1-How long have you been writing?
Much longer than I care to admit, but I will say it's been decades. Yes, I started writing before I was born. :-)
2-What is your favorite genre to write?
Depends
on my mood that day. Some days I crave the immediacy of a fast-paced
contemporary, others I want to dig into the past and sometimes I need to
explore the possibilities of the future or build a fantasy world. The
characters and the story determine which romance sub-genre they need to
be set in. I'm just the conduit. Too bad I can't teach my characters to
type.
3-What are you working on now?
I
have two projects in the works. One is a humorous contemporary
paranormal romance featuring a matchmaking cat. The other is a jungle
adventure romance with a small town school teacher and a mercenary
caught up in the South American revolution.
4-When you start a new story do you begin with a character or plot?
Sometimes
the story starts with a character, but usually I'm just presented with a
snapshot of something that's happening and then I have to figure out
the who, what, why, where, when and what if's of the story.
5- Tell us about your latest/upcoming release. What inspired it?
My
latest release is a contemporary fantasy THE SWORD AND THE PEN. This
story was inspired by a Twilight Zone episode A World Of His Own. What
would happen if you could bring your fantasies to life? If you're
interested you can watch the episode on YouTube.
Here are the links:
Or for a more romantic version check out THE SWORD AND THE PEN.
Thanks
Elysa Hendricks
"The Sword and the Pen"
Blurb:
THE SWORD AND
THE PEN
It was time. After penning ten popular
sword-and-sorcery novels, Brandon Alexander Davis was ready to move on. Ready
to stop hiding in his fictional world. Ready to start living a real life. There
was just one problem: as he plotted the noble death of Serilda D'Lar, his
fictional creation, complete with mile-long sword, skimpy leather outfit and
badass attitude, appeared in his study.
Was she nothing more than a crazy fan, or had
Brandon finally cracked?
This warrior woman whom he knew so well, so strong
yet vulnerable, was both fantasy and reality. She was an invitation to
rediscover all he once knew--that life is an incredible, magical journey and,
for love, any man can be a hero.
Excerpt:
"Yeeek!"
At first Brandon thought the shriek was an
electronic whine that came from his computer. Panic threatened. When was the
last time he'd backed up his files? It had been during that bad electrical
storm three months ago when he'd almost lost everything, the same time his
writing troubles began. Fortunately the freak power surge from a lightning
strike only fried his monitor; his CPU hadn't been harmed. He should have
learned from the experience, but writer's block had driven him past rational
thought. The idea of losing what little work he'd managed to accomplish these
last few weeks made him choke in fear. He scrambled to hit Save.
"Hell, no! Roark doesn't deserve a chance to
defend himself. And even if he did, I'm not stupid enough to give him the
opportunity to skewer me. That's something Donoval the Honorable would
do."
At the sound of the familiar yet condemning voice
behind him, Brandon whirled. He slipped off his chair and landed hard on his
tailbone. Pain shot up his spine and blurred his vision.
"What?
How did you get in here? And who the hell are you?" He stared up at
the woman and gulped. The sword in her hand pointed straight at his heart.
"You know damned well who I am."
The woman didn't sound happy-- and didn't look sane.
She loomed over him. Her attire, a short, tight leather skirt, a leather bra,
and knee-high boots left a lot of skin exposed to his view. The smell of
leather, fresh air and warm woman teased his nostrils.
"What are you?" She poked him in the arm
with the tip of her sword.
"Ow!" He scooted back, nearly under his
desk.
"Warrior? Priest? Sorcerer?" She crouched
down to rest on her heels, and stared at him. The position put her full breasts
nearly in his face. "Definitely not a warrior." She pinched his arm.
"You have muscle, but not enough to wield a sword in battle. No courage,
either. Priest? Unlikely. They don't fear the sword. Only their god makes them
cower. Wizard? Perhaps, but not
one of any power, or else I'd be at your feet. So…you're the wizard's assistant
most likely." As if satisfied with her conclusion, she rose to her feet.
"Get up. I'll not harm you. I wish to speak to
your master. He and I have business to discuss."
Brandon eyed the woman warily. Though her speech and
clothing were odd, she sounded and looked extremely familiar. Why? Was she a
crazy fan he'd somehow communicated with before?
