The gun control debate is shaping up to be a deciding factor in the 2016 US Presidential election with 42% of people surveyed claiming it will influence how they vote. It is also very stupid. The idea of gun control is stupid and voting for someone based on their position on gun control is stupid.
The gun control advocates claim that gun crime will go down if we just have more restrictions on gun ownership. What? Gun CRIME will go down if it is harder to legally own a gun? What are you stupid? Crime is defined as illegal activity, so how is making it illegal to own a gun going to prevent that? Oh, you mean if criminals can not get guns without breaking the law then the will not use them to break the law? Maybe you are on drugs! If someone is going to break the law why would they follow another law when breaking it too would make their commission of whatever crime, possibly, easier? No, gun free zones do not work, either! Guns don’t magically disappear from someone’s possession when they walk into a gun free zone. It does ensure that there will be no law abiding gun owners in the area to fight off any attacks though.
You advocates of gun rights don’t get smug. Your gun rights aren’t about protecting yourself and your family from crime. How is owning a gun, that you keep locked in a safe, defensive? It’s not about putting food on the table either. We have grocery stores for that. Sport? You’re getting closer, but what about assault weapons? Why do you need, so called, assault rifles to hunt? Can’t you accomplish the same task with a hunting rifle? Hell, my dad usually does it with a bow and arrow. Yes, I know, the Second Amendment protects your gun rights. But, do you know why? I do.
The purpose of the Second Amendment is not to allow you to own guns for hunting or to protect yourself and your families from crime. Yes, the gun control crowd is right when the say it is to enable the formation of militias. It is not obviated, however, by the fact that we have a standing army and no longer need militias to protect us from foreign enemies. They have that bit wrong. The second amendment guarantees gun rights in order to form militias for the citizens to protect themselves from the government. You know, the guys with a standing army armed with assault weapons.
The debate is also rather pointless given the ruling of the Supreme Court of the United States on June 23rd, 2015. You might know it as the legalization of Gay Marriage. What it actually was, though, was far more broad ranging than that. The ruling says that if a majority of the states give a right to their citizens the remaining states cannot withhold that right from theirs. At the time of that ruling, a majority of the states (the same number as had legalized gay marriage, in fact) had granted their citizens the right to conceal carry firearms. This means that the remaining states cannot deny the right to conceal carry. Oops!!
The bottom line is this. Guns, like money (and bricks) as Dave Ramsey points out, are amoral. They are not immoral; they have no morals. They are inanimate objects. A gun will not shoot someone or something of it’s own accord. It is unable to do anything but sit there. It is the person using it who is immoral. It is that user who makes the gun good or bad, not the gun. Owning guns does not make someone a threat to others anymore than not owning them makes them harmless to their neighbors. The whole gun control debate is a way of dividing people so that the career politicians in Washington DC can stay in power. It is a political ploy. If they can keep us distracted and squabbling then they win and we lose. The funny thing is that you fell for it. You people on both sides of the debate are letting the politicians distract you from what you should be doing. You should be banding together as a people and voting for real change by getting those in Congress, that have been there for decades, out of office.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Happy Birthday USA!
Happy 4th of July, they all say,
But what it is, really, is Independence Day.
The birthday of the United States it's supposed to be
It just means so much more, you see.
It's an idea that all people are free,
That we are not slaves to a tyrant's ideology.
But we have apparently lost our way,
We now let others tell us what we're allowed to say.
Long ago our founders cast off King George's yoke,
But if they could see us now they'd choke.
Nowadays we are not free,
We're slaves to others in society.
They're taking our "inalienable rights" away,
They say for security it's the price we pay.
But, I say there's a better way;
One embodied by Independence Day!
Monday, May 11, 2015
Review: Wizard of Ends
Way back in October we participated in the Wizard of Ends Blog Tour. With life getting in the way, I didn’t manage to finish reading the book until March 30th though. I had intended to write this review in early April but didn’t get to it until now. The good news is that a review of the second book in the series will be up soon too. (Warning: Do not feed the Spoilers!)
