What is your “day” job if you are not a
full time author?
I’ve
spent the last five years working in a clinical laboratory. Right now I am
finishing up a professional program to help further my career in the
laboratory. Though my passion is and will always be for my writing, I expect I
will always keep a day job in order to maintain a stable income for my family.
The nice thing about lab work is that it pays the bills and leaves me enough
time to live life the way I want to besides. The way I see it, that’s the best
you can hope for these days.
If you wrote a book about your life what
would the title be?
Synthesis.
In fact, this is the title of my blog, in which I meditate on a variety of
intellectual pursuits and how insights have a tendency of crossing over from
one subject to another. I doubt I’ll ever write an actual book on the subject,
but it’s definitely something I have visited in writing from time to time. If
you’re interested, feel free to read and subscribe over at
lamortonyates.substack.com!
What is the hardest thing about being an
author?
Time
management. Though my circumstances are my own, every author struggles with the
balance of a hundred different things begging for their daily attention. Keeping
up with the various aspects of life (family, work, kids, sleeping) and finding time for all the different steps
of the writing process (from brainstorming to drafting to revision to
marketing) is an incredible challenge! On top of that, you have to be honest
enough with yourself about your capacity to avoid issues with burnout, which is
a real risk when you’re pushing yourself to your limit for more than a few
weeks or months. You have to know when to dial it back and recover, which, as
you can imagine, also takes time! There just never is enough of it, is there?
What is the best thing about being an
author?
The
freedom to explore. It’s a relatively common adage that you should write the
story that you want to read, and that’s exactly what I aspire to do. When I
write, I want to be transported somewhere far away and experience a life that
is not my own—if I write well, that same feeling of being whisked away comes
through for my readers.
My
favorite way to get into this sort of head-space is to listen to music. I have
a constantly growing number of playlists that I’ve compiled, some of which are
related to specific characters and some of which are designed to get me into
the right mode for a certain setting. If you’re a fellow audiophile and are curious
what music inspired Bittersouls (or upcoming projects), feel free to
find me on Spotify. And while you’re at it, drop a link to your favorite
soundtrack or playlist in the comments below!
Have you ever been star struck by
meeting one of your favorite authors? If so who was it?
I’ve
never had the chance to meet any of my favorite authors. Maybe some day! Having
a coffee with Patrick Rothfuss, a meal with Scott Lynch, or a game night with
Brandon Sanderson would be totally unreal.
What book changed your life?
Logodædaly,
or Slight-of-Words by Erzsébet Gilbert. It’s an odd little dictionary
filled with archaic words and short stories to go along with them. I was in
high school when I got it, and though I was already a storyteller at the time,
it was largely responsible for my early fascination with the beauty and mystery
of language. I don’t think I’ve ever put as many sticky notes in any other
book!
What were some of your favorite
books growing up?
Name
of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss is a beautiful book. Though the author has
yet been unable to complete the series, the first two (and a half?)
installments are a fantastic read. The language is poetic without being too
overbearing and the world is so full of mysterious and intriguing forces that
you can’t help but want to know more.
The
Art of War by Sun Tzu is one of those books that, though it has been far
removed from it’s original context, remains as fascinating as it is poignant.
Not all the points it makes have direct equivalents for the more mundane
context of modern life, but there are a surprising number of useful insights
that, especially in high school, I found extremely engaging.
Eragon
by Christopher Paolini was the book that I wished I wrote for the entire span
of my middle school years. I grew up wanting to be a writer, so the early
success of Paolini (and the fact that he wrote about dragons, which at the time
I felt were the most interesting possible subject) meant that I felt as much
affinity as I did jealousy for the work. A lot of my early work stemmed from
these feelings, but I eventually grew out of them and moved on from dragons as
the end-all-be-all subject for fantasy books.
Feed
by M. T. Anderson is one of the best soft science fiction novels I have read to
date. The characters and narrative are compelling, but what truly sticks with
you is the harrowing picture of the trajectory society might currently be on.
My psyche and therefore my work still reflects on a number of the observations
made in it. Even today, I strongly recommend it.
The
Complete Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson might not fit amongst the
other books I have listed here, but it was no less important to me as a child.
At the same time encouraging imagination and warning against completely
disconnecting from reality, I have countless fond memories of this comic book.
Notably, my earliest attempts at writing at the age of 7 were in the form of a
comic book!
What books are currently in your to be
read pile?
I am
partway through Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo at the moment, which I am
hoping to use as inspiration for the heist narrative one of my characters in an
upcoming novel will be participating in. In my to-be-read I have The Rhythm
of War by Brandon Sanderson, which I am waiting to read until book 5 comes
out to avoid possible cliffhangers. Why Information Grows by César
Hidalgo is also on the list, a non-fiction that I hope will give me some more
context I can use for worldbuilding. Finally I have To Sleep in a Sea of
Stars by Christopher Paolini, which my wife recently read and strongly
recommended to me.
Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or
audio books?
I’ve
historically been a romantic about paper pages and the smell of bookstores, but
the rigors of adult life have pushed me toward using ebooks for simple reasons
of practicality. I always have my phone on me, meaning I always have a book on
me, whether I’m waiting for the train or stuck in line at the DMV. It simply
requires less of me in terms of planning. I don’t mind audiobooks, especially
when they are well narrated, but I haven’t found that they fit into my life
schedule as well as their print counterparts. My hope as a writer is to one day
have my work available in all these mediums, although for financial reasons print
and ebook are the limit of what I can do for now. When it comes time to expand
into audiobooks, I want to make sure I’m doing it right.
If you could live inside the world of a
book or series which world would it be and why?
It’s
always a tough question because part of what authors do is to refine what’s
wrong about the world into a more concrete form and then write about it.
Because of this, a lot of fictional settings are generally worse places to live
than the real world. That said, some of them certainly have an appeal. Among
the worlds that are publicly known, it would be a toss-up between the world of
Brent Weeks’ Lightbringer series and Brandon Sanderson’s Wax and
Wayne (aka Mistborn era 2). Both are incredible settings with magic systems
that would be impossibly fun to use.
If I
could instead choose any world, including ones that aren’t published yet, I
would have to choose The Shattered Heavens,the steampunk setting that I
am currently working on and planning a 6(?)-book series for. While it certainly
has it’s problems, the appeal of high-flying adventure on an airship is
difficult for me to ignore.
Excerpt:
Something moved at the edge of the horizon. It was like a shadow, black as a cloud but moving fast across the snow plain. Time seemed to stop, but Dela could feel herself sliding forward as if she were standing on a lake of ice. Freja was still yelling, but she couldn’t hear her. Her arms were flailing, but Dela hardly noticed.
A wave of lights moved in front of the thing, jumping and turning, quick as sparks. It was like a field of quails fleeing into the sky before a coming wolf, but the wolf—the shadow—followed them. The closer it got, the more the shiver racked her spine. She knew exactly what it was, though she’d never seen one. No one in the congregation had. There were no stories. No whisperings. Only a name.
“Shade.”
Freja stared at her, bewildered into silence. Perhaps she was going to speak, but then—
“Shade!” Dela reached for her friend, snatching her by the sleeve and pulling her toward her. They ran, berries forgotten even as the bags bounced in Dela’s grip. They were a dozen strides from the bush before she thought to secure them to one of her belt hooks. How could she even think of them at a time like this? They had to get to the camp. People had to know.
They skidded to a stop at the edge of the overhang they’d climbed. The tents were only a dozen feet below, and a handful of people had gathered at the commotion. They stared up at the two girls with confusion intermingled with irritation. They weren’t used to their evening being disturbed by shouting, and the long journey had people’s nerves worn thin.
None of that mattered. All that mattered was what they would do. What were they supposed to do?
“Shade coming from the east!” Dela yelled. “Get the Ministers!”
Chaos possessed the camp. People scrambled, yelling. Others just stood with disbelieving frowns. Some started running in no particular direction. As if that would save them.
Would it?
Dela knew nothing about Shades. She hadn’t put much thought into what they might be or do or want. All she knew was that whatever that thing was, it was one of them. And the lights? The things it was chasing? What were they?
Freja was trembling as she crouched and threw her legs out over the edge of the rocks. It was a maneuver she’d done a hundred times, and in colder weather than this. But for fear or anger or nerves, her grip failed. Dela lurched downward, chest striking hard against the rocks as her hand snapped out into the air—and caught her friend’s arm. She grunted as she swung the girl toward the rock wall, which Freja caught in an instant. They exchanged an important glance, but there was time for little else.
Dela stood again, scanning the snowfield for signs of the shadow. It was still gliding forth on nothing but empty air, like a nightmare in a dead sprint toward an innocent dreamer. But, she realized, it was not heading straight for them. It had deviated, aiming toward the empty field north of them, and if it kept going that way, it might miss them entirely.
Could it see? It didn’t seem to have eyes. Nor any other body part, per se. Did it smell, then? Or feel? How could it expect to find anything out here in the cold, white abyss of the Bitters?
Whatever rules it followed couldn’t be the same as what humans or animals followed. It didn’t make any sense.
Then she saw the reason. One of the congregation, maddened by fear, had made a break for it, out into the open Basin. The Shade wasn’t just going to miss the camp. It was going after him.
He’d made it a hundred feet from the camp, and showed no signs of looking back or slowing. From the angle of approach, the man couldn’t see the shadow coming. Couldn’t see it bearing down on him. Couldn’t see the impossibility of his flight.
The Shade engulfed him as though it was little more than a localized fog. He vanished entirely from view, and for one bizarre moment, the beast of a cloud seemed to stop.
Then they heard the scream.
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