R.S. Bohn is a versatile writer whose stories have been published in many magazines, among them A Twist Of Noir, Thrillers Killers N Chillers, and her story ‘The Black Oak’ can be found in the anthology ‘Etched Offerings’, out now.

Her narratives are striking and visceral and her use of physicality is unerringly effective. She uses humour to great effect in materials that are dark and gritty. She met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about sacred bulls and female killers.

As a female writer do you think there are some sacred bulls living in the headset of US fiction?

Absolutely not.

I say this not with a certain naivete, but because writing has always been the home of the malcontents, the misunderstood, and anyone with an imagination who can make A go to B, thus creating a story. Does that mean that Toni Morrison could have written a story where a young guy gets his kicks using the filter in his family’s pool and ends up yanking out yards of intestine? No, only Chuck Pahlahniuk could’ve written that. But if she had written it, would your typical US reader have vilified her? Perhaps, but only because she’s Toni Morrison and that’s not what Toni Morrison writes. Not because she’s female.

It’s not about sex of the author, and anyone writing — I hope — is being true to who they are. But if that’s true, why do so many women, myself included, use initials? The easy answer is that it’s about branding, about appealing to the largest group of readers for whatever you write. In the back of our heads, we’re all thinking about publication, that elusive “someday” in which a hardcover of ours is sitting on a shelf. Given the choice, would male readers rather buy a gory crime thriller from Susan or Mike?

I think, in the past, it’s probably been Mike. But what I’ve witnessed over the past few years is a flood of female writers into previously male-dominated genres. And the predominately male writers and readership has welcomed them. There’s no Boys Club mentality. The noir community, in fact, is probably the most welcoming place on earth. That’s a group that supports each other, relishes each other’s successes. I think a smoky bar filled with noir writers sounds like heaven. It’d certainly be the most interesting night of my life.

I’m a product of the 80s. I’ve got optimism to spare. I’m only heartened by what I see around the interwebz these days and that, despite the fact that my real name is on every submission, a lot of male editors have taken an enthusiastic hold of my work and put it out there. It’s probably the Eye of the Tiger track that accompanies each one.

If there are any sacred cows, they’re shot down and eaten immediately. J.K. Rowling was untouchable. Then her smartest fans started dissecting the books and the stereotypes presented. The meta for that fandom — and honestly, most of them — is unbelievable. Readers are smarter than we think, so not pandering is the best course. Pandering’s boring, anyway. And don’t chicken out. If there’s a bunch of bull taking up space in your head, put a bullet through its brain and spill its blood on the page.

Do you think that female killers are motivated by different things than male killers?

I’m not sure they are. I think the writers of female/male killers are coming from different places. It’s like writing smut–from the outside, the mechanics look the same. But perceptually, what’s going on inside their heads or how to describe what they’re doing is going to be very different, depending on who’s telling you about it.

Everyone, no matter what sort of higher reasoning or expansive vocabulary with which they choose to explain themselves, behaves due to the same base urges. It all boils down to power: who’s got it, who lost it and wants it back, who’s willing to give it away in exchange for something else. Even hit men and assassins. The “cold-blooded” have something that drives them, even if it’s not readily apparent. It’s not all about the money. The most intriguing characters within those professions have some very interesting views on what they do, how they came to it and why they do it. I’m not saying they’re necessarily tormented, but there’s more going on than meets the eye. Layers of subtlety. And a character who is self-aware is, to me, always the most interesting to read.

Who are your literary influences?

It’s changed over time, but my soul absolutely leapt when I first read Jane Eyre. I found it in a house about to be demolished; the former owner had died, and his entire home seemed to be frozen in 1940. Reading the first few pages of that extravagant, dramatic book with that sort of language seeping into my brain while sitting on a dust-covered chair and being bitten up by fleas is one of my best memories. Changed my world forever. I was eleven.

I still like mile-long sentences with loads of fifty-dollar words. Not necessarily a good thing, but there it is.