The sorceress Assassa believes the Land of Ends to be rightfully hers, but King Lanaran refuses to hand over his crown. In retaliation, the sorceress has conjured creatures of darkness to hunt the queen and end her life. Lashlor does what he can to help but it isn’t easy, especially as the Guards of Ends who protect the queen believe him to be false.
Lashlor is positive that a confrontation with Assassa will be the death of him. However, the king insists on his help and it soon becomes apparent that he may have no choice in the matter whatsoever.
The book is well written and starts off feeling like a political thriller set in a magical realm. The intrigue is abandoned early on, however, and the story morphs into a chase sequence and then finally into a full out magical battle royal with magic users slaughtered in some very imaginative and disturbing ways. It is an extremely enjoyable read until the cliff hanger ending; which means that you’d better be prepared to pick up Book Two of the series, “Dark Creature” to find out how the story ends. In fact, the two books read like a single book that has been cut in half. This sort of publishing practice harkens back to the “Lord of the Rings” and tends to work well if the first book has a strong enough hook, which “Wizard of Ends” fortunately does.
If you like your Fantasy sprinkled with political intrigue and all out magical mayhem pick up “Wizard of Ends” for free. Just keep in mind that you’ll probably want to buy “Dark Creature” as well.
Vanessa Finaughty is an author of many genres who now focuses on fantasy and science fiction. She’s published 15 books, of which 6 are fantasy. Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, and still lives there with her husband of fifteen years, her baby daughter and plenty of furry, four-legged ‘children’. Vanessa has always been passionate about books, and knew from a young age that she wanted to write them one day. She loves animals, coffee and the smell of wet grass, and hates liars, sweltering weather and long queues. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, mythology, aliens and outer space, ancient history, life’s mysteries and martial arts, of which she has five years’ experience.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Review: The Endangered
The story itself is excellent. It's not your typical Vampires vs Werewolves story. Instead, it reads more like a female Jason Bourne vampire thriller in which the bad guys just happen to be werewolves. That means it is light years away from what I was expecting when I started reading.
The female lead is well rounded, and the book doesn't just gloss over her life prior to being turned. She has feelings and a bit of a chip on her shoulder beforehand and that chip seems to get slightly enlarged by being brought across. She's also ill, though she doesn't know it until later, which leads to my favorite passage in the whole book. She goes into a church and has a monologue at God about predestination and vampiric evil.
As I mentioned above, the copy that I read was an ARC and as such I am going to assume that the jarring tense changes and typos (all the werewolves apparently have fury bodies rather than furry ones) were fixed before it was released. If so, I give The Endangered four stars out of five. If not, then it drops to three stars.
So, to quickly recap, S. L. Eaves delivers a wonderfully thrilling tale of intrigue between vampires and werewolves that is well worth your time. Now, go grab a copy today via Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
S.L. Eaves Bio:
Stephanie loves to write. She's taken a number of writing courses with a focus on crime fiction and earned a certificate in Professional Writing while attending Pitt. She's also really into fitness, especially running and biking in her free time. While she readily confesses to being a bit of a film and television junkie, music has always been a huge influence in nearly every aspect of her life, and she believes there’s nothing like a good live band.
When home, she's never without a book within arm’s reach.
Monday, December 1, 2014
The Fanatic: A First Look
Today sees the publication of Cynthia D. Witherspoon’s new title, The Fanatic. It is the second book in The Oracle Series. Cynthia has kindly allowed us to share an excerpt with you and so we are proud to allow you a first look at The Fanatic! Enjoy.
But I know. I had learned real quick to rely on the one hero who had been here all along. The one person I'd always been afraid to believe in.
Myself.
I was going to create my own happily ever after, and my enemies would be damned for it.
I lit the final candle before I stepped back to inspect my deathbed. I had set everything up in the center of my living room. Three red candles flickered on the headboard. Two black ones gleamed at the foot. The sheets had been soaked with as much kerosene as I could legally buy here in Los Angeles. Perhaps it was the fumes affecting me, or perhaps I had finally gone over the proverbial edge, but I smiled. Within the hour, all of my problems would disappear. If my work here was successful, the one person responsible for my life falling apart would be damned along with me.
