Author Spotlight: Rick Chiantaretto—Complete with Interview (A Bearded Scribe Blog Tour)

About the Author:
I've often been accused of having done more in my life than the average person my age but if I were completely honest, I'd have to tell you my secret: I'm really 392.

So after all this time, I'm a pretty crappy writer.

I have two books published and a bunch half written (when you have eternity, where's the reason to rush?). I've been favorably reviewed by horror greats like Nancy Kilpatrick, and my how-to-write-horror articles have been quoted in scholarly (aka community college freshmen's) papers.

I enjoy the occasional Bloody Mary, although a Bloody Kathy or Susan will suffice.

Mostly, I just try to keep a low profile so people don't figure out who I REALLY am.

Connect with Rick Chiantaretto:

The Interview:

Autumn Jones: Which book introduced you to speculative fiction?
Rick Chiantaretto: Hi Autumn. Wow, you’re asking me to go back a very long time. I’m pretty sure the answer to that question would have to be The Berenstain Bears and the Spooky Old Tree, but there are many I could name. I loved Roald Dahl’s The Witches and Matilda, and while he is known for being a children’s author, I found his books magical, with a touch of darkness. As I’m googling these titles now, I’m glad to see they are often included in speculative fiction categories!

Autumn Jones: Do you have an all-time favorite book? What about it makes it your favorite?
Rick Chiantaretto: The Forbidden Game by LJ Smith would have to be it. I have owned so many copies of this book. My sisters and I would read and re-read them until their pages would fall out, and then make our mom drive us to the nearest Barnes and Noble to pick up a new copy. Julian’s race, his love for humans, and that insanely awesome ending have influenced many of my characters and plotlines. I know it’s a YA novel, but I can still pick it up and fall into the world LJ Smith creates in this series, and feel like I’m at home.

If you want a “love conquers all” story, The Forbidden Game is unlike any other.

Autumn Jones: Your main characters had distinct personalities and traits. Are they pieces of you? Were there any actual events or people that inspired any bit of the plot or characters in Death of the Body?
Rick Chiantaretto: I learned from my first novel, Façade of Shadows (now out of print), to not base characters on people you know. My editor for that book often circled entire scenes in red with the notation: “Characterization. YOU know why this person did such-and-such, but don’t forget your readers DON’T.”

Character motivation, because of my experience with that editor, became a big thing for me. I find that basing characters off real life people results in a flat character, because you don’t have to examine and pick apart the character’s flaws and virtues (or, if you do, that person ends up pretty angry with you at the end of the day!).

That said, all of my characters have traits I wish I had. I wish I had Nicholas’s confidence (and body! Ha). I wish I had Edmund’s wit, curiosity, and insider knowledge. I wish I had Xia’s loyalty and fierce ability to love without condition. I wish I had Linda Rose’s darkness… oh wait… maybe I do!

The actual story and plot was derived from two dreams that were so vivid and fit together so perfectly I couldn’t help but write them down (although I probably wouldn’t have needed to. I can still remember them clearly). I think Book Two will have a lot more of that ethereal dream/reality feel as we visit some of the other levels (hint hint).

Autumn Jones: After devouring Death of the Body, I pictured you locked away in a dark room, listening to Gregorian chants, and furiously scribing the next book onto a yellow legal pad for some reason. Instead of letting my overactive imagine run wild, tell me about your writing process.
Rick Chiantaretto: How did you know!? I have the monk robe and everything! And just to answer the question I know everyone is asking: Yes, I am naked under there…

Okay, okay. Actually, I tend to prefer to write in silence, but if I do have any music on, it’s usually Native American flutes (which I feel would bring in the same sort of feel as Gregorian chants).

I usually also write at night, and love to write while traveling (that airplane engine hum is the perfect static white-noise, but I’ve found I have a hard time writing in a car).

Usually I’ll just sit in the dark a bit, until the shadows start to take on a life of their own.

Remember that fog scene? I wrote that at 2 in the morning, and when I looked up and caught my own reflection in the glass of a nearby window, my heart skipped a beat. It was completely dark except my white face, illuminated in the glass because of the light of my laptop screen. That became the inspiration for the look of the “other people” who meet Edmund in the fog… translucent… backlit… hollow. You know what I’m talking about ;)

Autumn Jones: Did you initially set out to write a trilogy or was it something that evolved during the writing process?
Rick Chiantaretto: Oh this is funny. I actually had it planned as a series of seven (one book for each level). I think the readers will appreciate that I won’t draw it out that long, ha!