Stephen King.

Chuck Pahlahniuk, who shakes me up every time I read something of his. Thank you, Playboy, for first introducing me to him. I also highly recommend Playboy for its monthly dose of amazing, high-quality fiction.

Joe Hill’s short story, “Pop Art,” in his collection, “20th Century Ghosts,” may be the single best short I’ve ever read. The collection is good overall, but well-worth it just for “Pop Art.” Spec-fic at its absolute best. I learned a lot from that story. And best horror novel ever? Hands down, Hill’s “Heart-Shaped Box.” Clearly, Hill learned at a lot at his poppa’s knee – his father being no less than Mr. King himself. I find myself trying to study King and Hill, yet always end up lost in their stories.

But above all else, Ray Bradbury. I probably have everything he’s ever produced, in as many permutations as possible. He is one of only two authors I’ve written a fan letter to. To his eternal credit, he wrote me back. A nice letter and a signed copy of one of his poems. Even now, when I’m stuck, need a dose of inspiration, want to get lost — I pick a Bradbury book at random and read. His use of language is astonishing and unique; poetry, sparse, perfect. “The Veldt” and “boys! grow giant mushrooms in your cellar!” are both outstanding and favorites of mine.

What do you think the difference is between Noir and Twilight Zone?

Noir grounds us in reality. It may be one of the most accurate reflections of society ever to come along. And I’m not sure noir has to apply to a certain time period, say, the last hundred years. There have always been disenfranchised characters living on the fringe, flying under the radar, harboring lust and greed and revenge in their hearts. Was there Victorian noir? Egyptian? Maybe Sherlock Holmes. One of the best things about living today is that someone could write Egyptian noir. Certainly one of the most lustful, violent societies ever to exist. Incan noir would be fantastic, too.

But Twilight Zone is truly fantastic, in that other sense. Probably the first exposure to speculative fiction that most people have known. And some might argue that my previous imaginings of Roman, Egyptian, Incan noir would fit more into this category, but T.Z. is about injecting that element of the unreal into a reality-based situation. And it ends on a, “But what really did happen that night?” note. Noir ends with a body and the concrete evidence that shit went down.

Do you think men in Noir literature are defined by the manipulations of the femme fatale?

It certainly seems, sometimes, as if women are the driving factors behind many of the nasty things men in noir get up to. But rather than coming across as “Women = Evil,” I am constantly thrilled by what I consider a deep respect and even worshipful attitude towards women. Women in noir are strong, even when they’re the victim. They may be stripping their clothes off, counting the bills from last night’s deal, or just sitting back, smoking a cigarette (maybe with or without a target on their temple), but they’re no delicate flowers. It’s a level playing field.

The men in noir aren’t so much defined by the manipulations of the femme fatale as living up to the challenge. That’s a glorious thing. And if I can say so, while the shit men get up to is interesting in its own right — I’ve been studying the male in its natural habitat for a long time, and what a fascinating study it’s been — the addition of a strong woman only makes things more delicious. I don’t think there’s a man in noir who would argue that, even when he’s got a high heel pressed to his throat and her gun pointed at his forehead.

Tell us about your novel.

The saddest folder on my external hard drive is the one titled “Unfinished Novels.” I’m not going to say how many actual unfinished books are in there, or how many chapters, or that one of them is twenty-one chapters of a Lord of the Rings rip-off with zombies and steampunk helicopters, but I will say that it’s useful to look in there from time to time and say, “You know, this really sucks. But at least I had the idea.”

Ideas aplenty, I’ve got. It’s the execution of a longer piece. The subtlety and promise of a short story or flash fic is so enticing; it just tickles the imagination. It seems like putting all those promises on the page, cementing them there, takes out some of the magic and replaces it with, you know, a massive amount of hard work.