I wanted to die. I wasn’t afraid. I had spent my life trying to discover all I could about what lay on the other side of the Veil. After all, death was my business. Spirits were my passion. I’d been obsessed with the grave for as long as I could remember. When I was little, my momma tried to replace my obsession with the grandeur of heaven. If only I would give my soul to Jesus, then I would be alright.
I wasn’t alright. I never would be again. My work - my very purpose here on Earth - had been stolen from me. No longer would the world learn about the afterlife in a sensible way. No longer would science and reason be used as a weapon against our ignorance towards death. There was nothing else I could do. I had fought to keep my work in the limelight. I begged for them not to take my audience away from me. No, my time had run out. My work had faltered. And the world I tried to teach had rejected me.
Besides, Heaven wasn’t meant for the likes of me. I was going to hell.
And I was going to make damn sure my enemy joined me there.
Yes, tonight was my night. I had been preparing for this moment since I had been fired three months earlier. See, I had been one of the lucky ones. I was once a presenter on the highest rated show on television. I traveled the world, studying the paranormal with a passion unmatched by anyone else. I had money. Fame. Fans.
Until the ratings started to fall. I glared at the photographs scattered among past due notices and the eviction letter received just this afternoon on the floor around my bed. Once again, I muttered curses at the face staring back up at me. I had been replaced by a stupid girl who claimed to have abilities no one could actually possess. Eva McRayne's Grave Messages hit the airwaves and shoved me out of the job which had been my calling. Now my show was nothing more than a DVD box set. All of my hard work forgotten thanks to a blonde idiot who would prance around, call out to Apollo, then pretend to pass on the last words of the dead.
I hated her. I hated everything about her.
It was true that Grave Messages hadn't been her idea. In the interviews I had seen, she would laugh at the idea of being on television. McRayne would give the credit to her co-host, Elliot Lancaster, but he was nothing. He was worthless.
I had studied the tabloids which carried the pictures of them together. There were headlines boasting the two of them were still in love despite breaking up within a month of filming their show. It was unprofessional and sickening. But the knowledge I had gained from those articles would come in handy tonight.
McRayne and Lancaster had met at the University of Georgia some five years before. When Lancaster had graduated, his daddy gave him a television show and of course, the blonde tagged along after him. The facts got hazy from there. McRayne's bio online said she had been forced into her role as the Sibyl during a conference. It was a good story, but I had once been a headliner for those conferences. No one in their right mind with any sort of power would give it all up to a stranger. Not when there was money to be made. Why give up your livelihood to a stranger who didn't appreciate it? No, her story didn't make any sense. She was the lie. She was the fraud.
But I wasn't. And I would make damned sure she knew it.
I watched as the shadows cast across the floor by the street lamps outside shift and knew it was time. I suppose I should have been more sentimental. Someone with more sense than me would have taken one last look at the world they were leaving behind. I tried to think of my mother. I wanted to shed a tear or two over what might have been if Eva McRayne had never surfaced. It was far too late for such thoughts.
I was ready. More than ready. I picked up one of the photographs and clutched it to my chest as I laid down.
The kerosene fumes were overwhelming. I coughed, relishing in the lightheadedness I felt.
"Erinyes of old, Blessed Judges of Fate," I called out to my empty apartment between gasps of breath. "Athena's own mistresses of justice, come to me. Take my spirit as your own. Take my soul as payment for the deed you will do for me."
I felt the air growing colder despite the flames I had surrounded myself by. I wiped away the tears from my eyes as I continued.
"I seek justice. I crave vengeance against the one who stole my life away from me."
The flames above me flared. I wondered if I would be able to finish the spell before I was consumed by the fires I had set. So I closed my eyes to the fumes and focused on the darkness in my heart. I held up the picture as I hurried to continue.
"Eva McRayne, Sibyl to Apollo will fall. She, and she alone, is responsible for stealing my audience. Before she came along, I was cherished. Now, I am forgotten just as you have been. Unknown to her and a world that craves knowledge of the afterlife. No longer. After tonight, Eva McRayne will know who I am. She will suffer for the crimes she committed against me. Great Erinyes, aid me. Give me the vengeance I seek."