To be honest, she bore a striking resemblance to
Serilda, if shorter. She was five feet seven or eight inches, rather than six
feet, and she was less buxom and had softer features than the character he'd
ultimately developed. Actually, this woman was more like how he'd envisioned
Serilda originally, when he'd introduced her in Donoval's second book: an
extremely feminine woman forced to survive in a harsh world by denying her
nature. Hillary had convinced him that in her own books Serilda needed to be
stronger and have more sex appeal, hence the height and the bigger chest. The
change hadn't sat well with him, but the public-- men and women-- loved her,
and the books had hit all the bestseller lists. As a result, he had a thriving
series, a pending movie deal and cash in his once empty bank account. Success
was hard to argue with.
Despite the trampy clothing and hard scowl, she was
attractive. Short reddish blonde curls framed an elfin face. Dark lashes
fringed large, cat-like green eyes. Sun-kissed skin covered high cheekbones,
and her lips, though currently set in a hard line, were full and red.
"I said get up!" She grabbed his arm and
hauled him to his feet.
He was surprised that, when he stood, he topped her
by a good six inches and probably outweighed her by sixty pounds. That size
difference gave him a bit of confidence, but the nasty-looking sword she held
with such self-assurance negated it. One could never trust the actions of a
crazy person.
"Who are you?" She looked him up and down
then seemed to dismiss him.
He pulled himself to his full height and stared down
at her. "Brandon Alexander Davis. This is my home."
Unimpressed, she laughed. "Brandon? What kind
of name is that? Bran is what I eat to ease my bowels."
Heat crept up Brandon's neck. Being compared to a
laxative made him angry, which helped push fear away. "Who the hell are
you? And what are you doing here in that ridiculous costume?"
"Who I am and" -- she paused, and two
spots of color stained her cheeks-- "what I wear is a matter I will
discuss with your master. Where is he? Has he run to hide from me? It will do
him no good. I'm determined to find him and solve this."
"I don't have a master. I live here
alone." Damn! Why had he told her that? He eased back from the lunatic
toward the phone. Could he hit speed dial for 911 before she skewered him? Then
what? Even if he succeeded, it would take the police a good fifteen to twenty
minutes to reach his isolated home. Could he wrest the sword away from her
before then?
His size would be an advantage, but even standing at
ease, the woman radiated strength and skill. The odds seemed against him. To
win he'd have to hit her-- hard-- and he doubted he could bring himself to do
so. The lessons of chivalry his grandmother had taught were too deeply
ingrained. In that way, he and Donoval were of one mind. No matter how greatly
provoked, men didn't hit women.
Although, the thought of wrestling with this woman
was appealing.
"No master? Do not lie to me." The
lunatic's fingers flexed around the hilt of her sword.
"Why would I lie?" he snapped. "It's
obvious your beef is with someone else. If I knew who and where he was, why
would I protect him?"
"Because you're a coward. A powerful sorcerer
inspires fear if not loyalty in his minions. But you should fear me more than
him," she warned.
"There is no him! I'm the only one here. And
I'm not a coward." Being called one triggered something inside him. Having
phobias about crowds, insects and small furry animals didn't make him a coward.
Not really.
She gave him a thoughtful look. "Is it
possible? Are you the one?"
"The one what?"
She ignored his question and studied him. Her
intense perusal made him squirm.
"Why didn't I see the resemblance?" she
murmured.
"What resemblance?" He didn't like the
turn of this conversation. Come to think of it, he hadn't liked the original
direction, either.
"To Donoval. You are him-- in form at
least." A bit of fear crossed her features, though anger quickly erased
it. "I'm loath to believe it, but you are the wizard. Did you construct me
so you could play God in my world? Does it give you pleasure to toy with
me?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Play God?
I'm just a writer trying to make a living. I write stories for people to read
and enjoy. It's just entertainment."
Bio:
Elysa Hendricks is 5'6" tall. She has curly
hair and brown eyes. She's an author, a wife, a mother and a daughter.
Everything else is subject to change without notice. She loves hearing from
readers and other authors.
Website:
Facebook:
Buy Link:
Amazon:
Great interview. I love the matchmaking cat. The excerpt was great too.
ReplyDeleteCara,
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by and your kind words. :-) I'm having lots of fun writing my matchmaker cat book. Part of the story is in his point of view. Man, that cat has attitude. :-)