I’m knocking on wood as I say this, but I’m finally writing a book in which all that hard work is fun. It’s fascinating, and I wake up every day thinking about it, ready to work on it. And instead of winging it — my previous formula for writing a novel — I’ve got outlines and two dry-erase boards with notes. I like it. It’s working. Mostly.

Readers of my blog will probably recognize where the idea for this sprang from. “The Witch’s Lover” was originally micro-flash inspired by a daily OneWord prompt. I wondered which witch was telling it, and from there, it spiraled into a story of post-adolescent crushes, dark and creepy obsession, and the sort of tragic horror that I’d never dared explore before.

Two witches–sisters–and Autumn, set in a fairy-tale world of bawdy-joke-cracking blue jays and lake nymphs that steal their loves away, beneath the water.

If I can pull this off, I’ll be quite pleased with myself, which would be a nice counterpoint to the daily “WTF is this!” that my writing usually incites.

Other than that, readers can look for my work in the Pagan anthology, “Etched Offerings,”  and four others to be released this year.

Do you believe that the doppelganger is the ideal or Nemesis, and do you have an alter ego?

In the strictest sense, a doppelganger is Nemesis. But I do think there is worth in exploring the idea that a “bad” you is inherently freeing and even educational. There’s no better realization of this concept than in “Fight Club.” Of course, where one goes after meeting one’s doppelganger is the most interesting part; like some of the best noir, it asks the question, How did a good guy go bad? Or better: Where is the gray area of the soul, and who’s willing to walk there?

I admit to willfully ignoring my doppelganger for a long time. Then, almost without thinking about it, I adopted an alternate ego. It grew by leaps and bounds. I had monikers — Smut Queen! — I had worshipful readers; I had an inbox full of lavish praise and tons of reviews. I felt as if I was living two lives, and at some point, it no longer became fun. It became a real drag, actually. And a little creepy. So I killed her.

And maybe I took it all a little too seriously. “With great power comes great responsibility.” Oh, fuck me. Like I was the Mother Theresa of porn.

I don’t want to do it again — develop another identity. It’s exhausting. Not to mention that I’m prone to existential crises — otherwise known as Drama Queen Syndrome. “But no one knows/likes the real me!” The only downside is that if I get tired of me, it’s a little more difficult to kill me off. I may have to hire someone.

Is there a particular incident that has changed your life and influenced your writing?

I once was an avid hiker, and had the pleasure of living for a few years just outside of Seattle. I planned my weekends by hikes: this trail, that mountain. There are areas on the maps of Washington State that say “Wilderness.” Those people aren’t kidding. We’re talking bears and cougars and wolves and any number of things that I believe were dreamed up by Neil Gaiman and Stephen King, and then released into the wilds of western Washington to see how they’d get along. They have books that you sign at the trailhead, along with a warning that basically says, “Did you tell your mother you’d be out here? Because we need to know who to call when we find your mangled, half-devoured body five weeks from now.”

My boyfriend at the time got drunk one night, fell into a bonfire, and I left his sorry ass at the party in someone’s back forty (a literal back forty) with the parting words, “You better be home by six for the hike.” He broke in through our bathroom window at five (of course I locked the door and refused to answer it), and promptly fell asleep on the tile. And I, showing much more maturity and wisdom than he, decided that I would go on a hike marked, in my little black-and-white trail guide, as “for experienced hikers only” and “dangerous.” Alone.

I didn’t sign the book when I got to the trailhead, either. You know where this is going.

I actually made it to the top of the mountain, photographed a bald eagle on its nest beside a mountain-top lake, and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while my legs finished trembling. And then I hiked back down.

Stupid deers. Stupid, stupid deers and their stupid deer trails. Next thing you know, I’m standing in the middle of the woods, nothing matches the grainy pics in my trail guide, I’m out of sandwiches and Kool Aid, and the formerly picturesque moss-covered rocks and ancient terrain now looks like something out of a prehistoric hell.

