I had the opportunity to talk to author Erin Cole about her latest book, Grave Echoes, and what she feels makes a book worth reading.

Tell our readers about your latest book.

Grave Echoes is a paranormal mystery about the horrors of nightmares come true. Kate Waters has narcoleptic hallucinations, a frightening parallel to her sister’s fatal car accident. When she finds the strange key from her visions in Jev’s purse, Kate discovers her sister kept a few, dark secrets. Unearthing them will force Kate to believe in the unimaginable or the consequences could turn deadly. Though there is magic/fantasy elements in this book, they are crafted into a believable story of real supernatural mystery and horror.

How did you first come up with the inspiration for this story?

After ingesting black willow and mugwort divination tea with a Nez Pierce Shaman on an equinox morning, it came to me on the feather of a golden eagle. I quickly descended the mountain and translated the celestial message in a sacred circle at my Pavilion desktop, and Sham wow!, Grave Echoes was born. If only. Really, it was just a dream I’d had, the one Kate has on the couch. I decided to make it the centerpiece of a story. However, I did drink some strange tea back then, and I do have Indian in me.

What do you think makes your main character relatable to readers?

I believe it is Kate’s struggles, those that center on trust, fear, and betrayal, the painful emotions we have all felt at one time or another. I think she approaches life with optimism, but frequent challenges keep setting her back, which is often the case—that kind of two steps forward, one back deal. The questions she confronts in the novel in hopes of finding an answer only invite new riddles. Toward the end of the book, I think Kate realizes that some answers just aren’t meant for us to know.

What has surprised you the most about the story as it has taken shape?

Unfortunately, Kate’s story has mirrored recent tragic events in my life, but it provided me an intimate glimpse into Kate’s world. I felt like her ghost completing the last edits of the novel, following her through similar struggles and fears that I was currently going through. What surprised me the most was the accuracy in which I had described Kate’s thoughts and feelings about her sister’s death. Not so much that they were just like mine, but I could see the truth between the lines after my family’s tragedy.

How long did it take for you to write the book?

An eternity, almost. I started writing the book about a year after my son was born, way back 2005. I barely finished the first draft when I became pregnant with twin girls—surprise! Then in the spring of 2007, I hit it again. About two years later, Fall 2009, I completed the novel. For the last year, I have been querying off and on, but it is a near joking-matter for first time authors to get inside those big agent doors. So, I think I’ll try the window. I’ll tweet you if I find a way.

Are you working on other projects that you’d like to tell us about?

My “Burning Man” temple for the Lady and the Lord is almost complete; they should be pleased. Besides that, I am working on the sequel to Grave Echoes, called Wicked Tempest. Many of the same characters that were in Grave Echoes will be in the sequel, but with new characters to liven the drama.

I also hope to continue writing short stories for ePublications and various anthologies. Short fiction is my favorite kind of writing. It helps me to focus, edit, and dig for creativity. Plus, you get quicker feedback and results, which can help during the lengthy novel process.

What inspired you to start writing in general?

Insomnia, really. I have always enjoyed writing, and when I was younger, I wrote stories about …don’t laugh…The Incredible Shrinking Woman and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. Something about those adventurous worlds fascinated me. But I never imagined or thought I’d want to be a writer one day. I don’t think I thought I was ever smart enough for that.

What kind of feedback have you received from friends and family?

Honestly, I try not to let family and friends influence my attitude about myself as a writer. A few people have read my book, and those that have, have said it’s really great. But is it ‘really great?’ Or are they going to want to borrow money from me next week? See what I mean. They are biased, but I still love them. Ultimately, I write because I enjoy it and if I let too much of other people’s opinions begin influencing that pleasure, well, it wouldn’t fly with my muse.

If you had a chance to make over a popular book or movie and put your own creative stamp on it–what would it be?

The Happening. What a fantastically, freaky movie…until the trees’ whispers (pollen, whatever) started making people kill themselves. WTF? Great potential, total dud.

What do you like to read?