Seven was a little more than I wanted to bite off, especially if it turned out no one liked the series. I didn’t want to get stuck writing 7 whole books for three psycho crazy readers who might actually kill me or lock me in a room (you’ve read Misery, right?) if I had to abandon the project.

But a trilogy ended up working out. I had already planned how to access the 7 levels… and it was with the Three Deaths (Body, Spirit, Soul). So now, instead of writing one book per level, I’ll write one book per death. It was a good compromise, and it FEELS right. I wanted Death to be the star of the book anyway, so it ended up making better sense to lay out the books this way.

Autumn Jones: If there were 7 levels of existence (and I’m not saying there isn’t for the record), which one would you chose to live in/on and why?
Rick Chiantaretto: I’m super excited for Book Two, because I think the level of the spirit, the energumen’s realm, really resonates with me. It’s a dark place, filled with strangeness and magic that is very different, very cool, and very wicked.

It’s also a place that is completely from my waking imagination (it wasn’t inspired by the dream that the book is based on, but is the part that I had to create consciously to fill in the missing pieces that made sense in the dream but not in the waking world. I guess you could say that the dream came from my imagination anyway, but I don’t look at it that way, oddly enough).

I think it’s pretty cool that the most solid, urban, and realistic pieces of the book came from a dream, while the most dreamlike and ethereal pieces came from my waking mind.

Autumn Jones: What’s the best advice you could offer someone who’s looking to become a writer and publish their work?
Rick Chiantaretto: I love this question, and it is the answer that I got sitting at a table not 3 months before Death of the Body went to print: Publish now.

If you have a finished manuscript, what are you waiting for? Don’t wait for the big publishing contract that will offer you millions of dollars and movie rights. Those contracts are going to authors who already have a following, who were successful with a smaller press or in the indie market. Only a tiny tiny fraction of people get the opportunity to work with a big press without proving themselves FIRST.

And, you’re losing out on money, sales, and readers.

It is so easy to publish your work. Check out Kindle Direct Publishing and Createspace, sign up for accounts, and get yourself out there.

Stop holding back. Let the readers decide if your work is “good enough.” Stop judging it yourself (‘cause it will never be good enough for you).

Go. Publish. Now. (But hire a good editor).

Autumn Jones: What project(s) are you working on at the moment? And any sneak peeks into what’s going happen in Book 2 and/or 3 that you're willing to share?
Rick Chiantaretto: I am working on Death of the Spirit (Crossing Death #2). After that I’ll start Book 3, and then I have quite a few other projects planned, but don’t know in which order I’ll write the other projects. I have sort of my “quintessential” haunted house story bouncing around in my brain (which will probably be the first book written after the series), as well as an urban fairytale story about a female detective whose friends and family start dying around her in fairytale fashion.

As for peeks into Book 2, I think I’ve already shared plenty (probably too much!).

Autumn Jones: What question have you always wanted to be asked in an interview? How would you answer that question?
Rick Chiantaretto: You know what? I get people commenting all the time on the relationship between Edmund and Xia. I’ve had reviews and emails that say things like “Well, that relationship was pointless,” and “I won’t read the rest of the series because it’s OBVIOUS they won’t end up together” (emphasis mine).

I’m a little surprised no one bothers asking any questions around that subject, so I’ll answer a couple of those for you.

First: If you’re mad at me for that relationship, be prepared to be even more mad by the end of Death of the Spirit.

Second: Yes, the relationship is important. In fact, it is central and core to the story.

Third: Just because you can’t see HOW something will work out, doesn’t mean it WON’T, although maybe in a way that is different… maybe Edmund and Xia’s “happily ever after” isn’t typical (is there ANYTHING normal about the Crossing Death series?).

Four: Trust me, and stick with me. The ending… you, relationship doubters, will want to get there.

