Welcome Nadia Scrieva!

Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?

I began writing extremely long stories when I realized that I could not easily let go of my characters. My favorite books to read and re-read were lengthy series of fantasy novels, so it was only natural. I don’t view the books as individual creations, but as portions of one massive story.

Did you enjoy language arts in school? Did you have a teacher that particularly encouraged you to write?

I loved English classes, but found the curriculum seriously lacking in personalization. By six years old, I was writing stories on my own initiative and forcing them on my teachers. They often read them to the class, and I would carefully watch the reactions of other students. With or without guidance or approval, I was determined to be a writer.

It’s five o’clock somewhere…Let’s have a drink! What cocktail best describes you and why?

Drinking sounds divine, but I have a strict new rule against drinking and writing. It saps my energy and delays the completion of my books—but in a few months, I would love to overdose on chocolate martinis made with Godiva liqueur. Mmm!

On my desk I have a rhino that my husband gave me to remind me I’m rhino-tough, as you have to be in the business. Is there anything you have that you use to remind you of that?

I generally write in a room surrounded by at least five swords on the walls. Does that count?

I have two muses, Arwen and Bronwyn, they have very distinct personalities. Can you share a bit about your muse?

My muse is named Vegeta. While I write, he strokes my arm and whispers into my ear seductively, “Kill them all. Kill them all, Nadia.”
I want to protest, but he smells so good that I just nod and say, “Okay.”

You have a million dollars that you must donate to one charitable organization. Which one would you choose and why?

The cynical side of me believes that a million dollars isn’t very much and wouldn’t be able to create much of a difference in the world. The idealistic side chooses a boot-camp-style literacy program for young children which forces them to read all the important classics. (If a charity like this doesn’t exist, I’ll create it.)

Do you have one of those pesky day jobs, or are you a full-time writer? If you do have another career what do you do and do you enjoy it?

I am proud to be a full-time writer! It was my goal for 2012 to write one million words, and I am making good progress toward this number.

Due to the world we live in, most editors will tell a romance writer they have the moral obligation to protect their characters from scary life altering things, thereby being obligated to the reader. What are your thoughts on this? Do you protect your characters and how?

In my novel Fathoms of Forgiveness my heroine was tortured for several chapters by her ex-husband. I still have nightmares about it, but it was completely necessary. The story wouldn’t have existed without that horrifying segment—it really showcased Visola’s strength. I think it’s pointless to protect characters.  

Romance has come a long, long way since Fabio graced the covers regularly…it seems the hinges are off the proverbial door. How far is too far in your mind? Are there things you simply won’t write?

There is no such thing as too far in my mind. I just keep in mind at all times that a young child could pick up one of my books, or possibly my mother. That being said, I don’t have any reservations about a young child or my mother reading graphic love scenes as long as they have a point essential to the story. (I was reading explicit sex scenes at 8, even if I didn’t fully understand what was happening, and writing them by 13.)

I’ve been asked, as has my husband, if we do “all that stuff in my stories.” Do you get asked this and if so how do you handle it?

Ha! I just tell them that I’ve actually done far more, and let them imagine that.

I had an editor early on that showed me the way…have you had anyone in particular that gave you a gentle **ahem** nudge in the right direction? How did they do that and how did you react?

I had obsessed fans with virtual pitchforks threatening that if I didn’t “write more now” they would come to Canada and burn my house down. That was effective, and I definitely learned to write more.

Wine or beer?

Wine!

Satin or cotton?

Cotton for self-punishment, satin as a reward.

Fries or tots?

Tots.

Cake or pie?

Neither! I have to watch my figure.

Steak or burgers?

Steak… mmm.

Candle light or pitch dark?

Definitely candlelight.
 

Nadia Scrieva was born in 1988 in Toronto, Canada. She studied English and Anthropology, graduating with an Honors B.A. from the University of Toronto in 2011. She likes knives. Writing has been the most meaningful part of her life since she was a child. Nadia loves receiving feedback from readers, so do not hesitate to contact her with any of your comments, questions, ideas, or just to say hello.  

