Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
I started as a science fiction writer, since that’s my favourite genre to watch, but I’m drawn to anything extraordinary. So adding paranormal seemed a natural extension. I also write steampunk, weird Western and fantasy – all with a romantic bent, because I love writing people falling in love.
Did you enjoy language arts in school? Did you have a teacher that particularly encouraged you to write?
I vaguely remember enjoying writing stories, yes. But there was no teacher, or much encouragement to write either at home or at school. It’s taken a while for my parents to accept that I’m an author, and they still haven’t read a word of my work.
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?
To be tough? No. But I do have a brass bookmark I had made that bears the quote “Never give up on your dreams, be brave and always remain true to yourself, focus on what you want, take risks and opportunities”. That encourages me to keep going.
I have two muses, Arwen and Bronwyn, they have very distinct personalities. Can you share a bit about your muse?
I have a… small obsession with Stargate SG-1. Because of reasons, my muse happens to be an arrogant, snarky System Lord called Baal. He wakes me up at obscene hours in the morning with ideas and generally bugs me until I cave and write things his way.
That this inevitably works just makes him preen and me throw things at him. It’s a great relationship, heh.
You have a million dollars that you must donate to one charitable organization. Which one would you choose and why?
Macmillan Cancer Trust. I lost my mother-in-law to cancer and the Macmillan nurses were a godsend in her last days.
Do you have one of those pesky day jobs, or are you a full-time writer?
I’m currently unemployed, so I spend most of my time writing. Okay, some of the time writing and more than I should following conversations on Twitter.
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?
Do I… *falls about laughing* God no! I’m an evil author and put my characters through the wringer, emotionally and physically. There’s no story if there’s no tension.
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?
Most publishers have stipulations on what’s acceptable – incest, bestiality, and so on. I wouldn’t write those but there are darker themes some romance authors would avoid that I don’t. Not because I’m aiming to shock, but because some stories call for dark scenes. What the story demands always comes first, even when it makes me feel a little awkward.
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 love the editing process! There’s always something to learn, something to apply to new stories. The outstanding comment I’ve received was about ellipses in ELEANOR’S HEART. We had a good laugh over that but I have cut WAY down on using them. No more dot-to-dot novellas from me, heh.
Wine or beer?
Cider, specifically pear and ginger. It’s nommy.
Satin or cotton?
Cotton. Cool and practical.
Fries or tots?
Sorry, my knowledge of American slang doesn’t extend that far. No idea what “tots” are.
Cake or pie?
Steak or burgers?
Candle light or pitch dark?
Misa Buckley is a sci fi geek who escapes the crazy of raising five children by creating imaginary characters who experience adventure, romance and really hot sex on their way to a happily-ever-after. You can keep up to date with Misa’s latest news by following her on Twitter (@MisaBuckley) or at her website (www.misabuckley.com)
Current and upcoming works:
ELEANOR’S HEART (Champagne Books), Ironhaven (Decadent Publishing), Paradigm Shift (Smashwords), Tin Cat (Champagne, March 2013), Bayne (Champagne, May 2013)
From ELEANOR’S HEART
But I couldn’t run far, not when every slip on the ice beneath my feet made the pain in my back and ribs flare more. I darted into another alley, realizing too late that there might be yet more creatures hiding in the shadows. I struggled on, every breath an agony now. I wanted laudanum. Dear God, I needed laudanum. The pain would only get worse, otherwise. Whereas sometimes I prayed for death, now it was chasing my heels, I found that I didn’t want to die. Not now, and certainly not as I imagined that thing would dispense death. I pulled on my dwindling strength and rounded another corner.
Ahead of me, a man stood in the center of the alley. I skidded to a halt. He regarded me with a steady gaze, unperturbed by my sudden appearance. In fact, I thought that he seemed ready for it, even though he was dressed for a night at the opera. His dress suit was dark and immaculate, expensively styled, while his polished shoes reflected the scant light.
He wasn’t a large man, and there was plenty of room to pass by him, yet despite that I knew instinctively he represented a greater danger than the thing chasing me. A passing breeze confirmed this notion; billowing his red-lined cloak to reveal how the long fingers of his right hand toyed with the silver grip of a pistol. His eyes shifted from my face to the soft scuttling behind me. The wry amusement that had marked his expression up to then fell away.
“You might care to move out of the way,” he told me, his tone light but with a slight undercurrent of tension. I decided to heed his warning and moved to the side of the alley. Cold leeched from the bricks through my thin blouse as I pressed against the wall. Ice sank straight into my marrow and caused the pain to multiply a hundred-fold. My eyes blurred with tears.
In that moment, a soft whump echoed off the alley walls. Static prickled over my skin, and the tang of ionized æther filled my mouth and nostrils. Something fell with a heavy, wet sort of sound. I dared to open my eyes and saw the creature dead on the ground, the dark stranger standing over it. As I stared at the scene, the creature’s form rippled and fell in on itself, turning into a puddle of black ichor.
Gagging at the stench of long-dead flesh, I turned and retched. My stomach twisted in knots and the acrid bile burnt my throat. Tears stung my eyes. A hand on my shoulder jolted me. My spine snapped as I straightened too quickly. My startled gaze met a pair of gray eyes, narrowed in contemplation.
His face was lean and clean-shaven, his pale skin stark in the darkness. His cheeks were hollow, bisected by sharp bones. Thin lips were pressed into a flat line. The slight breeze ruffled his already unruly hair, lending him a somewhat manic look. This was echoed by the pistol he still held. My jaw dropped at the tell-tale white-blue glow of the crystal chamber: I’d heard about æther weapons, but this was the first one I’d laid eyes on. What did it mean that this man had such a device?
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Kindle - http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008GHKV30/
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