I fell down a mountainside and skinned both knees and my palms. Got slapped in the face numerous times by pine tree branches. Heard a river, remembered I was parked beside a river, tried to get to the river and found it was bordered by about ninety miles of Devil’s Club. Google it. That is some serious, serious, messed-up plant that Stephen King planted there with his mind.

I went through the Devil’s Club. The river didn’t look too bad. Bit quick. But, you know, I can swim.

Got sucked under, held up my camera the entire time because I somehow assumed that once I was sucked under, I would remain in the same upright position. Hit a rock with my ribs, got chucked out of the river, dragged my bleeding, shivering body up a straight mud-covered incline, only to appear at the quaint fireside of a family of four, cooking hot dogs.

They stared. I staggered. Found the road. A half-hour later, I’m back at my truck. I did not cry, not even once, even when I realized the sun was going down and I’d been gone thirteen hours. What would’ve happened if I’d not found the river? Or if it wasn’t the same river, but another tributary that led deeper into the woods? What would’ve happened when night came? Bear fodder, my friends. Before or after I suffered hypothermia, who knows.

What would’ve happened. The next day, for the first time in years, I picked up a pen and a notebook. I wrote about what did happen — to another girl. Another girl who spent thirteen hours in the wilderness, then another thirteen.

Okay, so there were dinosaurs and that girl managed to evade them with a magical torch and because she could run like the wind. That’s not the point. The point is that I stopped writing, and then I tried again. And when that story turned into a mess, I wrote another terrible one (oh, god, how I hate those 22 year old literary geniuses; I just want to rip their hip, artfully-messy curls out with my dull incisors and spit their scalps on the sidewalk–there, now you know one of my petty jealousies). And well into my thirties, I was writing Mary Sues who survived horrible situations, but every step of the way, I learned something. And I sometimes wonder if I would be writing today if I hadn’t got lost in the wilderness and almost eaten by bears (it could’ve happened!).

Graham Greene said writers have a piece of ice in their hearts. What do you make of his observation?

Not all. Some care for their characters and give them soft landings and jolly endings. Their books are peopled with beautiful folk. Walking about in beautiful places, barely more than gorgeous scenery themselves. They’re quite safe, those books.

And some writers pluck the feathers from their characters’ wings with pliers and then toss them off a ninety-story building. If they turn into Batman or Frodo or anyone in a Bret Easton Ellis novel on the way down, awesome.

No, here is what he probably meant: Writers are not the most philanthropic members of the human race. If we see a conflict occurring, some bit of terribly bad luck happening to someone, a great sadness imploding behind someone’s eyes, we think: I should write this down! I could use it! We’re reporters on the fringe of humanity, but instead of being the straight guy, we’re the ones cracking the morbid jokes. I can’t tell a story the same way twice if I wanted to. And each rendition gets worse.

And then, worst of all, we end it with, “This is a true story,” and expect you to believe it. Because you should. Because if you don’t, we’ll put you in our stories and do gruesome things to you. Writers have ice in our hearts — just a tiny sliver.

Do you believe in the concept of a ‘muse,’ and if so, do you have one?

I do not. I patently reject the concept of a muse. I wrote the story — not some mythical, imagined, supernatural being from another plane. It came directly from me, and is based on the empirical rubbish trail of a lifetime. The ephemera, the glimpses of something, the heart-stopping moments, the mundanity of making a cup of tea. I take full credit, whether the work is good or absolutely atrocious. It’s mine.

I do believe that one can be inspired by anything; I keep a small notebook and pen with me wherever I go. Anything that strikes me as interesting, in any way, gets written down. Phrases, words, names, snippets of conversation, vague ideas. There’s inspiration in literally everything, everywhere. It’s just what leaps out at you, for whatever reason.

Inspiration, yes. Some quirky angel looking over my shoulder, whispering things in my ear, no.

However, I also believe that one of my dead dogs appeared to me in a dream and told me she was all right, so there’s that. No muses. But deceased pets are fine.

