C.A. Shives's Blog: Bleeding On Paper

And it goes like this:

In a remote (but close to home) cabin, I spend seven days in solitude. The only other human being I see during this time is my host, Jack. Otherwise, my only company is the sound of the autumn breeze rustling tree leaves.

The cabin need not be luxurious. Simple accommodations of a bed, a table and chair, a lamp, and a single bathroom are the only modern conveniences I need. The most important requirements are peace and a view of the surrounding woods.

Each morning Jack would bring me breakfast: eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, toast, and coffee. After I finish my repast, I’d sit at my table and write. And write. And write. Breaking only occasionally to open the door of my cabin and inhale the delicate scent of mountain air.

Jack would arrive again shortly after noon with my lunch on a tray. Probably a ham sandwich, potato chips, and iced tea. Again, he’d leave, and I’d be granted more peace to write. And write. And write.

Jack would join me for dinner (meatloaf and mashed potatoes), and we’d discuss my day’s work. I’d talk about plot and pacing and characterization, and he’d have some clever insight into the development of the story. After he left, I’d relax with a good book, content in the knowledge that tomorrow would be another day of hand-delivered meals, writing time, and quiet.

It’s a dream. A nice dream. It’s a place in my head that becomes my retreat from Dora The Explorer, toys with flashing lights and musical tunes, and the sound of wooden spoons as they bang against metal mixing bowls.

 

I’m finally distributing PHOBIA to more retailers. It’s now available for Nook!

 

My blog tour for PHOBIA has begun!

The starter day part was held at I Heart Reading. Check it out to find the tour schedule.

 

I share my writing space with my guest room and baby changing location. As a result, my “office” is actually a desk shoved into a closet. Beside me is a (very ugly) daybed for guests. Across the room is a trashcan of poopy diapers. Three standard bookcases are overflowing with the books I’ve collected throughout the years.

It’s not exactly ideal.

I have dreams of converting this room into a beautiful home office and library. Built-in bookcases will keep my paperback collection organized and attractive. A walnut desk will hold my computer, files, and manuscripts. A sleeper sofa will give me a spot for reading and napping while also providing guests with a comfortable bed for resting their heads.

It’s a nice fantasy, and one I may achieve in the future. In the meantime, I’ve learned to appreciate my writing space. It may be cramped. It may be chintzy and cheap. It may smell like diapers. But it’s all mine.

 

Eventually Smashwords will be distributing PHOBIA to various channels like Sony, Barnes & Noble, etc. In the meantime, those of you with e-readers that can handle Epub (like Apple, Nook, Sony, Kobo) or PDF (like most PCs) can find the book here.

 

This past weekend a dear friend was struck by a serious illness. The kind of illness that makes everyone pause and thank God for a healthy life. The kind of illness that can mean life or death. The kind of illness that can change someone’s world forever.

I spent the weekend with my friend, beside their bed, wishing and hoping and praying for the kind of intervention that only a miracle can provide. I pushed everything else to the side–my family, my writing, my life–to support this friend.

My friend is out of immediate danger, and now it’s time for me to return to my work. But how am I supposed to concentrate on writing when my mind is still filled with worry and fear?

There are things more important than work. People are more important than work.

It’s unfortunate that it takes a disaster for us to realize what’s really valuable in our lives.

Will I write again soon? Yes, but it will be with a heavy heart. Maybe that works best for me. The tone of my books is dark. Fear, death, despair… these are all themes that weave themselves into my writing. Perhaps some light will shine through that darkness.

 

 

In the “olden” days, authors used to go on book tours to various bookstores around the country. They’d sit at a table, maybe do a reading from their book, answer questions, autograph copies, and pimp their work.

Plenty of authors still do book tours, and it’s a great way to get exposure and connect with readers. But in today’s cyber-age, blog tours can be a cost effective and efficient method of duplicating book tours and reaching a wider audience.

I’m scheduled for a blog tour August 1 through August 15 through Enchanted Book Tours. During that time I’ll be making various stops at blogs around the Internet. PHOBIA will get a few reviews from bloggers, I’ll be doing a couple of author interviews, and there may be some giveaways, too.

I’ll regularly update here about my various tour stops. I hope it’ll be a great experience for me and my readers.

 

The main character in PHOBIA, Artemis Herne, is an ex-cop with a drinking problem and a dark past. He developed as a character on his own as I wrote the book, but I did have a pretty good sketch of him before I started. Here are a few tidbits of info about him:

Artemis was the greek goddess of the hunt. Herne was a hunter from British lore. My character, Artemis Herne, is a hunter to the core. And yes, Artemis can be a male name (such as with the character Artemis Fowl).


In my mind, I see Herne as a younger Bruce Willis from around the time of Tears of the Sun and Unbreakable. Herne is a little bigger, he has a scar, and his nose is crooked. But definite similarities exist.


Herne has no family. His sister was beaten to death by a boyfriend. His parents were killed in a car accident. His wife was murdered in a house fire. I didn’t plan to make him such a loner, but it works for him. Will he develop more relationships as time goes on? Maybe. But I think part of him will always prefer to hunt alone.


Although his parents owned a small bistro, Herne can’t cook. He relies on restaurant meals and take-out pizza for sustenance. I considered making him a gourmand, but it didn’t seem to fit his character. Herne is a pragmatic and simple man. And he’s also too broke to buy gourmet ingredients.


Herne’s past is violent and depressing, so he battles with the bottle. Substance abuse is fairly common among people who deal with the ugly side of life, such as cops and war veterans. Herne is an alcoholic, but he struggles to prevent his addiction from consuming him.


His sense of fairness, honor, and loyalty does not necessarily agree with society’s version of these values. He is willing to be judge, jury, and executioner if necessary, and he’s capable of handing out his own brand of justice.

In the next book, Herne develops even more as a character and as a man. As I’ve been writing the first draft, I’ve been enjoying the way he keeps evolving through the story.

 

My bio is pretty sparse, mostly because I’m a very private person. But I thought I’d share a little bit more about me for readers who are curious to know about the author behind the book.

My favorite professional sport is Competitive Eating. I was thrilled when Joey Chestnut won the 2012 Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest with 68 dogs and buns in 10 minutes. Go USA!


Wine is my alcoholic beverage of choice. I drink red in the autumn and winter, and white in the spring and summer.


I have two children. Small children. Children young enough to plague me with repeated episodes of Dora the Freakin’ Explorer.


The first “adult” book I ever read was The Shining by Stephen King. I was about 11 or 12 years old. It opened up a whole new world outside of The Hardy Boys and Judy Blume. I got hooked on horror.


Richard Nixon resigned the year I was born. And gas cost 55 cents per gallon.

My life is pretty much standard by most definitions.

 

Fiction may be mostly make-believe, but it must have an element of realism to encourage readers to suspend their disbelief. So I spend a lot of time doing research. Lots and lots of research.

For giggles, here are some of my recent Google searches:

What spills out of intestines when they’re sliced? (Aside from the obvious answer of s***.)
How many lethal injections are completed in Pennsylvania?
What’s street slang for a soap-in-a-sock weapon?
Can you bleed to death if your eyeballs have been removed?
What color is liver bile?

I can only imagine what my family would think if they looked at my browsing history.