Website: www.NadiaScrieva.com  

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/NadiaFans

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/NadiaScrieva

Blog: http://nadiascrieva.blogspot.ca/

Purchase links

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006Y06G8A/
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007KWTTXK/
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00847SM8S/

Fathoms of Forgiveness

by Nadia Scrieva

There is no divorce in the undersea kingdom of Adlivun. Marriage is a bond that lasts until death—even if death comes in several centuries, and in that time your spouse happens to become your sworn enemy. This is the conflict that General Visola Ramaris faces when she learns that the mighty Vachlan is behind the attacks on her kingdom. She has sworn to protect Adlivun with her life, but long ago, she also swore to love and honor her husband... 

Visola must choose whether she will destroy Vachlan once and for all, or attempt the hardest thing conceivable: communication. After two hundred years of desertion, she has no faith in their feeble bond and knows she can never forgive him. When he threatens the person dearest to her, she must take action. Confronting Vachlan on enemy territory would be nothing short of suicide. She knows that if she falls into his custody, the deranged man would relish breaking her down and making her lose her sanity.

Princess Aazuria forbids Visola from taking matters into her own hands; she will do anything it takes to protect her friend from the man who wants to crush her. Alas, Visola is a crazy, uncontrollable warrior woman with the blood of Vikings in her veins. Why would she ever consider doing the safe and predictable thing?

 

Excerpt : 

Meeting the scrutiny of his steel-grey eyes made her feel sweltering hot and bitterly cold at the same time. It was a thousandfold more difficult to tolerate the intensity of his gaze when it was penetrating her skull from the front instead of the rear. She felt like her eyes did not offer as much protection as the dense bones of her skull had. He was already piercing beyond her eyeballs to knead her memories with his knuckles, and to dissect her thoughts with his fingernails. She tried to get past the pain in her skull to objectively observe her enemy. His jet-black hair was pulled back into its classic ponytail at the nape of his neck. Had he not changed his hairstyle in all this time? Had he not grown hideous with all the horrible deeds he had done?

It did not seem possible, but he looked exactly the same. Except for his eyes; those vicious grey-blue eyes would have terrified any lesser woman to tears. Visola could not help seeing the blatant resemblance to her daughter in his face. Although Alcyone’s coloring was closer to Visola’s own, there was still so much of Vachlan in her. Seeing this; seeing the glimpses of Alcyone in this man who was little more than a stranger, drew her spirit to him involuntarily. Visola realized that she had to face the terrible truth.

She was not strong enough to face the father of her child.

Drowning Mermaids

by Nadia Scrieva

Deep under Arctic waters lies an ice kingdom carved into a glacier. Those who dwell within it possess magnificent biological secrets. Due to the dangers of impending war, the Princess of Adlivun is forced to flee her undersea utopia and regroup with her sisters in Alaska.

Captain Trevain Murphy is a successful king crab fisherman who has spent his life building his empire above the sea, and knows nothing of the empire beneath it. When he meets a mysterious dancer whose father has recently died, he extends kindness towards her, unaware of her unique genetics and royal lineage.

Trevain's attraction to the enigmatic Aazuria Vellamo will involve him in dangerous designs that will forever change his life, and his perspective on himself and his world. He embarks on perilous journeys in which he will need to release all of his insecurities and inhibitions in order to survive.

Excerpt 

It was his angel. He knew her, although she looked nothing like before. She was his Aazuria, his mythical heroine. In the dancing glow of the oil blaze, she was simply too dazzling to be real and he knew that he must be dying. As she hovered in suspension before him, her skin and hair were almost luminous in the dark water, almost phosphorescent. Perhaps she never had been real. It did not matter—she was firmly grasping his hands, and it sent a feeling of comfort and tranquility through him. He knew that she loved him. 

He could see forgiveness and acceptance in her expression. None of the turmoil between them mattered any longer in this pacific moment. In her benevolent gaze, he could finally forgive himself. He smiled at her, although his vision was fading, and the world was disappearing. He tightly gripped her hands to thank her for coming back for him. He could not bear the thought of letting go; he did not want to be robbed of her touch. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, to keep looking into her unfamiliar ultramarine orbs. So this was what she really looked like, in her element. He wished he could have known her true form. It was mystical. 

Trevain could imagine no better way to die. No better sight to see the last time he closed his eyes. A peaceful smile descended on his face, and the captain’s tired eyes closed for what he knew to be the last time ever.