Thank you Becky forgiving us a peek into your talented and dark mind.

R.S. Bohn links:

Website

‘Etched Offerings: Voices From the Cauldron of Story’ is available in paperback via the publisher Misanthrope Press and Amazon.com, and in all digital formats at  Smashwords.

Vincent Zandri is the bestselling author of The Innocent and Moonlight Falls, among many others. He writes gritty fast paced thrillers that you cannot put down. He is a journalist and a photo-journalist. He is an accomplished storyteller whose narratives are both real and gritty. His works are available in both paperback and E Book format, and he has just signed a major deal with Thomas and Mercer. He met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about E Books and Noir.

Your novel ‘The Remains’ is a chilling portrait of a predator. How did you come about creating your protagonist?

Ironically enough, when I was first posed this question (I get hit with it a lot), I was taken aback, as if somebody slapped me upside the head. So how did I come up with Rebecca Underhill, painter, art teacher, twin, abduction victim, and the source of one recently freed criminal’s obsession?

The answer is not as simple as it sounds. Often as authors we sit down with a blank sheet of paper and set out to invent our characters based upon a plot we’ve already mulled over for a while. That’s the process I utilized for my novels The Innocent, Godchild, and Moonlight Falls. But The Remains was different. Both the plot and the protagonist came to me based entirely upon the emotional place I was at in my life at the time.
And that place was not a happy place.

I was going through my second divorce to a woman I still loved very much. Her name is Laura. And without going into the details of the breakup, suffice to say it was one of those cruel situations where we both still cared deeply about one another but simply couldn’t live together. This was a new experience for me…not being able to live with someone you love very much. Life isn’t supposed to work that way, or so I thought at the time. It was a theme nonetheless that I wanted to explore in a new novel that did not have a macho lead character who carried a gun and an attitude, but instead a female who was an artist who had recently suffered the dissolution of her own marriage to someone she still very much loved. In this case, a novelist named, Michael (Go figure!).

It was a strange experience for me. Laura and I had broken up, but we still spent much of everyday together and even continued to be romantically intimate up until recently when both of us started seeing other people. I believe even then we never veered far from one another’s hearts. I wanted Rebecca and Michael to share that same experience. Which is why in The Remains, the two pair up to stop a madman from hunting Rebecca down and exacting a revenge that has been building for thirty years. I wanted the ex-spouses to work together and to become close together again in sharing a common goal: Survival.

Judging from the response and the magnificent sales of The Remains, I believe I may have succeeded.

What do you make of the rise of the E Book?

Well that’s like asking me what I think about breathing, I guess. I’m lighthearted about it because who would have thunk even two years ago that I would be making a nice living from the Kindle e-book editions of my books alone. That’s not a misprint. But there you have it. How curious life has become for both writer and reader when you can store not only thousands of volumes on a single electronic device, but (and I’m referring to those who use Smartphone Kindles likes I do…), also all your albums, your photos, your movies, your TV shows, your photos, your phone/messaging service, your computer…all of it in your back pocket. You don’t need an apartment other than to sleep, shower, and have sex with the sig other. But to get back to the original question, reading has become sexy, fun, and desirable again. A form of “first choice” entertainment as opposed to,”Well, there’s nothing on the telly so think I’ll read.” One wonders how the first cavemen and women to view the cave paintings in Southern France reacted. Probably shocked, and in awe, and wanting to visit that part of the cave all the time, until they could get their own cave paintings. But the point is that people love stories and whether the story medium is paper, or caves or electronic device, readers wish to escape, and that desire will never end. It’s a hard, hard, world out there. It just so happens that right now, with the e-book quickly becoming the dominant form of reading, writers and especially independent writers who are able to publisher through the Kindle program, finds themselves going from constant rejection to deciding which color Porsche they want to drive…Strange new world, but also one which empowers the author like never before.

