INTERVIEW WITH AUTHOR KAREN WOJCIK BERNER

Please welcome Karen Wojcik Berner, who is on a blog tour with WOW (Women on Writing). For her other appearances, see her blog events at her site at the bottom of this post..

Author Karen Wojcik Berner on a trip to England

Caroline: For those readers who didn't meet you on your first visit to the blog, tell us about yourself.

Karen: I grew up in Elmwood Park, a small city-suburb on the border of Chicago. Although it was technically the suburbs, it felt more like the city. We took public transportation, not like in the true ‘burbs where I live now, in which everyone drives to everything.

I’m an only child who was definitely considered more of a bookworm in school. Not blessed with the hand-eye motor skill coordination necessary to play most sports, I spent my time reading on the front stoop, or singing and dancing in my room.

My husband and I have been married for almost twenty-two years. We have two sons, one in 7th grade and one who just left for college. Sniff. ((Wipes away small tear.))

Caroline: Oh, I know you miss the one who is in college. How long have you been writing?

Karen: Pretty much my entire life. My career began in early grammar school with the production of “The Car,” my beautifully colored and hard-bound with cardboard classic about a family coming to grips with selling the beloved family automobile. It sold one copy…to my parents.

The journalism bug bit me junior year in high school when I started writing for the school newspaper and became editor my senior year. Deciding to major in English and communications in college, I set out on my great adventure.

Over the years, I have written everything from newspaper articles to press releases for clown college to a restaurant menu to Mozart educational packets for a symphony orchestra. A magazine editor for ten years, I decided to take a break when I was pregnant with my second son. That’s when I got the idea for my first novel, A WHISPER TO A SCREAM (The Bibliophiles: Book One).”

Caroline: So your books are a series?

Karen: While I was writing WHISPER I fell in love with the book club members, the Bibliophiles, and thought it would be fun to write each of their stories. There will be six books, each of which will have a different “star” or two. For example, the first novel tells the stories of Sarah and Annie, which you might remember from my last WOW! blog tour. This time, Catherine Elbert takes the stage.

UNTIL MY SOUL GETS IT RIGHT is the second novel of The Bibliophiles series of stories about the lives of fictional suburban book club members.

Caroline: Certainly I remember FROM A WHISPER TO A SCREAM, and I love series books. Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

Karen: I have three present-day authors who greatly influence and inspire me, my literary trinity, if you will. Anne Tyler is my guide for realistic fiction. Joyce Carol Oates is the writing beast, a fierce and prolific force, unafraid of any subject. And Maeve Binchy was the heart.  And, of course, being an English major, I have a soft spot in my heart for the classics, particularly Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf.

Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Karen: Usually, you can find me in my upstairs office, which I grabbed before anyone else in the family when we first moved into our house several years ago. I am a firm believer in women writers having rooms of their own a la Virginia Woolf. Unless one of my kids gets there first to his homework. Or practice guitar. Or violin. Oh, well.

Believe it or not, I write everything out long-hand first on legal pads. I know, I’m a fossil, but I love the physical act of writing. When creating, I don’t want to have to think about typing. I like to let the words flow. After a couple of edits, I enter the work into the computer.

Caroline: Oh, your poor hand. Tell us something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

Karen: Oh, scandalous! There are no tabloid-worthy tidbits lurking in my closet. The most shocking thing about me would probably be that I think Marilyn Manson rocks. Her music tells many ultimate truths. One does not expect that of a forty-ish, short, round woman.

Caroline: Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Karen: Right now, I am putting the finishing touches on a digital holiday short story with Sarah and Annie, the characters from A WHISPER TO A SCREAM (The Bibliophiles: Book One). It will be released November 1st.

After that, it’s all about book three of the Bibliophiles, which will feature Spring, the leftover flower child, and Thaddeus, a computer programmer with the heart of a poet.

Caroline: Oh, I love holiday stories, especially those set at Christmas. What’s a fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you?

Karen: I host Flash Fiction Fridays on my blog, Bibliophilic Blather, every week. I don’t know if you are familiar with the form, but it is sometimes referred to as micro-fiction. On my blog, it is 1,000 words or less on any topic, penned by authors of all genres. The only theme months are October (horror), December (holidays) and February (romance).

If anyone is interested in contributing, there is a tab on my blog with all of the details. http://karenwojcikberner.blogspot.com. I’d love to hear from you.

Caroline: Sounds interesting. Do you have a quote that sums up how you feel about life?

Karen: Since I am fascinated by people’s backstories and what made them who they are today, I’d say one of my favorite quotes is from David Byrne, former frontman of the Talking Heads, from their song, “Once in a Lifetime.”

“You may say to yourself: ‘Well, how did I get here?’”

Caroline: I liked that song by Talking Heads. Would you share a blurb about UNTIL MY SOUL GETS IT RIGHT?

