Category Archives: PJ’s Guests
Mariam Kobras’ “Love is in the Air” Blog Hop Kickoff
I am pleased to welcome a special guest to my blog today. Author Mariam Kobras is here to tell us about her journey to publication and to kick off her “Love is in the Air” Blog Hop! Follow the action on Twitter by searching “#TDSBlogHop”.
PJ: Thanks so much for joining me as my special guest on my blog, Mariam! We’ve been Twitter friends for a long time and I’m thrilled with your success!
MK: Thank you for inviting me, PJ, the honor is all mine. And yes, it seems like we’ve been friends for ages!
PJ: I want to start by asking you about the main character in your novel, international rock star “Jonathon Stone” – is there a real celebrity who inspired the persona of Stone?
MK: When my publisher and I met for lunch the first time, she asked me the same question, and added, “because he reminds me of Bruce Springsteen!”
Heck, who am I to argue with my publisher?
Seriously? There is no “real” rock star. Jon is his own person. He’s a Brooklyn boy from a normal, middle class family. His mother is a retired teacher, and his father was a surgeon. His divorced sister Valerie is a music teacher at the same school he went to as a kid, and his brother Kevin is a doctor, like their father. His mother still lives in the same house where Jon grew up, not too far from the promenade. Jon is the only one who has the ambition to be more, to be famous. At the point where The Distant Shore starts, he is in his mid-forties, and ready to take a new path, to leave the stage and get involved in serious composing. In fact, Jon and Naomi, his wife, develop a Broadway musical together.
PJ: Can you tell us about your journey to publication with Buddhapuss Ink? What has publishing with a small press been like?
MK: In a word: awesome. I met Buddhapuss on twitter, I think about two years ago. For a long time we just chatted about their puppy, the weather and coffee, until I posted page 99 of The Distant Shore on my blog. Within minutes I got a message with a request for the full manuscript. Several months later, I signed a contract with them. I’ve never looked back.
PJ: What do you feel the advantages are of publishing with a small press over a large press?
MK: I enjoy working with Buddhapuss. I like how personal it is, how much I’m involved in the publishing process, and how much I have learned about editing. You wouldn’t get that at a large house.
But…I have to tell you, I think with my heart. I “knew” I wanted to be signed with Buddhapuss. There were two other publishers requesting the book BEFORE I signed with them, and I refused. I WANTED Buddhapuss. And I’m glad I followed my gut feeling. I’m at home with them.
PJ: Can you tell us about the editing process?
MK: For me, it was easy. But then I’ve been very, very lucky with my editor. We speak the same language, we think alike. I can’t tell where my writing ends and her edits begin. I’m totally comfortable with her work.
I’m even thinking it would be kind of fun to write a book with her. A collaboration. I think it would work.
PJ: Did you consider self-publishing?
MK: Never. Not for a moment, ever. I wanted a traditional publisher. Not even an ePublisher would have done it for me. This may be old-fashioned, but I wanted to hold a printed book in my hands. A printed book, published by a publishing house, with my name and their colophon on the spine. It’s the validation I need. And it’s the vindication for the many hours I stole from my family, writing.
PJ: And how did a one-book deal turn into a three-book deal? Did you always
know the story of Jonathon Stone would be a trilogy?
MK: I think so, yes. I used to teach theater classes at a high school before I REALLY started writing. When I took that job, there was only an empty, unused auditorium, no technical equipment, no props, nothing. We started from scratch. It was a wonderful time. I had to learn a lot about lighting, sound engineering, stage settings, basically everything. There was no one else! I even had to write the plays myself.
During that time, I went to a number of big rock and pop concerts—Simply Red, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Diamond, Chris de Burgh, some others, even Cirque de Soleil—and found I was more interested in the technical aspects of the production than the show itself. It fascinated me. I counted the containers on the parking lot behind the venues. I would stay after the shows, until they threw me out, watching them dismantling the stages. I found I wanted to write about that, as well as about the musical productions I had put on myself.
From Jon Stone, the lovesick rock star to a Broadway show…somehow that works for me.
PJ: What’s the timeline for your books—the second one is in the editing stage now? How’s the third one coming along?
MK: That’s right. The Distant Shore was published this month, and it rocketed!
Book 2 is written and with the publisher for editing. I think you can expect it in September. Book 3 will be out in January or February 2013. January, if I have any say in it.
PJ: Any hints as to what’s coming down the line for Jonathon Stone?
MK: As I’ve already mentioned, he and Naomi will produce a Broadway show. There may or not be a new baby…but, you will have to wait and read the books to find out!
PJ: Have you always written in long-form or have you written short stories as well? Which do you gravitate towards and why?