Autumn Jones: Seriously though, when will you be back in Utah so we can get together, eat a Café Rio salad (or burrito, whatever), drink some Jack Mormon coffee and have you tell me what the heck is going to happen to Edmund?
Rick Chiantaretto: I’m so mad I didn’t know you were in Utah before this! I think my mom would kill me if I didn’t come home around Christmas time. While I can’t promise with absolute certainty, there is a good chance I’ll be around in December.

I can’t wait to have coffee with you! I’ll bring Edmund so you can ask him some questions. But a word to the wise: be careful which spoon you choose to stir in your cream and sugar; something about that makes Edmund a little sensitive.

The Interviewer:

There was once a girl named Autumn Jones. She was born on Easter Sunday in a tiny, shoreline town in Michigan. Autumn’s formative years were spent in and around the greater Grand Rapids, Michigan area. With a father in radio broadcasting and a former 4th grade teacher for a mother, communication and reading were a way of life. Books were not only a fun, free adventure, but a great way to learn about the world outside of small-town, Michigan, too.

After graduating from high school, Autumn ventured out west to Utah where she found wide open spaces, new faces and room to make her big mistakes. She worked for a year to establish residency and then attended Utah Valley State College (now Utah Valley University). After two years there, she transferred to the University of Utah where she graduated with a degree in Political Science and Communications. Autumn was planning an adventure to law school when she met the love of her life and decided to follow a different path that included marriage, government work, and having 3 children in 3 years.

Having once aspired to be the next great American author, these days Autumn’s favorite form of writing involves limited characters in social-media formats. Her sarcastic take on daily life as a mother and government employee is a creative exercise that keeps life exciting. During much of her late teens and early twenties the majority of her reading included books like Methods and Models: A Guide to the Empirical Analysis of Formal Models in Political Science. After having her first baby, her book log was full of things like In a People House. These days, she is reading anything she can get her hands on—from trashy novels like 50 Shades of Grey to YA Dystopian series like The Hunger Games. Autumn has a varied love of literature. Stories that entertain, provoke thought, and transport her to another location are a criteria these days.

When she’s not at work managing the office affairs of a child advocacy center (Employee of the Month, March 2010), driving carpool, and running a busy household, Autumn can be found curled up with her Kindle and surrounded by half a dozen books in various stages of read. Autumn is an avid fan of dramatic, prime-time television shows, musical theater, overpriced coffee, and sushi.

Book Spotlight: Death of the Body (Crossing Death, Book 1) by Rick Chiantaretto (A Bearded Scribe Blog Tour)

Good Day, Beardies!

I was driving home from work the other day, rocking out to a little Bruno Mars on the local radio station. All of the sudden, the music turned to static and, in what seemed like incredibly slow motion, a car pulled out in front of me to turn left but stopped in my lane. I was driving the speed limit, which was 50 MPH for this particular strip of road, and all I could picture in my head was me T-boning this car. As I was slamming on my brakes and swearing under my breath, the car realized I was about to plow into him and he moved out of my lane, continuing on his way. The music came back on shortly thereafter, and I continued down the road toward my house. Normally, I would consider this an average daily commute, but after reading today's Spotlight, Beardies, I was freaking out. I'm still not fully convinced demons weren't somehow involved in this situation. Anyway, you guys, I cannot rave enough about this book! Let's get to it, shall we?

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Book Blast (with Excerpt): Death of the Body (Crossing Death, Book 1) by Rick Chiantaretto (A Bearded Scribe Blog Tour)

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Blurb:
I grew up in a world of magic. By the time I was ten I understood nature, talked to the trees, and listened to the wind. When the kingdom of men conquered my town, I was murdered by one of my own—the betrayer of my kind. But I didn't stay dead.

I woke to find myself in a strange new world called Los Angeles. The only keys to the life I remembered were my father’s ring, my unique abilities, and the onslaught of demons that seemed hell-bent on finding me. Now I must learn who I really am, protect my friends, get the girl, and find my way back to my beloved hometown of Orenda.

Excerpt:
Prologue I watched in disbelief as blood seeped through my fingers and dripped, thick as syrup, to the ground. I heard each drop thud against the ground beneath me. The echo in my ears beat louder than any drum. For the first time in my ten years of life, I cursed the connection I had with the planet. I cursed it for its betrayal. I cursed it because, with every drop of blood that spilled, the planet felt my pain and mimicked my screams with its own bleating sound that bounced around inside my already spinning head.

