Robin Mahle's Blog - Posts Tagged "redwood-violet"
My Biggest Influences as a Writer
I have always loved reading books. When I was in elementary school, I read every Judy Blume book I could get my hands on. Who doesn’t remember Are you there God, It’s me, Margaret. And of course, I absolutely fell in love with Wilber the pig in Charlotte’s Web.
But as I got older, my tastes turned to stories that were just a little darker. Call it my brooding teenage years. My generation didn’t grow up with sparkly vampires. We grew up with VC Andrews and Flowers in the Attic. Those books were disturbing, at least to my thirteen year old self!
That perhaps led to a revelation that the dark side was in fact very thrilling…to read about, anyway. I can also attribute this to a family trait. It was my mother who gave me my first Stephen King novel. I was about sixteen and I was reading Christine. Awesome. Since that first King novel, I’ve been reading his work ever since.
I definitely wouldn’t say my writing reflects the morbid aspect of King’s work or Dean Koontz, whom I am also a fan of. I enjoy writing the more mysterious aspects of a story. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to be scared out of my mind, but my own work tends to be more of the psychological suspense, mystery genre. Of course, King is the king when it comes to suspense, in my humble opinion.
So, I read what I love to write; suspense, mystery and in my next book, the sequel to Redwood Violet, you’ll see a touch of the macabre as well. The complexities of creating a picture in the reader’s mind that conveys a mixture of these elements will not be taken lightly. And I can guarantee the reader won’t be disappointed.
What were some of your favorite books? How did they shape who you are? That’s the great thing about books. The impressions they leave are indelible.
But as I got older, my tastes turned to stories that were just a little darker. Call it my brooding teenage years. My generation didn’t grow up with sparkly vampires. We grew up with VC Andrews and Flowers in the Attic. Those books were disturbing, at least to my thirteen year old self!
That perhaps led to a revelation that the dark side was in fact very thrilling…to read about, anyway. I can also attribute this to a family trait. It was my mother who gave me my first Stephen King novel. I was about sixteen and I was reading Christine. Awesome. Since that first King novel, I’ve been reading his work ever since.
I definitely wouldn’t say my writing reflects the morbid aspect of King’s work or Dean Koontz, whom I am also a fan of. I enjoy writing the more mysterious aspects of a story. Don’t get me wrong, I do like to be scared out of my mind, but my own work tends to be more of the psychological suspense, mystery genre. Of course, King is the king when it comes to suspense, in my humble opinion.
So, I read what I love to write; suspense, mystery and in my next book, the sequel to Redwood Violet, you’ll see a touch of the macabre as well. The complexities of creating a picture in the reader’s mind that conveys a mixture of these elements will not be taken lightly. And I can guarantee the reader won’t be disappointed.
What were some of your favorite books? How did they shape who you are? That’s the great thing about books. The impressions they leave are indelible.
The Inspiration Behind Redwood Violet
The odd thing about inspiration is that sometimes it's present when you don't even realize it. I have always been a fan of mystery/suspense novels, so that's what I enjoy writing. It wasn't until I was working on a draft of a novel, which incidentally, still sits unfinished on a flash drive, that the idea for Redwood Violet came back to me. I say 'came back' because it was always there, boxed up in my mind and labeled, "For when she realizes she's supposed to be a writer."
When I was very young, I would say maybe eight or nine years old, I had this recurring dream of being chased by a looming shadowy figure; very frightening, really. In fact, the book was originally title, Shadow Man, to more accurately reflect the vision that always haunted my sleep. I can't recall exactly when the dreams stopped, but the unknown, faceless figure has always stayed with me.
Fortunately, in my case, this was simply the dream of a young girl with an overactive imagination and in no way relates to the events my main character, Katie had suffered in the story.
I first attempted to write a novel in my late twenties. I had always been the creative type; high school theater geek, transitioned to college theater geek and then eventually took a shot at acting professionally. I think we call all guess how that turned out! So, I struggled to find another creative outlet, which eventually led to a haphazard attempt at a semi-autobiographical book about two people brought together by fate. (ie, the story of how I met my English husband)
It didn't take long for me to realize I hadn't a clue as to how to write a book. Nor did it take me long to realize the fact that the storyline probably wouldn't interest as many people as I might like to believe.
So, I tucked away that ambition in pursuit of a more secure future, having a family and a career. But, after all that had unfolded, I was still left with a void. It was a void that could not be filled with the love of my family because it was a different kind of void. It was a deeply personal emptiness that I struggled with for years.
When I took to writing again about four years ago, it was because the economy was in the toilet and so was my career. But lo and behold, the void slowly began to fill with each online article I wrote, each essay, short story and eventually, my novel, Redwood Violet.
So, I guess my inspiration for writing this book came from years of searching for my true passion.
My imagination that has, once again, begun giving off sparks and the love and support from my amazing family also inspired this novel.