I try to read a little bit of everything to keep my head balanced. Right now, I’m reading John Hart’s, The Last Child. I love his writing style. I am also very fond of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves, the Terry Goodkind series, The Sword of Truth, Neil Gamain’s American Gods and Fragile Things, John Ajvide Lindqvist’s, Let the Right One In, and believe it or not, essays by Robert James Waller in his book, One Good Road Is Enough. I am often surprised by the books I like and the ones I don’t—popular choice is not always better.

Tell us who your favorite “bad guy” is in your story, and why?

Sean Olson, Jev’s boyfriend and Kate’s coworker at the Pacific Northwest Geological Survey, is my favorite bad guy. His boyish charm and underlying good nature, give his devious actions a lot of depth. The reader wonders if they really know this person, and I think this feeds the suspense throughout the book as to whether or not Sean is good or bad.

Do you like to set a particular mood for writing? Do you work at a particular time of day?

I love it when the dog is barking, the kids are screaming and fighting, the neighbor is running his 5100 series Power Stroke Leaf Blower, and if I’m lucky, the husband is bitching and groaning too. I also cherish night rain when everyone is asleep, but most of my writing is done in the AM when my brain is as fresh as it can get.

What do you find the most challenging about writing?

All of it. Some days, I struggle with plot or dialogue more than usual, and then other days I can’t get into the scene’s mood. I never try to push elements in writing. It’s best if I focus on what is working at the time, and then hope my muse comes back with a plate of magic and a 22oz Full Sail IPA.

What’s the most rewarding?

I love to hear comments from my peers, get accepted into anthologies, and to have published my first book!! But when I reread a story I’ve written many moons ago, and I still think it is well done, then I know writing is a good thing, and that all those grueling hours put into it were far from wasted.

Do any of your own fears present themselves in your books?

Because I repress them often, absolutely! I think that’s how I and other writer’s connect with the story. I wrote Wheel of Fate in an emergency room; Legend of La Chusa depicts the fear of internal demons from my small-town church days; The Warehouse came from past work experience in a dark Hong Kong warehouse, and my soon to be released story, Pleasing Evil, was created by the question, “What would really scare me?”

What three or four elements make a good story?

I try to follow these four seemingly simple rules:

PLOT – always have one, or you’ll waste the readers’ time, and they will remember that.

STYLE – be original; seek out the cliché’s and then kill them.

COOLING – let your writing air out. When you go back and edit again, you’ll be amazed at the improvement.

FLOW – I am by no means perfect with grammar (that’s what editors are for, right?), but I’m talking more about the flow of words, choosing the right descriptions, verbs, etc. so that readers will effortlessly cruise through a passage so well, they will read it again because they want to, not because they didn’t understand it. Since the reader cannot get inside a writer’s head, it is the duty of the writer to get inside the reader’s mind. Then plant your seed of horror and cross your fingers that it will bloom.

______________________

©2010 Lori Titus

Visit Erin Cole at her blog, www.erincolelive.blogspot.com or her website, www.erincolewrites.com

THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

I barreled into the parking lot and stepped out of my boyfriend’s monster truck into a cloud of dust, ready to knock his ass in it.  As I marched my way into Larry’s Landing, I headed towards the back of the bar where I spotted him….and her.  They sat close, snuggled in a booth like kittens in a box.  Their eyes popped at my presence.
 
“Hello Brent…Lynette.”  I didn’t need to say anything else, but I did.  “What the fuck?”
 
His eyes darted like beetles, desperately searching for an excuse.  Lynette’s fuchsia lips curled up, like her satin blond hair, as if delighted at the trouble she’d caused.
 
“Suzanne, I uh…I thought you were…,”
 
I cut him off.  “You told me you weren’t going to see this fat slut anymore…isn’t that what you said?  That she was a fat mistake?”  Actually, he never said these things, but apparently, we weren’t playing fair anymore.
 
“What?”  Lynette growled, malevolence ripening in her blue eyes. 
 
The fire needed a bit more fuel, I thought.  “Yeah, he said you were just an easy fuck.”
 
“You prick!”  Lynette stammered, slopping her beer over Brent’s head.
 
He leapt from his seat and mopped his face.  “That’s not true, Lynette.  I never said those things.”  He glared at me.  “Tell her I never said those things.”
 