My legs were weak and my knees buckled but I didn’t dare let my hands loosen from around the wound in my stomach. I caught the weight of my fall with my face. I rolled onto my side in order to breathe. Pain surged as the ragged edges of my wound rubbed together. I felt every last severed nerve. They were all on fire.

Blood poured quickly. Worse than seeing it, I could feel it, hot and sticky in a pool beneath me. My stomach retched but it would hurt to throw up so I tried to force down the feeling. Bile came up anyway. I turned my head and choked it out. The rusty taste left in my mouth was so sour it made my eyes water. I cried uncontrollably, feeling ashamed of myself.

I wished for the comfort of my mother and father. I longed for the company of my two best friends. It was ironic that I’d just had a conversation about death with them a day ago.

As I lay sobbing on the ground, the thought that I was going to die became more and more real. Already my blood was soaking back into the earth that I loved so much. I thought of the lessons that taught me not to fear death. I had been taught that death was a return to the larger conscious mind that is nature. This awareness made my people who they were and gave us our unique gifts.

I was afraid anyway. The thought of dying was much more terrifying now than when it was taught to me by the Elders.

The Elders. The Elders who were either dead or enslaved. The Elder who betrayed us all and who did this to me.

Rage: pure, blazing, and blinding in its fury. I was too enraged to even notice that I could feel anything besides pain. Rage boiled inside me as blood boiled from my stomach and I realized it was based in two other emotions: hate and disbelief.

Then something cold and wet hit me between the eyes. I rolled onto my back and stared into the dark and threatening clouds. Another something hit the back of my hand, and I lifted it (was my arm always this heavy?). A drop of rain mingled with my blood.

I had never experienced rain before. It never rained here—at least not in my lifetime. Rain was for when the world was angry, when its powers had been abused and the balance of life had been disrupted.

But wasn’t I angry? And wasn’t I connected to the planet? Didn’t I understand its moods and feelings? Why wouldn’t it then understand me? In my delirium this seemed to make sense, and the large flash of lightning that then split the sky seemed to confirm my thoughts. The flash was blinding, and I didn’t have enough energy to be startled by the fact that my vision remained nothing but the same bright white light.

I shivered as cold crept into me; it didn’t help that I was lying in a chilling pool of blood. The rain picked up. I was nearly soaked through, but was too weak and numb to move. At least the pain was starting to slip away. I could only imagine how blue my fingertips must have looked. They felt like ice.

After the pain was gone, the fear began to fade. All the tension in my body went with it. Cold as I was, I started to feel strangely comfortable. I could feel the earth beneath me, supporting me, soft and gentle. My mom used to hold me like this.

When I realized the rage was slipping, I cried out. I wanted to keep it alive within me. I wanted to be angry and upset. I wanted to be angry because feeling an emotion—any emotion—was better than accepting death.

As the rage faded further, I thought I heard distant laughter. How could anyone be happy now? How could they laugh as I lay here, a mangled mess? It took me a minute to remember that just because the earth could feel my pain didn’t mean everyone else could too—especially not the outsiders.

Their voices were getting louder and nearer. When they suddenly stopped, I heard a gasp. Mustering the last of my strength, I reached toward the voices.

“Please,” I tried to say, but it came out as barely more than a groan.

“Get a doctor!” a woman’s voice commanded. I felt slight vibrations through the earth as somebody ran away. The woman who spoke came over and kneeled next to me. I wasn’t too far gone to feel surprise. I imagined I was a frightening sight. I expected her to keep her distance, so my eyes widened when she took my hand in hers. She was warm, but trembling.

“What did this to you, child?” Her voice shook but was full of compassion and concern.

“Magic.” I couldn’t tell if I actually said the word or just thought it.

As I repeated the word over and over in my mind, the rage dissipated and the light began to dim. A part of me was upset that I’d let the rage go but I was too exhausted to call it back. I welcomed the darkness now. The woman at my side was saying something but her words made no sense to me. Far easier to hear was the heartbeat of the earth. I wanted to soothe the earth’s tremors caused by the pain and fear it felt for me, but I couldn’t. As my breathing slowed, memories of the past day flashed into my mind. They were of the events that led up to my death, when all this started. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Who would have known it would only be one long day that would lead me here, lying on the ground, spilling blood?