There
have been so many authors and books I’ve loved over the years, it’s really
difficult to pick just one. In the romance genre, favorites are Jacqueline
Carey’s Kushiel series and Karen Marie Moning’s Highlander series. But I read
other genres, too. I’m particularly fond of urban fantasy, even without
romantic elements. My newest “favorite” author is Seanan McGuire. Her October
Daye character is compelling. And of course, I love Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden.
Who doesn’t?
I’m
also strongly drawn to mythology and all things Celtic. The symbolism is just
so rich. And the Arthurian legend has a timeless appeal. I think I’ve read most
fantasy depictions of both Arthur and the grail myth. My favorites are by
Marian Zimmer Bradley and Mary Stewart.
For
most of my reading life, I didn’t write. Not fiction anyway. I’ve always been
steeped in mythology, but that was as an analyst, not a writer. I’m not sure
how I jumped the fence from reader to reader and author. I blame one of my
other passions, mountaineering, for the transition. I’ve spent years’ worth of
days in the backcountry. Even if I was part of a climbing party, people travel
at different rates, so my time in the mountains has mostly always been by
myself. That sort of solitude gives you lots of “head time.” What went on in my
head were stories. Mostly urban fantasy, but high fantasy and science fiction
as well.
I
came back from a trip where we climbed Bear Creek Spire over Labor Day 2008 and
did something different. I sat down at my keyboard. Three months later, I had a
five hundred page novel. It wasn’t very good. How could it have been? Writing
is a craft just like anything else. But it was a beginning. I learned a lot
between writing that book and its sequel. At the tail end of 2009, my first
short story, a hard science fiction tale set in Antarctica, was published. In
the intervening three years, I’ve managed to get three novels (soon to be four)
and over twenty pieces of shorter fiction published by a variety of webzines,
magazines, anthologies and small presses. Just to keep things honest, I’ve had
double that number rejected.
Along
the way I’ve developed a huge respect for writers. Most of our time isn’t spent
writing. Nope. It’s spent editing or marketing. Terry Brooks wrote a book called
Sometimes the Magic Works. Apparently
he writes his manuscript once, edits it once and it done. My jaw dropped open
when I read that. By the time I’m done with any of my manuscripts, I’ve read
them over so many times I know if a comma’s been moved. For those of you who
might be curious, that’s between six and ten times, more if you count my
back-and-forth writing style. It’s not so bad when it’s a short story or
novella, but those hundred thousand word novels are an enormous time commitment.
Circling
back to authors and genres, my very favorite blend is paranormal romance. I
fell in love with the romance genre (no pun intended) when I was much younger.
There’s nothing quite so good at sweeping me away as a strong, sexy alpha. It’s
even better if he’s a shifter. The dual animal nature makes a guy that much
more appealing. On the gal front, I like them with attitude: resilient and
gutsy. No shrinking violets in my books. Also no “rescue me” maidens. Reading
is a wonderful escape, so the characters need to be larger than life: brave,
bold, and adventuresome, both in the bedroom and out.
Who
are your favorite fictional characters? Why him (or her) and not a different
one? I’d love to hear from you.
Guest Post by Author Ann Gimpel
Destiny’s Shadow
By Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
ISBN: 978-1-93176-135-2
Genre: Paranormal Romance
A ranger for the U.S.
Park Service, strong, competent Moira Shaughnessy is in serious trouble.
Fleeing from her cheating husband, a Native American shaman, she stumbles into
the arms of a man she never thought she’d see again. He hurt her once by
choosing his druid heritage over her. Can she take a chance on him now?
Pursuing very
different motives, both men follow her deep into the backcountry. Moira is
caught in the crossfire between Celtic magic and Native American shamanism. A
freak blizzard compounds her problems, taxing her survival skills to the max.
Against the specter of almost-certain death, the sweetest, purest love she’s
ever known rises to the fore, engulfing her in unbelievable passion.
Excerpt:
Moira Shaughnessy’s booted feet
hit the ground in front of the Family Medicine Clinic. Slamming the door of the
dusty white Park Service pickup, she considered ignoring her boss’s orders,
peeling out of the parking lot, and heading for the Baxter Pass trailhead. She
had a crew to oversee, goddammit. And a work project to complete. But her boss,
John, had been painstakingly clear, both yesterday at Park Headquarters in
Three Rivers, and just ten minutes ago on the sat phone. Granted, he’d been far
more pointed on the phone.
“It’s not a suggestion, Moira,” he’d growled.
“This is a directive—from me. I want to hear from someone with MD after his
name before I authorize you to head up that work detail. Do not set one foot on
that trail before you receive my orders, e-sign them, and e-mail them back to
me.”