I looked at Lynette, knowing it was too late.  “Screw you,” I said, spinning around on my black heels and then headed for the door.  Brent rushed after me, but a wink to Eddy, the bouncer who always flirted with me, granted me extra time as his boot wedged into Brent’s shin, flattening him in the doorway. 
 
I jumped back into Brent’s jacked-up Bronco and did an 88 in the parking lot before swinging around to the back of the bar.  Lynette stood in the middle of the road, frozen like a feeble deer.  I barely missed her foot as I came to a stop. 
 
She opened the door, hopped in, and kissed my face.  “God you were great.”
 
“I barely made it that time,” I remarked, speeding away from the bar.
 
“Did you get the apartment set up?” 
 
“Yes.  Are you sure this will work again?”
 
“Like always.”
 
“Because he’s going to kill us if it doesn’t.”
 
“Trust me,” she whispered. 
 
But that was how I got into this mess.
 
****

An hour later, we waited in my apartment, lights off, candles and smudge sticks lit around a pentacle in the middle of the floor.  A dark silhouette advanced across the street.
 
“He’s here,” I said.
 
Lynette soaked a washcloth with chloroform.  “Pull the wire when I tell you.” 
 
We watched Brent creep up the steps and slowly nudge the front door open.  Just as his foot stepped inside, Lynette gave me the cue and I snapped the wire taught, tripping Brent for the second time tonight.  She dove on top of him, covering his face with the washcloth.  His arms and feet flailed for a second before thudding back to the ground.  I felt bad for him, until I remembered his dirty lies.  At least that was how I tried to justify the situation, tonight and all the others.
 
“Okay, drag him into the circle,” Lynette said.  She laid next to him, lacing her fingers in his and dipping their hands into a bowl of water between them.  “Put the coins over the third eye,” she instructed. 
 
I placed a silver coin on both her and Brent’s forehead.  Then, Lynette began chanting, lisping syllables of ancient Latin, when she suddenly dropped unconscious.  The candles flickered and an icy chill slipped across my skin.
 
Within seconds, Brent’s eyes flipped open.  He sat up, looking at me and then to Lynette.  “It worked.”
 
It was Brent’s voice and Brent’s body, but Lynette’s spirit. 
 
He stood, grabbing his balls.  “Nice,” he, rather she said.  Brent walked over to the desk and pulled out a Ruger.
 
“The stores will be expecting you,” I said.  “This is the third time this month.”
 
“All different men, may I remind you,” she said.  “Nobody knows it’s us.”
 
But how many more men would go to jail, taking the fall for her sinful indulgence, even if they were creeps?  I loved Lynette, but I couldn’t live like this, not anymore.
 
She packed the gun into the back of Brent’s jeans and walked over to me, cupping my face with his hands.  “Don’t worry so much.  I have a different plan this time.”  She kissed me and then left the house. 
 
I looked over at Lynette’s body, where Brent’s spirit resided.  “So do I.” 
 
I laid down next to her, placing silver coins over our third eye.  I folded my hands around hers and dipped them into the water bowl.  Then, I hit play on my voice recorder.  The room went black and I woke, feeling somewhat dizzy.  Next to me was me, but now with Brent’s spirit instead of my own.  I went to the mirror, feeling my new curves and combing my blonde hair. 

“Nice.”
 
After I set up the wire and soaked the washcloth with chloroform again, I waited for Lynette’s return.  It wasn’t long before I had Brent’s body back in the center of the pentacle with my body.  However, I couldn’t switch Brent and Lynette — she would hunt me ruthlessly to get her body back, and I couldn’t leave them as is…unless, I swapped them into something else I thought gazing at the fish tank.
 
I covered up all witchcraft evidence and left the house, with two Barracudas in a bucket.  The robberies ceased and no one could ever explain Brent and Suzanne’s comatose state.  Not surprisingly, the Barracuda ate each other in a week.
 
© 2009 Erin Cole
 
Residing in Portland Oregon, Erin lives with her husband and three children.  She is working to publish her mystery novel, Unearthing Jev, and has started a sequel, Wicked Tempest, on accident.  When she isn’t writing, she is thinking about writing, and when she isn’t thinking about writing, she is either in a chocolate induced coma or is experimenting with sensory deprivation.  She blogs at Listen to the Voices.