Karen: Sure, the tag line is: You can’t run away from yourself

Catherine Elbert has never been good at making decisions, whether it was choosing an ice cream flavor as a small child, or figuring out what she wanted to be when she grew up. The only thing Catherine knew for sure was there had to be more to life than being stuck on her family’s farm in Wisconsin.

While watching a PBS travel show, Catherine becomes entranced by Portland, Maine. The ocean. The lobsters. The rugged coast. Nothing could be more different from the flat, nondescript farmlands of Burkesville.

Despite her parents threatening to disown her and her brothers taking bets on how many days until she comes home, Catherine settles on Peaks Island, off the coast of Portland.

She is finally free.

Or so she thought.

Caroline: What a great tag line, and it is so true. None of us is ever totally free, are we? Can you share an excerpt of the book to tempt us further?

Karen: Sure, Caroline. Here is the beginning of my second novel, UNTIL MY SOUL GETS IT RIGHT (The Bibliophiles: Book Two).

Chapter One

Burkesville, Wisconsin
1985

       It takes a lot of effort to be ordinary-looking. Catherine performed the same morning routine the pretty girls did. The same shampoo, conditioner, blow dry, style, spray. The same moisturizer, concealer, foundation, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. She checked herself out in the mirror. Ugh, still me.
Still a senior in high school who hesitated to use the term “farm girl” for fear of it being too clichéd after her English teacher defined the term as “the lack of thought.” Clearly, nobody aspires to be a stereotype, but, really, is everyone that original?
Who hasn’t grown up knowing the bitchy cheerleader, a dumb jock, the computer nerd, an overbearing mother, a distant father, a misunderstood old person, or an alienated artist, writer, musician or dancer? If everybody knows these people, are they really clichés or merely categories? Maybe the various cities, towns, neighborhoods, and blocks are really replicating microcosms? The same strands woven together to create one large tapestry of life?
Anyhow.
Still living in boring-as-shit Burkesville, Wisconsin. The entire town consisted of a bank, post office, drug store, gas station, church, two schools and four taverns, all within a four-block area. Anyone could walk through it in about two seconds unless old Ben got a hold of you. Ben practically lived on the third-from-the-left bar stool at Pat’s Bar and Grill, Burkesville’s only real restaurant.
One day, Catherine and her friends were there for pizza and old Ben started blabbing to anyone who’d listen about how Bart Starr was the greatest quarterback who ever lived. Then this guy, Ernie, who usually goes to Padowski’s, but it was closed because the furnace broke, piped up with “Well, what about Dan Marino?”
Ben turned to Ernie like he was going to beat the shit out of him for even thinking of someone besides Starr, (a) because he’s a Miami Dolphin and (b) he’s not a Packer.  Heaven forbid! Like there aren’t any other teams in the NFL. Catherine could not have cared less about the Packers. Who would wear green and yellow together anyway? Vomitosis.

***

“Moooooom! I hate sunny-side up.” There was something about the way the yolks jiggled, like teasing, googly eyes. Eat me, Catherine. Eat me.
“Everyone else likes them well enough.” Vintage Clara Elbert. Don’t deviate from what the men in the family want for breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Homemade bread, toasted. Would it kill her to buy some fruit?
By nine o’clock on Saturday morning, her father had already put down fresh hay for the pigs and milked the cows. “Here ya go, Clara,” he said, placing a filled pitcher in front of her.
“Thanks, Hank. Boys, wash your hands.”
No matter how old the brothers were, Clara always referred to them as “the boys.” Of course, since they acted like little kids, maybe she was right. Catherine fiddled with her eggs, eventually covering the oozing yolks with bread. “So, Mr. Leary is nagging me about ‘my future plans.’ How am I supposed to know what I want to do with my life? I’m only seventeen.”
Clara scoffed.
Russell smirked. “Yeah, like you’re so good at makin’ decisions.”
“Remember Dairy Queen?” Laughing, Peter pulled his sleeve over his left wrist and ran it across his face. Ma shot him a pulverizing look. He grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth properly.
“I mean, really, even if I do go to college, what am I supposed to major in?”
Hank glanced at his wife, then at the boys. “You could work with us here.”
How could she tell her family that staying on Elbert Farm was the only thing Catherine was certain she could never do?

Copyright © 2012 Karen Wojcik Berner


Caroline: I loved the excerpt. Where can we find your books?

Karen: At these sites:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Until-Soul-Right-Bibliophiles-ebook/dp/B0085LW4QY/ref%3Dsr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338844120&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/until-my-soul-gets-it-right-karen-wojcik-berner/1110805199?ean=2940014423250


Caroline:: How about letting us know your links?