The bed began to shake as I touched a single corner of the photograph to the tip of the candle flame. It ignited with a flash. I screamed as the flames traveled downward to the sheets I had prepared. I had only a moment left; a single breath to curse the bitch who caused my downfall.
"Eva McRayne will suffer."
***
I found myself embraced by a darkness I could revel in. I blinked, confused as I took in my new surroundings. There was no golden gate. No avenging angel to approach me with a book of blessed names to see if I was listed among those worthy enough to enter Heaven. No, there was nothing like that at all. I was standing in a great hall lit by green fires. Shadows flittered around me like butterflies; each one a blur as they rushed to destinations I would never understand.
"Allison Thomason."
I whirled around to see a thin man cloaked in black studying me. After a moment of silence, he clicked his tongue and checked something on the small clipboard he carried.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." I turned my attention back to my surroundings. "Where am I? How did I get here?"
"Come with me."
The man gave me no answers as I followed him. I couldn't concentrate, but I tried to remember. There was a fire. I remembered it well enough. Had I died? Surely not. I was petrified of fire. I would have run the moment I smelled smoke.
Wouldn't I? It seemed like the most logical thing to do. But logic had never been my strong suit. Even so, there were no answers to be had unless I followed the stranger. We walked for what seemed like an eternity through barren halls until he stopped before a pair of impressive doors.
"This is where I take my leave. Your presence is required inside."
"Wait," I swallowed, finding the habit useless in my present state. "Can you tell me what is on the other side of those doors?"
The man smiled for the first time, tapping his clipboard against his side. "Why, your vengeance, girl. Isn't that why you are here?"
My vengeance. When he spoke the word, my hatred flooded back and with it, my memories. I stepped forward, shoving the double doors open with a renewed determination. This is the moment I had died for.
May the gods be praised.
The large room inside was brighter than the halls leading up to it. The green fires lined the walls on torches of marble. The floors gleamed with a shine any housewife would have killed for. I would have been astounded by the beauty of this place, but I caught sight of the large table in the very center. Three little girls were playing with dolls and chatting amongst themselves. So I did the only thing I could think to do.
I approached them. I started to speak, but the child in the center lifted up a single hand from the blonde doll in her grasp and my words faded in my throat.
"You are the human who called to us."
The one who silenced me turned her face so I could see it and I cried out despite myself. Her eyes were red, lined with streaks of blood. I managed a nod as she continued.
"Allison Thomason, then." She tapped her thin fingers against the table before her. "Sisters, help me recall. This is the one who offered us her soul as payment, correct?"
"Yes." The girl to the right nodded with a grin I found unsettling. "This one seeks vengeance against the Sibyl. For what purpose, human?"
"She stole my life away." I found my voice, surprised at how steady it sounded. "I was once in the spotlight. My work was regarded as the pentacle in paranormal research. But I lost my audience. I lost my show because of her."
"What would you have us do?" The one to the left piped up with a frown. "Your human trials are petty ones. We have no time for the likes of you."
"Ah, but perhaps, we do." Their leader giggled as she placed her hand over the other child's wrist. "It is a terrible thing to be forgotten. We know this all too well, sister."
The other two murmured as child in the center continued. "We will take a page from Apollo's own strategy. He uses his Sibyl to gain followers, even in this advanced age. Indeed, the wraiths have been whispering about how his temples are overflowing with visitors now that this Sibyl has begun to spread his message across the world. Perhaps she can do the same for us."
I froze as she stood, passing through the table as if it were nothing but air. The strange stopped before me.
"But," I shook my head. "I thought...I wasn't expecting..."
"Tell us, what were you expecting?" She tilted her head as she watched me. "The Sibyl's death upon your own? We are not stupid, human. There are consequences to be had for such actions and we do not wish for Athena's wrath just because you gave your soul to us."
"Surely there is something you can do." I clutched at my hands. "The old books said you were the goddesses of vengeance. They said if I sacrificed myself, then you would be required to help me, even if you are just..."