MK: The thing is, I didn’t write at all before I started Distant Shore. Well, a number of plays for school. But not novels, and not short stories. Doing a novel seemed like a natural choice. I didn’t think about it. I really can’t tell you why.
PJ: How do you feel about genres – do you feel comfortable placing your book in a particular genre?
MK: My novels were placed by the publisher, on the “contemporary fiction/romance” shelf. I’m quite comfortable with that. Some day I’d like to see one of my books get the label “literary fiction”. That’s where I would like to be.
PJ: Do you have any tips for aspiring writers who would like to follow in your footsteps?
MK: Well, if they want to follow in MY footsteps, there’s only one word of advice: WRITE.
End of story.
Sit down, and write.
PJ: Thanks so much for joining me today, Mariam! Best wishes to you!
This was the first stop on Mariam’s “Love is in the Air” Blog Hop & Giveaway. We hope you enjoyed reading this interview.
Buddhapuss Ink LLC will be giving away copies of Mariam’s first book The Distant Shore along with some other pretty terrific (and very Romantic) gifts as we count down the days to Valentine’s Day!
Want to enter the giveaway?
Leave a comment for this post for one entry. We also encourage you to “Like” this blog and follow it!
Want more chances to win? CLICK HERE for all the info!
Are You Ready for Tuesday?
I’ve been lucky enough to be involved in two recent projects with Emergent Publishing – “Nothing But Flowers” and “100 Stories for Queensland.” ”Nothing But Flowers includes my story “Golden Opportunity” and “100 Stories for Queensland” includes my story “Save Me Hay-Zeus” in the “Staff Contributions” section.
Emergent Publishing is planning an Amazon Chart Rush tomorrow, Tuesday May 17, 2011. Jodi Cleghorn was kind enough to share the following information with me about both books and the chart rush:
What’s a Chart Rush?
Readers are invited to purchase a book on Amazon, in a nominated 24-hour period, with the intent to capitalise on the volume of sales to move the book up the Amazon best seller list. The higher up the chart it is (we’re aiming for a spot in the top 100) the more visible it becomes to other readers who may go on to purchase it.
It’s all about exposure and helping new readers find the books.
This Tuesday – May 17, 2011.
This coming Tuesday eMergent Publishing will be releasing 100 Stories for Queensland and Nothing But Flowers via an Amazon Chart Rush. We’re inviting readers to purchase one or both books on that day with the aim of getting them into the top 100 selling books for the day (and beyond!)
By releasing both charity anthologies concurrently we’re hoping people will add one extra book to their cart on the day, whether that be someone stumbling onto 100 Stories… or Nothing But Flowers for the first time.
If you can’t buy on the day, you can add it to your wishlist. Every little bit counts to rocket the books up the chart.
You can find both books on Amazon and Amazon UK.
Nothing But Flowers retails at US$17.99 or ₤5.99
100 Stories for Queensland retails at US$19.99 or ₤9.99
What is Nothing But Flowers?
Nothing But Flowers is the second Literary Mix Tapes anthology and the first to make it into paperback. It started on the 6th of January (a week before 100 Stories was launched) as a Valentine’s Day anthology with the goal of creating stories exploring the challenges and complexities of love in a post-apocalyptic world.
With the flood disaster already weeks old, I suggested to the authors involved we donate the money generated by the sale of the anthology to a flood related charity. But I had no idea the disaster which was only days away and waiting to travel in the worst apocalyptic sense, down the Lockyer Valley and into Brisbane.
I worked on Nothing But Flowers side by side with 100 Stories for Queensland, in a crazy juggling act which was made possible by the wonderful support of Maureen, David, Trevor, Nick and all the other wonderful literary folk who read, voted and edited the stories of 100 Stories for Queensland in the first six weeks. When Nothing But Flowers was web-released on Valentines Day the hits to the site were the equivalent of selling 60 paperbacks in 48 hours!
The book has been getting rave reviews, so please, if you are dropping into Amazon on Tuesday to buy 100 Stories, consider adding Nothing But Flowers to your shopping cart! All funds collected from the sale of Nothing But Flowers will be donated to the Grantham Flood Support Flood.
Thanks very much for the information, Jodi – please join us on Tuesday to help both of these worthy causes. And don’t forget, these terrific books make wonderful holiday gifts 
A guest #FridayFlash – “Chicken Sh*tfaced” by Monica Marier (Part 2 of 2)
Due to Blogger’s prolonged outage, I am welcoming my friend Monica Marier as my guest today with her Friday Flash story. Please make Monica feel right at home 
CHICKEN SH*TFACED PART 2 of 2
By Monica Marier
This is the conclusion of last week’s story, which can be found HERE
A special thanks goes to PJ Kaiser for helping me post this in a time of techno-drama.
