d told Ryan that there was something wrong with the windows. Even when they were closed, a breeze came through the living room. This was proof. The victory felt hollow, though. Ryan was across town at his girlfriend’s place; not there to listen to her gloat.

She sighed, leaning away from the book to put the bottle on the floor beside her, checking it when it wobbled. Satisfied it wouldn’t fall, she stared at the little fairy. His fisted hands were outstretched, pushing up over his head, a thin layer of plastic bubbling up from the page with his efforts.

Wait. That wasn’t right. She pulled the book up close to her nose to examine the fairy. “Are you going to sit there gawking, or are you going to help me out here?”

The book fell to her lap, and Claire watched the fairy jostle across the page. “What the hell?”

She stared in disbelief at the fairy standing in the middle of the page with his hands on his hips. Tilting the book to the left, she watched the fairy slide across the page. Tilting it to the right, he skittered that way, his feet skipping underneath him to keep his balance. When the book was level again, he turned his gaze onto Claire. “Would you stop that?” He stamped his foot in irritation.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire said, but he wasn’t listening. Reaching toward Claire, his hands pressed against something that looked like plastic, separating it from the page so that it bubbled in front of him. But it wouldn’t give. Panting with exertion, he glowered up at her. “Could you give me a hand?”

Without thinking, Claire reached out to touch the page with the tip of her finger. Wiggling her nail a little, the bubble around the little man popped, and his hands burst through to grab her fingertip. Holding tight, he heaved himself out of the book. Brushing himself off, he stood astride the open pages with a triumphant grin. “Much better, thanks!” He shook his head, which sent his silver hair fluttering around his face. Stamping his foot on the page, he glared at the book as if he’d like to rip it to shreds. “Horrid place to spend a couple decades.”

Brushing his arms off with the palms of his hands, he let his eyes rove her body. “Well,” he said, with one eyebrow cocked. “Hello there.”


REVIEW:

Rating 85!
...delightful story that is whimsical and at places exciting… Go Between is a most charming kind of unexpected surprise.
— Mrs. Giggles


Go Between by Dayna Hart
ISBN: 1-59998-565-9
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Release Date: August 14, 2007
Publisher: Total-e-bound e-Books
$3.50 from MBaM


Purchase Go Between by Dayna Hart HERE!!!