Karen: Here they are:

Author website:  http://www.karenberner.com

Bibliophilic Blather (blog): http://karenwojcikberner.blogspot.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/KarenWojcikBernerAuthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/KarenBerner

Thanks for sharing with us today, Karen.

Readers, thanks for stopping by! As we say in Texas, all y'all come back.

MEG MIMS, SPUR AWARD WINNER!

I laughed out loud last week when Jacquie Rogers' bio began with, “My parents were poor but honest sharecroppers …” I’ve got a confession of my own. I’m a ‘burb brat.

A Writer is Born

Yep. I grew up in a cookie cutter “ranch” house—yeah, ranch my foot. A suburb of a huge metropolitan city. Streets in a gridlock pattern, easy for Halloween candy collecting. Driveways leading to the garages in back. Trees in front of every “castle” – except ours. We lived smack dab in the middle of the middle block and had a fire hydrant. Lawns – and the soft ‘whirrs’ of the push mowers early every Saturday morning. Our next door neighbor kept his a lush emerald green and so velvety soft, I would rub my bare sole over that lawn when he drove to the store. ‘Mr. Joe’ kept a sharp eye, so I couldn’t avoid getting caught otherwise.

Most of the families were Catholic. Imagine the kids running all over the place (1960s-70s). My mom was an artist, so when she wasn’t cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping or doing laundry (and yes, she would do all of that every day, with eight in our family), she painted oils and then watercolor. I tried my hand at sketching, but preferred to climb on top of the garage roof to read my books in spring or fall. In summer I’d find a quiet tree in the shade. My favorites were the Little House series because I loved history, and Trixie Belden because I loved mystery. I wanted to be a detective when I grew up. I also wanted to travel back in time – until I realized what an outhouse meant. And how horse manure really stinks. Oh, and horses hated me. I tried to ride one. He refused to cooperate. The second time was no better. My ten-speed bike was faster.

Paying Dues

I have to admit reading those early books (over and over again) probably helped build the foundation for my writing career now. Oh, and reading Tolkien. Along with LeGuin and hordes of other authors during my eclectic phase where I read across genres. I could go on and on about college, marriage, joining RWA after my daughter was born, attending conferences and craft workshops, plus racking up scads of rejections. But I’ll spare you all that. Life also adds bricks to a writer’s sturdy foundation.

I learned that revision is key. I have never “dashed” something off and sent it in to anyone with a magical “acceptance” a few days later. There’s something almost criminal in that kind of expectation. Nowadays, anyone can self-publish—but a quality product will always sell more than something inferior or the latest fad. I believe hard work and paying your dues gives far more gratification than any instant pudding success. When it comes to staying power in the writing field, you gotta bite the bullet. Write, write, write, finish a first draft, plot over, develop deeper characters and themes, revise, revise, and revise, tweak, polish, submit, get over rejection, re-polish or re-tweak, re-submit. Consider the professional’s advice, but listen to your gut too. Build a hard shell, because no matter how many books you publish, poor reviews can hurt too.

The writing profession ain’t for sissies!

Western Writers of
America Spur
Award

The Spur Award

So I had this manuscript called DOUBLE CROSSING. I’d done all the above and submitted it to contests, agents and editors. Despite multiple finalist berths, no one wanted it. Hmm. Was it due to having “no naughty bits” exposed? Sure, my cowboy cussed a little, but being a “blended” genre, with mystery, suspense, adventure, a hint of romance and inspirational, DC seemed primed to please everyone. Only it didn’t fit the marketing slots. I toyed with the idea of self-publishing while I accompanied my daughter to Vienna in the spring of 2011. There’s something about Old Word culture and getting away that would refresh anyone.

I returned home and stumbled over a new small press. Astraea’s standards fit my own—clean, no “pink parts” and solid stories. I decided to accept their offer and took out the few instances of “cussing” to suggestions of how a cowboy might swear. And I jumped on the “Author Platform” bandwagon with gusto—trawled the web for book reviewers, called in favors from published author friends for “blurbs” and investigated all the contests I could find. I didn’t expect anything, but I did hope for a finalist berth in one of them. Lo and behold, the biggest prize fell with a WHOMP on my book. Unexpected, but very much appreciated.

Why Me?

Writers everywhere are notorious for self-doubt. I did some thinking. Did the judges mix my name and book title with someone else? Or maybe no one else entered (not a chance, ha). But maybe, just maybe, my “baby” surprised the judges. DOUBLE CROSSING is unique. I’m not gonna apologize for that. I took Charles Portis’ basic premise from True Grit—a young girl’s quest for revenge—and spun it afresh with an older naïve heroine and the transcontinental railroad. Now I’m writing the sequel, DOUBLE OR NOTHING, because I don’t want to be a one-book wonder. And while I’m not expecting to win a second Spur, I’ll enter the contest again—why not? But first, I’ll revisit the stomping grounds. Write, write, write, plot some more, revise, revise, revise, tweak, polish, re-tweak, etc. until it’s better than DOUBLE CROSSING.