The night was in full swing when the two men trod shivering through the black soup of darkness. The lantern swung erratically in large arcs casting ghostly fairy lights and demonic shadows across gnarled trees. He and Vilori had followed the tracks as they led with distinct purpose to apple orchard that marked the edge of Uncle Red’s farm.
“Think the chickens got peckish and decided to have a late tea of apples?”
“Chickens don’t eat apples, Vilori,” said Harcourt. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “But I hope for our sakes they’re trying.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause if they haven’t stopped at the orchard, and they’re headed due South… that means that they went into The Terrible Woods.”
“Which terrible woods would that be?” asked Vilori.
“That one! The Terrible Woods! Capital ‘T’—The Terrible Woods.”
“Is that really its name? How unimaginative!” cried Vilori in disgust.
“Yes. It was named by a town of very unimaginative people… WHO KEPT DYIN’ in the woods,” hissed Harcourt.
“What, is it Haunted? Do the ghosts come out at night?” asked Vilori with a snort.
“Ghost nothing! It’s full of dense bracken, sudden drops, peat bogs, wolves, bears, griffons, and dragons, AND poisonous spiders.”
Vilori stopped dead.
“How big are the poisonous spiders?” he asked in a hollow voice.
“They’re poisonous! Does it really matter how big they are?” replied Harcourt.
Vilori nodded. “I concede your point.”
They walked a few more yards in silence, following the razor straight lines of chicken feet and trying not to think of spiders.
“Oh bugger,” sighed Harcourt. The lantern light bounced in his hand, but Vilori plainly saw the chicken tracks leave the soft earth of the orchard and trail into the tall grass bordering it. The grass had been trodden and bent in a tiny thin path no wider than an arm’s length. It led with mathematical precision to the forest. Vilori snatched up the lantern to examine the tracks.
“Well it looks like this wasn’t done by any man, Har,” said Vilori agog. “There’s no signs in the grass that anything bigger than a chicken has gone through here.
“Which means what?”
“Um… the chickens are in on it?” supplied Vilori uncertainly.
“What, like they’re?” asked Harcourt in disgust.
“Well, I don’t know!” mobilzin’ cried Vilori, waving his free arm in exasperation. “What other explanation have we got?
“A spell?” asked Harcourt.
“….yessss,” nodded Vilori nodding his head. “I’ve never heard of chicken magic before.”
“I have,” said Harcourt seriously. “I heard of men in the hot islands that puts paint on their faces and dances around fires and sacrifices chickens. ‘Hoo-doo’ they calls is. Barbaric,” he added.
Vilori sniffed in similar suspicion. “Ah, well that’s foreigners for you. Sacrificin’ all manner of things. As if pidgeons and goats and virgins aren’t good enough.”
“Goats was good enough for me granddad.”
“Indeed. So you think it’s some foreign hoo-doo thingummy stealing chickens with magic?”
Harcourt scratched his sandy chin. “Dunno. It’s better than your idea of mobilizin’ chickens.”
“Yeah, that was stupid, sorry,” sighed Vilori, flushing red.
“S’alright. I know it’s just ‘cause you’re pissed.”
“And how,” mumbled Vilori stifling a belch. “Well, into The Terrible Woods then,” he said tramping through the tall grass for the tree-line.
“You coming?” he asked when he noticed Harcourt lingering behing.
Harcourt nodded. “Yuh. Alright,” he said in a high voice. “Only be careful. The sudden drops in there can break your neck… and the spiders…”
“What do the spiders look like?” asked Vilori warily.
“They look like leaves.”
“Grand.”
***
“Is that a spider?”
“No.”
“Is that a spider?”
“No.”
“Is that a spider?”
“Would you give over already, Vilori!” Harcourt said through clenched teeth. He was trying to keep his voice down, but with Vilori buzzing around him like a gnat it was hard.
“Is that a —”
“SHH!” Harcourt waved at Vilori to shut up. “DO you hear something?”
The men strained their ears for the slightest sound when they both heard it. It was a warbling susurration, like the sound of hundreds of tiny voices having hushed conversations.
“What is that?” asked Vilori.
“It’s chickens! Must be hundreds of em,” said Harcourt advancing slowly. Vilori observed sweat trickling off his friend’s brow in the growing light. “There’s a light up ahead,” he said.
“Someone’s got a fire lit, I reckon.”
“You were right! There’s Hoo-dooing and dancing afoot, no doubt!” hissed Vilori.
“Well the chicken noise is coming from there, so we’ll see.”
“Good. I’m ready to finish up and get to bed,” yawned Vilori. The night was getting colder and a thick mist was starting to rise from the forest floor, undulating in ghostly shapes in front of the lantern. They grew closer to the fire, and unsheathed their swords. Swords could only do so much in the face of magic, but they could generally sever a head from a neck, which was sometimes enough.