When I was very young, I would say maybe eight or nine years old, I had this recurring dream of being chased by a looming shadowy figure; very frightening, really. In fact, the book was originally title, Shadow Man, to more accurately reflect the vision that always haunted my sleep. I can't recall exactly when the dreams stopped, but the unknown, faceless figure has always stayed with me.
Fortunately, in my case, this was simply the dream of a young girl with an overactive imagination and in no way relates to the events my main character, Katie had suffered in the story.
I first attempted to write a novel in my late twenties. I had always been the creative type; high school theater geek, transitioned to college theater geek and then eventually took a shot at acting professionally. I think we call all guess how that turned out! So, I struggled to find another creative outlet, which eventually led to a haphazard attempt at a semi-autobiographical book about two people brought together by fate. (ie, the story of how I met my English husband)
It didn't take long for me to realize I hadn't a clue as to how to write a book. Nor did it take me long to realize the fact that the storyline probably wouldn't interest as many people as I might like to believe.
So, I tucked away that ambition in pursuit of a more secure future, having a family and a career. But, after all that had unfolded, I was still left with a void. It was a void that could not be filled with the love of my family because it was a different kind of void. It was a deeply personal emptiness that I struggled with for years.
When I took to writing again about four years ago, it was because the economy was in the toilet and so was my career. But lo and behold, the void slowly began to fill with each online article I wrote, each essay, short story and eventually, my novel, Redwood Violet.
So, I guess my inspiration for writing this book came from years of searching for my true passion.
My imagination that has, once again, begun giving off sparks and the love and support from my amazing family also inspired this novel.
All the Shiny Things - A Sneak Peek!
With only one week to go until the big launch, I thought I'd post just a little snippet!
Enjoy!
THIS WAS THE part that she dreaded the most: opening her apartment door first thing in the morning to get the paper. Would they be there again today; the three or four reporters that lingered outside her quiet building in hopes of getting a statement from the girl who escaped? Their appearance had almost become part of her daily routine. So much had happened since she came forward. Was it still September? Katie had to look at the front page just to be sure.
An unusual morning for this time of year; bright blue sky and air so still that as she looked out among the palm trees lining the street, not a single frond moved. A nice breeze could generally be counted on to drift in through the open windows of her second floor apartment; the air having been cooled by the ocean only blocks away.
But in the past few weeks, Katie’s life had been dramatically altered, leading her down a path she still feared, and so “unusual” had become the norm. No sign of the reporters yet, but it was still early. She stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. The latch clicked and she cringed, wondering if it would stir Marshall. He was still asleep on the couch. He hadn’t left her side since the sketch of her abductor went public.
After the night of the last dream, the one that changed everything, Marshall had accompanied Katie to the police station, where the composite artist had sketched out the face. She brought to life her worst nightmare and it was the first time others would see the monster that had been haunting her dreams for nearly a year.
His long, thin face, round eyes, and high forehead offered a good starting point, but the version she had in her mind was more than twenty years old. It was a distorted, scowling image of a man; angry that he had been bested by a child. But what about now as his youth had given way to middle age? Receding hair, skin leathered with age, waist expanded from years of excess. These were all things that needed to be considered. One thing was certain; she would recognize that scathing stare and twisted mouth if she got the chance to see him again.
Enjoy!
THIS WAS THE part that she dreaded the most: opening her apartment door first thing in the morning to get the paper. Would they be there again today; the three or four reporters that lingered outside her quiet building in hopes of getting a statement from the girl who escaped? Their appearance had almost become part of her daily routine. So much had happened since she came forward. Was it still September? Katie had to look at the front page just to be sure.
An unusual morning for this time of year; bright blue sky and air so still that as she looked out among the palm trees lining the street, not a single frond moved. A nice breeze could generally be counted on to drift in through the open windows of her second floor apartment; the air having been cooled by the ocean only blocks away.
But in the past few weeks, Katie’s life had been dramatically altered, leading her down a path she still feared, and so “unusual” had become the norm. No sign of the reporters yet, but it was still early. She stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. The latch clicked and she cringed, wondering if it would stir Marshall. He was still asleep on the couch. He hadn’t left her side since the sketch of her abductor went public.
After the night of the last dream, the one that changed everything, Marshall had accompanied Katie to the police station, where the composite artist had sketched out the face. She brought to life her worst nightmare and it was the first time others would see the monster that had been haunting her dreams for nearly a year.
His long, thin face, round eyes, and high forehead offered a good starting point, but the version she had in her mind was more than twenty years old. It was a distorted, scowling image of a man; angry that he had been bested by a child. But what about now as his youth had given way to middle age? Receding hair, skin leathered with age, waist expanded from years of excess. These were all things that needed to be considered. One thing was certain; she would recognize that scathing stare and twisted mouth if she got the chance to see him again.