"Children? I suppose we are that." The girl giggled again as she clutched at her doll. "Who is better suited to judge the damned than the innocent? Athena was right to choose us. We serve her well."
The other two murmured their agreement as they came forward to join their sister. I had to believe them. I had to believe they were the beings I had called forth with my suicide.
I had no choice.
So I knelt down to bow my head before their leader. "What do I have the power to do, Erinyes? How can my vengeance come to pass?"
"You may return to the world of the living. Watch the Sibyl and report back to us her actions." The girl grinned as she leaned forward, pressing a single finger into the center of my forehead. "When the time is right, we will put her on trial and find her guilty of the crimes you accuse her of. But the price is far greater than your soul. You will take the current Sibyl's place to serve us, not Apollo. You will tell the world the Erinyes still live and our judgment is eternal. Be assured, human, we will not be forgotten again."
I would be the Sibyl. My work could be restored along with my audience. I felt a sense of joy I thought lost forever and I smiled.
I repeated the words back to her as the room around me shifted. The girls disappeared when the shadows surrounded me once more, but her words remained.
We will not be forgotten.
*** End of Excerpt ***
Author Bio: 
Cynthia D. Witherspoon is an award winning writer of Southern Gothic, Paranormal Romance, and Urban Fantasy. She currently resides in South Carolina, but spent three years in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Always an avid reader, she began writing short stories in college. She graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in History from Converse College, and earned a Masters in Forensic Science at Oklahoma State University Center for Health Sciences. She can be found on the Internet in the following places:
If you missed Cynthia’s Twelfth Night Interview you can find it here.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Domestic Violence Awareness
Last month was Domestic Violence awareness month and I had intended to post this then, but life got in the way; so here we are two weeks late.
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, a whole month dedicated to raising awareness that there are people out there that are suffering abuse at the hands of loved ones. People who are beaten and battered either physically, emotionally or verbally. My question is why? Why is only October set aside to raise awareness. How about Domestic Violence Awareness Year, Decade, Century or Millennia? The problem is epidemic; shouldn’t the effort to make people aware be just as large?
People need to be reminded that there is a problem. If they don’t see it they ignore it. Out of sight out of mind, as they say. Worse, they think the solution is simple. To the woman being beaten by her husband they say leave. To the children being abused by parents the say call OCY/CYS/CPS. They don’t realize that it isn’t so cut and dried. The woman may be afraid of what her spouse will do if she tries to leave and statistics show that children are more likely to be abused in the custody of OCY/CYS/CPS than in their own home.
Then of course there are the men that are abused by their wives or girlfriends. We don’t hear about them because men aren’t comfortable being seen as a victim, especially a victim of a woman. It’s a stigma that keeps the abuse underreported and out of the public consciousness. It’s a shame; no, it’s a crime.
Somewhere, right now, a woman is being choked into unconsciousness by her husband, a man is being run down by his wife, a child is being thrown across the room because his brother splashed water on the bathroom floor. While you sit reading this, safe and warm, a child is locked in a cupboard, a woman is being told that she is an ungrateful, worthless whore and a man is being beat with a cricket bat. Enjoy your coffee.
“But, what can I do?” you ask. Talk about the issue, get involved, donate your time or money to a domestic violence shelter. Educate yourself about the issue and then educate others. Whatever you do just don’t shrug it off and leave it to others. Doing that is tantamount to helping the abusers perpetrate their unspeakable evil. Don’t be a passive accomplice; be the voice of the victim! Many of them have no voice of their own and they need us to speak up.
(Pharos Publishing is putting together a Domestic Violence charity anthology to raise money and awareness. If you are an author who would be willing to donate a story to that volume contact me and I will put you in contact with its editor.)
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Cynthia D. Witherspoon: A Twelfth Night Interview
This month we’re talking to author Cynthia D. Witherspoon about her new book Deception, which was just released at the beginning of the month, her next book The Fanatic, due out in December, productivity and writing with a partner. But before we share the interview with you let’s look at the books.