Tell us about your latest novel.

The latest published book is SCREAM CATCHER which my indie publisher StoneGate Ink has brought out in e-Book, trade paper and audio. It’s about a former cop, Jude Parish, turned author who is undergoing treatment for severe anxiety. When he and his family become the target of a serial killer who is also a video game designer with a love of recording his victim’s screams as they die, Parish must go to extraordinary lengths to save those dearest to him. Something like that anyway. All of my books past and present are about to be republished by Thomas & Mercer, Amazon’s new publishing powerhouse headed up by a bunch of expatriot Penguin editors in NYC. They’ll be publishing my new ones Blue Moonlight and Murder by Moonlight. Presently, I’m working on a novel about a soldier, an officer, forced to order an airstrike on a Takjik village in Afghanistan, and who has since been undergoing hysterical blindness due to PTSD. When he and his fiancee attempt to rekindle their love and new life together in Venice, Italy, she suddenly goes missing. Based on one of my most anthologized short stories.

How would you like to be remembered?

I’d like people to keep reading my books long after I’m gone. That’s a start. And that maybe I inspired a few new writers along the way.

Also, I want people to remember me as someone who never gave up no matter what was happening in his life. Didn’t matter if it were trouble with a publisher, a wife, a sick child, a series of cancelled flights, or even danger to life and limb, I always wrote everyday, day in and day out. Because that’s what real writers do. No matter their state of being on this earth, the sureness and anchoring of writing always assures their life validity, protection and confidence. It’s our shield and our religion. I hope other writers and readers recognize me for that now and when I’m gone.

What are you working on at the moment?

Presently I have on the drawing board a novel called Precious or Aziz as it’s known in Tajik. It’s about a solider, a Captain, who must order a strike on a village in northern Afghanistan. When the attack results in the death of a little girl he undergoes a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder so severe it results in temporary blindness. While he’s recuperating in Frankfort, the Army surprises him by sending over his fiancee whom he hasn’t seen in a year. The two head to Venice for a month where they live in an apartment over a bookshop. During the first week of their stressful stay, the fiancee goes missing leaving the blinded soldier in the desperate position of having to search for her.

Do you think love motivates crime?

Like night follows day…naturally. I think immediately of that opening scene in King’s “Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption” in which the cheated husband carries a loaded revolver to the home where his wife is having an illicit affair or the steamy, sordid romance of “Double Indemnity” in which the black widow not only falls for her new lover, but is willing to kill her husband and make it look like an accident so that they can collect on the insurance. Or how about “The Postman Always Rings Twice’? Or what about “Moonlight Falls”? Of course there’s a whole lot of lust going on in these stories, but sometimes the division between love and lust is about as thick as the razor’s edge and just as difficult to walk without steel-toed boots on. But those would be very clunky in bed indeed. Who hasn’t felt a jealous rage now and again, or imagined themselves beating the crap out of some old boyfriend whom, you’ve just discovered, has been sending sexy emails to your significant other? Who hasn’t imagined stealing away the pretty girl from the abusive husband? Or not stealing necessarily, but eliminating him altogether. Maybe by rigging the works on his pickup so that when he’s doing 90 per on the highway, the whole suspension falls apart he goes careening over the pavement like a rag doll or Evil Knievel on a bad day…Something fun like that, all in the name of love.

Do you think Noir with no leading lady is nothing more than a castrated bull?