“But that’s
usually a formality—”
“Not this
time. No buts. I made you an appointment at the clinic in Bishop that clears
some of our crews. They’re open until six. I already lost two rangers this
summer in the Pinecrest fire. That was two too many in my book, so get your
butt into that clinic.”
Moira had
thought she could avoid dealing with the whole mess by leaving the office early
yesterday and taking one of the northern passes over the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, but John had tracked her down.
Phooey. I ran, but guess I
couldn’t hide…
It was
downright annoying that her boss needed a doctor to reassure him she wouldn’t
collapse or something in the backcountry. For the briefest of moments, she felt
like pounding her fist into the nearest tree—then she pulled herself together.
Nothing was wrong with her, except her slimy, cheating husband. Sure, she’d
lost a few pounds since she’d moved out, but she hadn’t been all that hungry.
Problem was
John remembered similar struggles from years ago when she’d first started
working as a park ranger. She hadn’t eaten enough then, either, and had gotten
far too thin. Just her luck, he’d been overseeing a backcountry work detail
when she’d gotten woozy and fallen off one of the mules.
Understanding
surfaced. Her boss cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing. The anger bled out
of her with a whoosh.
“May as well
get this over with,” she muttered. Moira walked briskly to the clinic, pushed
the door open, and went to the counter.
“Yes?” A
young woman with dyed red hair looked up from her computer screen with eyes so
green she had to be wearing colored contact lenses.
“Moira
Shaughnessy. I think you’re expecting me. My boss called from Kings
Canyon-Sequoia Park Headquarters.”
The
receptionist clicked a few keys. “Your insurance card, please.”
Moira blew
out an impatient breath. She dug through her fanny pack for her wallet,
extracted the plasticized Blue Cross card, and handed it over. “I’m really in a
bit of a hurry—”
“Here’s your
card back.” The clerk gestured at the nearly full waiting room. “The doctor
will be with you as soon as he can. He had a full schedule before he agreed to
work you in.”
“Is it okay
if I go outside for a few minutes? I need to lock my truck. I, uh, didn’t think
I’d be in here for very long.”
“Sure. So
long as we know where to find you.” The phone trilled. The woman picked it up,
Moira obviously forgotten. “Family Medicine, how may I help you?”
Moira paced
up and down the parking lot. Fall had turned the aspen trees lining Bishop’s
streets to shades of red and gold that were really quite striking, but all she
could think about were the minutes ticking by. It was twelve miles from the
trailhead to the top of the pass, and a couple more to where her trail crew
was. Leaving today would be foolhardy at this point. She’d never even make the
pass before night fell.
“Damn it!”
She glanced at her watch. How long was this going to take anyway?
“Ms.
Shaughnessy?” A man’s voice sounded from behind her.
She spun,
surprised out of her funk. And stopped dead. “Tim?” Moira stared at the tall,
rangy man with long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was dressed in teal
scrubs and sandals with a stethoscope draped around his neck. A broad grin
split the clean planes of his face. She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly
beautiful he was.
“I saw the
name and hoped it was you.” He held out a hand, but she felt frozen in place.
“After all, how many Moira Shaughnessys could there be?”
She just
stood there, flabbergasted. What were the odds? She hadn’t seen Tim O’Malley
since they’d both graduated from U.C. Davis. When she realized her mouth was
hanging open, she shut it with a snap.
“Is that any
way to greet an old friend?” One corner of his mouth turned down in an
expression she remembered all too well.
“It’s just …
I mean I never expected…” She felt warmth rise from the open neck of her
buff-colored uniform shirt. Heat suffused her face until she was certain every freckle
was outlined in bright, living color.
“Hey, mo ghrá.
I know we didn’t split up under the best of circumstances…”
“No shit.
And you can skip the beloved part.” A
familiar anger stirred, but she batted it aside.
“Moira, I’m
sorry. I was sorry then, and I still am.” He sounded so sincere, it tugged at
her heartstrings. Part of her wanted to believe him, and part of her was afraid
to.
About the Author
Short Bio:
Ann Gimpel is a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian
bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness
photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the
unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her
short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Three
novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and
Psyche's Promise are small press
publications available in e-format and paperback. A husband, grown children,
grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)
Long Bio:
Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at
heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she
remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside
four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry.
Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!),
she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love
with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing
evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and
relatives along, Ann prefers her solitude. Stories always ran around in her
head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when
challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company.
Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat down at the computer. Three months
later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a
beginning. And, she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around that time, a friend of
hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before
that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty
regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her
tales often have a green twist.
In addition to writing, Ann
enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack
to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her
pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That
someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time.
Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.