I found the shower room, turned the water on and stepped beneath its stinging spray. I wanted to wash away the dark anger and pain left behind by the hatred of those poor, murdered women in my dreams—women who seemed, somehow, to be me. My very bones throbbed from the cruel impact I had suffered against the stone. My skin felt bruised from falling beams, the smoke of the burning pyre seemed to still be in my lungs.
The water didn't help. I slid down the slick tile wall and shuddered, closed my eyes as I wrapped my arms around my knees.
I focused on Tommy.
He's not Matthew Hopkins. He's not either of those men. Tommy wouldn't hurt me…he couldn't ever, ever hurt me…
I sat there until the water turned cold. When I finally made it back to the temporary cot assigned to me, I knew what I was going to do. What I would have to do, not just to save myself, but to save Tommy as well.
Tommy would never hurt me like those women in my dreams had been hurt.
But the Witchfinders would. And Tommy was close, so close to WFG. I had to get back to Manning—not just to be with him, but to save him. I had to get back there to stop the Witchfinders before they changed him into someone he wasn't meant to be, someone I could hate. Someone who could hurt me.
I had no other option.
I sat on my cot; the sleeping forms had ignored my screaming earlier and now ignored the tears falling in silence down my face.
These women...these unlucky few...they have no idea what it is like to truly lose someone they love....
Even I knew how selfish that sounded. The women I now lived with had come from homes where the men were more concerned with breaking them than loving them. My rational side said I was the lucky one. I'd never had to suffer at the hands of anyone I loved.
But the selfish part of me, the childish part, didn't care.
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window reflecting the nightlife of downtown Raleigh as my heart tried to piece itself back together.
The Fanatic:
But I know. I had learned real quick to rely on the one hero who had been here all along. The one person I'd always been afraid to believe in.
Myself.
I was going to create my own happily ever after, and my enemies would be damned for it.
I lit the final candle before I stepped back to inspect my deathbed. I had set everything up in the center of my living room. Three red candles flickered on the headboard. Two black ones gleamed at the foot. The sheets had been soaked with as much kerosene as I could legally buy here in Los Angeles. Perhaps it was the fumes affecting me, or perhaps I had finally gone over the proverbial edge, but I smiled. Within the hour, all of my problems would disappear. If my work here was successful, the one person responsible for my life falling apart would be damned along with me.
I wanted to die. I wasn’t afraid. I had spent my life trying to discover all I could about what lay on the other side of the Veil. After all, death was my business. Spirits were my passion. I’d been obsessed with the grave for as long as I could remember. When I was little, my momma tried to replace my obsession with the grandeur of heaven. If only I would give my soul to Jesus, then I would be alright.
I wasn’t alright. I never would be again. Besides, Heaven wasn’t meant for the likes of me. I was going to hell.
And I was going to make damn sure my enemies would join me there.
Yes, tonight was my night. I had been preparing for this moment since I had been fired three months earlier. See, I had been one of the lucky ones. I was once a presenter on the highest rated show on television. I traveled the world, studying the paranormal with a passion unmatched by anyone else. I had money. Fame. Fans.
Until the ratings started to fall. I glared at the photographs scattered among past due notices and the eviction letter received just this afternoon on the floor around my bed. Once again, I muttered curses at the face staring back up at me. I had been replaced by a stupid girl who claimed to have abilities no one could actually possess. Eva McRayne's Grave Messages hit the airwaves and shoved me out of the job which had been my calling. Now my show was nothing more than a DVD box set. All of my hard work forgotten thanks to a blonde idiot who would prance around, call out to Apollo, then pretend to pass on the last words of the dead.
I hated her. I hated everything about her.
It was true that Grave Messages hadn't been her idea. In the interviews I had seen, she would laugh at the idea of being on television. McRayne would give the credit to her co-host, Elliot Lancaster, but he was nothing. He was worthless.
I had studied the tabloids which carried the pictures of them together. There were headlines boasting the two of them were in love. It was unprofessional and sickening. But the knowledge I had gained from those articles would come in handy tonight.