I’m not sure about a castrated bull. But traditional noir always has benefited from a sexy femme fatale as it were. As noir authors, we have a choice to write in an entirely new style (say, no femme fatale or a gay partner or none of the above) or pay homage to the old, which I pretty much do all the time. In my novel Moonlight Falls, I wrap an entire novel around a beautiful seductive woman married to a top cop named Scarlet Montana. I didn’t make that shit up. I actually knew a hotter than hot young woman who worked at a New York bank, named Scarlet Montana. She would flirt with me across the glass of the drive-up-teller and I was sadly newly married at the time. She had long thick hair and the greenest eyes I have ever scene, and I tell you now, it was all I could do not to leave my wife for her. That never happened but I did tell her that one day I would wrap a novel around her. It’s been twenty years since I last laid eyes on her and I sometimes wonder if she reads my books. But I feel as thought I would have killed for her had the circumstances been different. My Moonlight Fall novel never would have been the same without out her. Yes, it would have had the complacency and tiredness of a castrated bull. I sometimes get the feeling that one day, in a juke joint in some remote corner of the world, the real Scarlet Montana is going to walk through the door. That should be one hell of a reunion.

Is there a particular incident that has changed your life and influenced your writing?

You mean besides booze, drugs, illicit sex, and Jesus? Hmmm…Now that’s a hard one.
I guess I’d have to start with my parents. They were kind of tough when I was kid. Until I was seven I lived in an area that was primarily rural but totally being encroached upon by the burbs. You’d wake up on the morning and literally see the backhoes and bulldozers from like a mile a way. It was the progress monster swallowing up my childhood. My parents fought something awful. Most times in the middle of the night so that you’d wake up in a sweat. You’re just a kindergartner and you’re wanting to get the hell out because these adults are making life miserable, not to mention a good night’s sleep impossible. They’re still together after all this time. Go figure. I think they are the first influences on my work. That constant conflict. Makes a kid think and lament his little life. Especially when he’s alone all the time. That’s when you start making up stories and living them. Soon enough I got into music and I wanted to be in the Beatles. I guess they influenced me too. Helter Skelter.

Graham Greene said writers have a piece of ice in their hearts. What do you make of his observation?

Ice in the heart. As writers we are often lonely individuals who spend most of our time alone with our thoughts and creations. We need ice in our hearts because we can’t conduct relationships like most normal people. We’re often not there for the kid’s Christmas pageants, or the significant other’s occupational advancement party, or for that matter, Sunday dinner with the parents. Or it can mean something else entirely, like having to write some of the most descriptive and cold-hearted scenes of murder, rape and torture. Whatever Greene’s intent, I choose to believe it has something to do with the former, not the latter. As an author working more than full-time, I sometimes have to cold heartedly put those whom I love the most off. The irony is that I do this while wearing my heart on my sleeve. So you see the conflict here. As writers, we need to feel that loneliness and angst. No one ever reads a happy writer, after all. Or let me put it another way. No happy writer every lasted for more than a few minutes on the shelves after he was dead. We need ice in our hearts to write. We need tears in our eyes. We need to feel the stabs of loneliness. But be warned, it’s that ice that will one day kill us, whether we are ready for it or not.

Tell us about your connection to the beautiful city of Florence.

Excellent question considering I just purchased my plane tickets about an hour ago for a month long stay in March/April. Not sure the connection other than one obvious one: Dante wrote the first modern novel there. But then Florence is full of writers, painter, photographers, musicians, students of all the above, adventurers on route or just relaxing for a while. It’s got all the stuff that a major city has but you can walk from one side to the other in about 30 minutes. And no sky scrapers. Most of my relatives are located over on the Adriatic Coast or in Rome. There are a few Zandri’s in Florence but I’ve yet to meet them. I go there to get lost, write, run, think, read, and most of all, write. I have friends there now so it’s a little harder to be anonymous, but I love them, and we all have a lot of laughs, especially when I attempt to order a sandwich in Italian and end up ordering a “whore” with “extra virgin olive oil.”

Thank you Vincent for a great and insightful interview which I hope will bring new readers to your novels.

SCREAM CATCHER ‘Another wonderful, fast-paced, intense suspense thriller from best selling author Vincent Zandri‘ says Life in Review.

Get it on your Kindle at Amazon US or UK; in paperback at Amazon US; or download the audio version Amazon UK.

Read more about Vincent Zandri and all his books on his website here.

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