SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS – Crimson

The SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS column on Mondays and Wednesdays is a place at Shannon Muir’s author website open to interviews and guest posts from other authors. One thing Shannon firmly believes in for readers not only to learn about new books available, but about those who craft the tales behind them. As its name implies, SHANNON MUIR’S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS weekly column features writers from all genres of fiction who want their potential audience to get to know them, and their works, better – and occasionally may offer features from Shannon herself that support readers to discover words.

Today, find out more about CRIMSON.

What initially got you interested in writing? I’m a storyteller. I have an overactive imagination and I’ve been writing stories ever since I could write. I’m always thinking, what if? There never was a time when I don’t remember writing.

 

How did you decide to make the move into being a published author? My sister Annabelle Anders got published for the first time a few years ago. I homeschool my kids, and we would meet and work in the library.  I would sit and read or write, while she wrote her books and my kids did their schoolwork. Every once in a while, we’d read bits of our stories to each other. Most days she would tell me that I should get published and I’d just laugh. One day, she listened to an excerpt of the rough draft that would become Crimson: Secrets and Lies of a Living Vampire and she convinced me to pursue publication. The rest is history.

 

What do you want readers to take away from reading your works? I want to entertain and uplift. In the end, I want readers to fall into my books and never want to leave. That’s what I love about reading, and if I could do that for someone else, I mean wow! Wow! What a privilege.

 

What do you find most rewarding about writing? Knowing that I created a beautiful escape for someone. That I gave the reader just a speck of magic, that someone has lost themselves in something that I’ve put my heart and soul into. The most rewarding part about writing is the reader. That’s the best, most rewarding part of writing – it’s you. Connecting to you, my readers and hearing about their lives.

 

What do you find most challenging about writing? Eek. The promotion stuff, marketing. I think that I’m typical of most writers, that I’m an introvert. I love meeting new people, but I’m not a salesperson.

 

What advice would you give to people want to enter the field? Just do it. Stop having self-doubt, stop trying to figure out what everyone else wants and write what you want.

 

What ways can readers connect with you? Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/TLChristiansonpage/) is probably the best, I’m on Twitter (@christianson_TL) and they can contact me through my website www.TLChristianson.com.

 

EXCERPT

Tall iron gates blocked the narrow dirt road, and I slowed to a stop. Scanning the forest to each side, I found that the fence continued out of view in both directions.

The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle, and my inner warning made my mouth dry.

I pressed the button on the intercom and waited for a response.

“Hello?” A woman’s accented voice came over the speaker.

“Yeah, hi, this is Elizabeth Kepner. I’m the new teacher?” My voice ended on a questioning pitch.

She didn’t respond.

Turn around, leave this place.

I gulped and held my head up high. I’m a vampire; what would I be afraid of? Okay, other than silver.

The gates opened, and I followed the winding gravel driveway through the trees and into a meadow. There, across the tall grass, nestled in a wide copse of green and white aspen trees, stood a large Victorian house.

Suitcase in hand, I tried to peek through the antique glass windows that surrounded the front door – before pressing the bell.

The house was dark, so after standing there for several moments, I knocked with my free hand.

“Hello?”

Just then, a blue SUV came into sight across the meadow, tires crunching on the gravel driveway. I turned, watching it, as it circled the house and parked to the side. Striding down the steps of the ornate front porch, I followed the paving stones toward a commotion of children’s voices.

Two little tow-headed youngsters came bounding toward me. The two rascals didn’t even take a moment to ask me who I was or even look me up and down before latching onto me with hugs and exclamations.

“Hi, Elizabeth! I’m Becca. Dad says you’re from New York, and he works in New York. He also said that before that, you were from Texas. I’ve been there; Nana and Papa live there. We went to the Alamo. Have you seen the Alamo?” She continued to chatter as the siren song of her blood called to me.

I swallowed and held my breath. I can do this. I examined her and wondered if my own child would’ve been like this. Her eyes shimmered bright blue, her cheeks were red, and flaxen braids ran down her back.

Yes, she almost looks like she could be my own child.

“Yea! You’re here!” exclaimed the small boy, who held a small stuffed lamb. He managed to wrap himself around one of my legs, pulling my pants up to expose my five-inch strappy heel.

I held him away from me. “Whoa… back up for a moment. Let’s do a proper introduction,” I told him, unable to keep the smile from my lips. Besides, I needed to build up some resistance to the urges within me.

I felt my thirst, and it desired their blood.

“Alright, young man.” I bent down and held my hand out to him. “I’m Elizabeth Kepner. How do you do?”

He shook my fingers. “I’m Jack Bennett.” After he kissed the top of my hand, I raised my eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kepner.” At five years old, Jack spoke like an adult.

“It’s Miss Kepner, and it’s a pleasure to meet you both as well.” I turned to Rebecca. “Nice to meet you, Becca. You’re seven, aren’t you?”

I felt a shiver go down my spine before a smooth baritone voice came from behind me. “Kids, not everyone wants you to hug them.”

Turning, I saw a man who didn’t fit my definition of a stuffy old scientist. There was no way he could be older than his late twenties, with pale amber eyes and unkempt chestnut hair. He wore a baby-blue button-up shirt, jeans, and flip flops, which seemed to be the footwear of choice in this mountain town.

My attraction to him was immediate, and my voice caught in my throat. I gaped at my new employer; he was beautiful in an old-fashioned way.

His mouth turned up into a cheeky grin, and he held his hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Owen.”

“Liz,” I breathed out, barely above a whisper. As our hands touched, a small shock of electricity went through me.

I’d wanted a distraction, but Owen Bennett might be a bit more than I’d bargained for.

Years ago, I vowed that I would never get involved in a relationship again.

The last time I fell in love, I thought it would kill me.

 

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