McRayne and Lancaster had met at the University of Georgia some five years before. When Lancaster had graduated, his daddy gave him a television show and of course, the blonde tagged along after him. The facts got hazy from there. McRayne's bio online said she had been forced into her role as the Sibyl during a conference. It was a good story, but I had once been a headliner for those conferences. No one in their right minds with any sort of power would give it all up to a stranger. Not when there was money to be made. Why give up your livelihood to a stranger who didn't appreciate it? No, her story didn't make any sense. She was the lie. She was the fraud.
But I wasn't. And I would make damned sure she knew it.
They look interesting and now on with the interview:
1.) You have a new book out on November 1st and another in December, what will you tell us about them?
Deception: The Witchfinder Wars (November 1) is a continuation of The Witchfinder Wars, which is my collaboration with the great K.G. McAbee. The bloodline of the Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins had been cursed back in the 17th century, and it carries on into modern day. This second book in the series explores the darker side of that curse.
The Fanatic (December 1st) is the second book in my solo project The Oracle Series. In book one, The Sibyl, we see Eva McRayne accept a job as a reality show host for a ghost hunting show. But before filming starts, she is turned into the Sibyl, the messenger of the dead. The Fanatic sees Eva further testing the waters in her new role as she is threatened because of it.
2.) What themes do you explore in these books?
In both books, I explore the themes of how far will you go for a love that is lost? What is worth saving? Memories or the future?
3.) What themes are you most passionate about and which of your works explore them?
Loss and resurrection. There is something powerful about someone who can rise from the ashes.
4.) What other projects are on your radar for the near future?
My steampunk collaboration with K.G. McAbee Gilded Cages begs for a sequel, so after National Novel Writing Month is over, we are going to focus on that. Then I hope to finish the third book in The Oracle Series and have the final book in The Witchfinder Wars out.
5.) You will have published three books in roughly three months, what is the secret to that kind of productivity?
A good partnership with a supportive co-author. K.G. McAbee and I have always worked well together, so speed has never been a problem for us. As for The Oracle Series, I don’t sleep much. I daydream. I write where ever and whenever I can. Ten minutes every hour can turn into a manuscript in no time.
6.) Which authors do you feel have had the most influence on you and on your work?
Isabel Allende is the first because her work, The House of Spirits, introduced me to what I call mystic realism when I was in high school. I loved how she wove superstitions and the magick beliefs of her culture into a story based in a realistic setting.
I would say that K.G. McAbee has had the largest influence on my writing. Not just because she puts up with me and edits all the crap out, but she gave me the knowledge and the courage to get my work out in the first place.
7.) What is your favorite book written by yourself and by someone else and why?
Gilded Cages is my favorite book written by myself (with K.G. McAbee) because I absolutely fell in love with the characters. I can read it repeatedly and still get that excitement – that thrill – of reading a great scene every time.
Memoirs of a Geisha is my favorite book written by someone else. This is because Arthur Goldman was able to transport me into a world long disappeared and made me want to stay there. I had a major emotional response to that story, and it has stuck with me.
8.) Is there any question that you dislike answering and why?
No. I enjoy interviews because they make me think – and reexamine – myself.
9.) Is there a question that you wish someone had asked you and what is your answer to it?
Q: What’s the best way to write?
A: One word at a time. If you don’t get the words down, you’ll never get it finished.
10.) What is the hardest part of being a writer?
I can’t say there is a hard part, because I love the work so much. Yes, rejections and critics could be considered a ‘hard part’, but they aren’t hard because I take them in stride. Even my stories never sold, and no one ever read them, I would still write them because they are stories I want to read, but no one else has written yet.
11.) What do you want your legacy to be?
My love for the art of writing.
12.) Where can readers find you on the internet?
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cynthia-D-Witherspoon/315516345297331
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5763763.Cynthia_D_Witherspoon
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cdwitherspoon
Cynthia D. Witherspoon is an award winning writer of Southern Gothic, Paranormal Romance, and Urban Fantasy. She currently resides in South Carolina, but spent three years in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Always an avid reader, she began writing short stories in college. She graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in History from Converse College, and earned a Masters in Forensic Science at Oklahoma State University Center for Health Sciences.
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