Cautiously, they peered over a bramble thicket to see what they were dealing with.
Both men dropped their swords in shock.
“Is that…?”
“It looks like…”
“Dear GODS.”
A large clearing was occupied entirely by chickens.
There wasn’t the slightest sign of human involvement; only avian. They weren’t milling about in typical chicken fashion, but they were evenly spaced in a circle, five deep around a ring of standing stones. Large fires had been lit in key places around the field casting a weird orange glow on the perfectly still birds. In the middle of the ring was a large flat rock lying lengthwise on the ground.
It was currently empty.
“How do chickens light fires?” wondered Harcourt aloud.
“What is this place?” Vilori managed in a terrified voice.
“It’s the faerie ring! It’s older than…than… really old stuff! It probably predates the word ‘old’,” Harcourt stammered, his face ghostly white.
“The chickens aren’t doing anything! They’re just standing there!” squeaked Vilori.
“No, see. They’re all looking outside the ring on the southwest side…. They’re waiting for something!”
“For what?”
As if in answer a loud roar shook the air and made each man cower with his face in the dirt. It sounded like someone trying to saw a bottle in half with cello string.
Vilori and Harcourt gibbered momentarily before rounding up enough sanity to look at what was approaching. Their swords were still on the forest floor, untouched.
A dark shape sillouetted in the firelight descended on the avian crowd. It walked upright like a bird, but there was something distinctly mammalian about it. It had a snout full of cruel teeth despite its coat of feathers, and its feet were definitely paws. It let loose another shriek, similar to a dog’s howl, but there was no mistaking the consonant and resounding “BWARRRRRK!” that shook the tree tops.
Harcourt and Vilori were suddenly more sober than a teacher on Monday.
“It’s a cock-a-doodle,” said Harcourt.
“A what?” asked Vilori.
“Part dog-part rooster. Distant relative of the cockatrice.”
“Cor,” said Vilori. “What’s it got there in its paws?”
Squinting in the gloom the men could make out something round and flat with something lumpy on it. It was clutched awkwardly in the cock-a-doodles forepaws as it approached the flat stone in the middle of the ring. The beast then lay the object in the middle of the stone.
“I don’t like this…” said Harcourt, trembling.
“Why what’s he got?” asked Vilori, trying to make heads or tails of the dim shapes.
“That’s the carcass of the chicken we had for tea tonight,” he said.
Now that he knew what he was looking at, Vilori could indeed see a former chicken picked clean with bits of sage still stuck to its insides. It was even on the willow-ware patterned platter Harcourt’s Aunt had served it on and surrounded by wrinkly cold potatoes.
The cock-a-doodle roared again, and the susurration of idle chickens stopped. Silence blanketed the clearing, and even the crackle of the fires seemed to have stopped.
Then the cock-a-doodle began to utter strange sounds in a low monotone drone. After he began the chickens would answer him, all clucking in perfect unison to a strange rhythm.
“BWAARK BWARRK BWARRRK”
“Bok-bok bok-bok b-bok bwaark!”
“BWAARK BWARRK BWARRRK”
“Bok-bok bok-bok b-bok bwaark!”
“It looks like…” began Harcourt, afraid to finish.
“It looks like a ritual,” answered Vilori.
Harcourt and he exchanged glances of pure horror, before watching the birds and their master again, helplessly captivated by their own curiosities and the mounting terror of events.
The standing stones began to glow an unearthly green and the light channeled by the outlandish carvings in the stones fed into the oblong stone table where the sad remains of dinner sat. The boks and bwarrks grew louder, faster, more fervent as the light grew brighter. Vilori felt the hairs on his arm stand up and felt his ears block up as an oppressive cloud of energy grew around them. Just as the chickens were so frenzied that they seemed about to break out of their orderly ranks the last of the light flowed into the now-glowing dead chicken. Silence reined again.
The men held their breaths as they stared at the carcass. If birds could hold their breaths, it was very likely the chickens were doing the same. Only the cock-a-doodle seemed cooly confidant.
Then it happened.
It was subtle, but every eye, beady or otherwise, caught it.
One of the naked wings began to twitch.
Harcourt and Vilori didn’t know how they got back to Uncle Red’s farm. To Vilori it was all a blur, and if Harcourt remembered, he wasn’t saying anything. Uncle Red and Aunt Primula took it with the resigned attitude of “boys will be boys,” assuming it all to be a drunk hallucination and were kind enough to never bring it up again. It didn’t seem there was any harm done anyways, since all the chickens were back in their coops the following morning.
Although… and this was the strange thing…
…It seemed there was one extra bird.
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