It’s wonderful to know that hard work does pay off in the long run.

Here's a blurb for DOUBLE CROSSING, a Historical Western Suspense:


A murder arranged as a suicide … a missing deed … and a bereft daughter whose sheltered world is shattered.

August, 1869: Lily Granville is stunned by her father’s murder. Only one other person knows about a valuable California gold mine deed — both are now missing. Lily heads west on the newly opened transcontinental railroad, determined to track the killer. She soon realizes she is no longer the hunter but the prey.

As things progress from bad to worse, Lily is uncertain who to trust—the China-bound missionary who wants to marry her, or the wandering Texan who offers to protect her … for a price. Will Lily survive the journey and unexpected betrayal?

Here's an excerpt of DOUBLE CROSSING:
I needed something to make me forget the argument with Father. Capturing the lizard’s familiar form, I filled it in with dark cross-hatching and smudges. What a beautiful creature. My friends kept Persian cats or lapdogs, but lizards held a special fascination for me. Exotic, alluring with their patterned skin texture and independence from humans. Lucretia flicked her tongue and scuttled away, alarmed by some noise in the distance. The setting sun glowed dull red and orange past the shadowy trees, casting golden beams over the garden. The aroma of roast chicken, thyme and sage reminded me of dinner.


Rising to my feet, I groped for my mother’s necklace which held the tiny watch that Charles had given me. I must have left it upstairs on the dressing table. Tinkling water spilled from a cherub’s pitcher into the fountain. I sat down on the bench again and added ferns and shadows to my sketch.

Minutes later, a loud crack echoed in the air. The odd sound lingered. It reminded me of the revolver’s shot when I’d killed the badger. Had it come from the house? Closing my book, I hurried through the garden. Two shadowy figures slipped off the side porch and fled toward the street. The taller one wore dark clothing. I recognized the shorter man as Emil Todaro by his frog-like gait. Rushing after them, I witnessed their mad scramble into a waiting buggy. The team shot forward under a whip’s cruel lash.


Why had the lawyer returned? What did they want?

I climbed the steps to the side door and found it locked. Scurrying around to the back of the house, I tried the library’s French doors but they didn’t budge. My heart jumped in my throat. I picked up my skirts, raced around to the front door and flung it wide.

“Etta! Etta, where’s Father?”

The maid poked her head out of the dining room. “In the library.”

“I saw Mr. Todaro leaving with another man. Did you let them in?”


“No, Miss Lily. I did hear the Colonel talking to someone, though.”

“Didn’t you hear a loud bang?”


“I did, but I thought it was Cook with her pots. I was in the cellar fetching more coal.” Etta trailed me through the hall. “Is something wrong?”


“I’m not sure.” The library’s doorknob rattled beneath my fingers when I twisted it open. I peeked inside the dim room. “Are you all right, Father?”


An odd smell tickled my nose—gunpowder. I swallowed hard, my throat constricting, staring at how Father was sprawled over his desk, head down, one arm dangling over the edge. My head and ears thrummed when I saw papers littering the floor. The safe door stood ajar, the drawers yanked open every which way. I took a step, and another, toward the pipe that lay on the plush Persian carpet. His crushed spectacles lay beside it. Father’s hand cradled the small derringer he’d always kept in his desk drawer. Its pearl handle gleamed above a stack of papers, stained dark crimson.


A fly crawled over Father’s cheek. Etta clawed the air, one hand clamped over her mouth. I saw a tiny blackened bullet hole marking his temple, and wet blood trickling downward. Frozen in place, I heard a shrill scream—my own, since pain raked my throat.


Everything swirled and a dark void swallowed me whole.

Ebook: ISBN# 978-1-936852-48-2 Print: ISBN # 1466223200


BUY LINKS: Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords


BOOK TRAILER: http://youtu.be/2mDe17A5aF8




Meg Mims, Author and
Spur Award Winner
For Best First Western Book

 Meg Mims is an award-winning author and artist. She loves writing blended genres – historical, western, romance, suspense, mystery. DOUBLE CROSSING is currently available from Astraea Press, Amazon and Barnes & Noble in ebook and print. Meg wrote a contemporary romance, THE KEY TO LOVE, released in February of 2012, and she’s a staff writer for Lake Effect Living, a West Coast of Michigan tourist on-line magazine. Born and raised in Michigan, she lives with her husband plus a “Make My Day” white Malti-poo and a drooling black cat.

“Never let the odds keep you from doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do.” H. Jackson Brown Jr.

Thanks to Meg Mims for sharing with us today. While she's here, I'll be at Peggy Hendersons at http://peggylhenderson.blogspot.com Please stop by and comment so I won't be there all alone.

Thanks for stopping by!