INTERVIEW WITH WILLA EDWARDS!
How old were you when you knew you wanted to become a
writer?
I’ve wanted to be a writer since I
was four years old, way before I realized what it really meant. Though I have
had different periods where I didn’t write as much, I’ve never stopped writing
entirely. Writing and stories have always been a part of my life
What genre do you write?
I write romance. I started out
with contemporaries, and I love them dearly, but I’m starting to move into a
few other directions this year. I have one historical release, Serving Madame, and
another one about to be subbed to publishers, Wandering Off the Path, and I
have my first paranormal currently in drafting stages that I’m hoping to have
done some time this year. I think trying new things and continuing to grow is
very important for a writer. I don’t ever want to get stale or stagnate in one
genre. I like to read every genre, it stands to reason I’d like to write
several too.
Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Pantser all the way. I tried doing
outlines when I was a younger writer and every time I got bored. I want to be
surprised and enraptured by the story while I’m writing it, as much as the
readers will be. I often think of myself as the first reader of the story, who
desperately wants to see how it all works out.
Do your characters ever take over when you’re writing?
My characters definitely take over
when I’m writing, all too varying degrees. Sometimes it’s just in small ways
but other times it’s in large ways. With my newest release, Serving Madame, the
whole story I was trying to steer it another way, to a short faster story, but
Madame wasn’t having it. I can’t say I’m upset with her, after how it turned
out, but it definitely isn’t what I planned when I sat down at the computer.
But what Madame wants, Madame gets.
Have you ever gotten a story idea from a news story?
I tend to watch a lot of news, but
I did have one story, Snow Day, inspired by the October snowstorm we had here
in the Northeast, which was definitely news worthy. I usually get inspired by
human interest stories, by people’s dedication and heart, rather than straight
news.
Would you like to be any of your heroines?
I’d like to be most of my heroines.
After all they get the guy, and sometimes more than one. I’m still looking for
my own prince charming. And they usually are more coordinated then me, that is,
except for Amy from Foolish Desire, who’s just as awkward and bumbling and shy
as I am. That’s one of the reason I love her so much. I think everyone can
relate to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time like she does, or tripping
and falling in front of the cute guy.
Would you marry any of your heroes?
I’d marry all of them. I write
really good guys, and while I’m writing I always fall in love with them a
little bit. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to understand how the heroine could
fall in love with them. Probably the one I’m most in love with is Wolf, from a
completed work I’m currently shopping around for a publisher entitled Wandering
off the path. He’s dark, dominate and had a really caring heart underneath.
He’s the ultimate alpha, and isn’t afraid to take what he wants. That’s really
sexy in a guy.
Do you do a lot of editing before you submit a
manuscript?
I do tons of editing, it’s definitely not
my strong suit. I go through my manuscript at least three times before I send
it to a critique partner and then I usually go through it twice more after I
get it back from them. I want it to be as good as possible before it goes to
the publisher, that way they can work on the important stuff, instead of little
details like the wrong name or incorrect words. But that’s not to say that I
don’t have plenty of editing to do after the publisher picks it up. The editing
never ends for me until it’s published.
Now some personal
questions
Chocolate or vanilla?
Vanilla, it’s so adaptable, you
can add sprinkles, fudge, maple syrup or root beer (man I’m getting hungry).
But I’ve never turned down some chocolate either.
Do you listen to music when you write? What do you
listen to?
I watch a lot of television while
I write. I like the sound of people talking and interacting over music while I
write. But music is good too.
Favorite color?
Purple
Black, white or gray?
Gray.
Favorite ice cream flavor?
I was raised in Vermont, so I’m
all about Ben and Jerry’s. I really like peanut butter cup, and phish food. I
also love coffee ice cream.
Favorite line of description from one of your books.
This section comes from my first historical and lesbian romance,
Serving Madame. It describes Ada helping to undress her mistress. But of
course, this is only the beginning…
Madame’s soft, never-seen-the-sun skin rippled beneath the weight of her
corset. Each breath pushed her amble breasts up against the low neck. Fingers,
only a shade darker than the white petticoats covering her curves, pulled at
the ties keeping on the heavy embroidered gown. The lacy cuff hanging down from
a three quarter sleeve brushed her bosom. Ada’s heart fluttered at the sight.
Favorite dialogue from one of your books.
This section comes from Heart’s Ultimatum but features Mallory, Gabe
and Lincoln from Midnight Mirage that are trying to help Krista out with a
problem. I’ve always loved the dynamic in this section.
“I’ll beat you senseless if you say anything to upset her.” Krista’s
heart lightened a fraction at the stern, protective tone of Mal’s voice.
“Don’t threaten us, sweetheart.” Another husky, deep voice sounded
farther away from the phone, so commanding and powerful that Krista could tell
instantly it was Lincoln beside Mal. “We all know the only one who’s getting
their ass paddled around here is you.”
Dog or cat?
I have cats now, two little babies
that I love dearly, but I like dogs too. I guess I come down on the side of
cats, since you don’t have to stop writing to take them outside.
Country
or city?
Definitely Country. The city is
fun to visit but I like having space and lots of green.
Beach
or mountains?
Mountains. Never been a big fan of
that ocean smell.
Skirts
or pants?
Pants. I always pick comfort.
Early
morning or late night?
I’m a night owl through and
through.
Cruise
in the Caribbean or camping in Yellowstone National Park?
Definitely camping (though I’d prefer a
nice hotel). I did take a cruise on the Caribbean once with my family and it
was miserable, my frail Irish skin couldn’t take it and I spent most of the
time inside and burnt to a crisp. Not my idea of a fun vacation. Now if Orlando
Bloom promised to show up, I’d risk the burn.
Here’s a little taste of one of my new releases, Snow Day. I hope you
enjoy it.
Blurb
Michaela is thrilled to get home after the tense drive from work on the
snow covered highway. And she may be just a little bitter that her boyfriend
and teacher, Ben, spent all day in bed, on a snow day from school.
But she's relieved to be let out of work at least a few hours early. That
is until she hears noises from her bedroom, that in no way resemble monster
trucks or football announcements, and sound way too close another woman's moan.
Michaela can't help but investigate. She never could have guessed what
she finds in her bedroom would be just as stimulating to her as it is for Ben.
With a little bit of sexy help, Michaela plans to show Ben exactly who he
belongs too, and make him wish every day could be a snow day.
Excerpt
Michaela dropped her purse on the small cherry entranceway table.
Slamming the door shut behind her to keep out the fierce chilly winds, she let
out an exasperated sigh, enveloped by the warm heat.
“God, it’s good to be home,” she whispered into the empty mudroom.
She shucked off her jacket and scarf, thick with the moisture of melted snow. Her nerves still jangled from the slow, slick drive home from the plant. Everyone moved at a crawl, each one increasingly afraid of what could be under the thick, fluffy, white layer. Could it be black ice? Or slush? Anything could send their cars careening off the side of the road into the imposing bank. It was enough to set anyone on edge.
The whole ride she’d been petrified of the same thing, sliding off the road, getting stuck in any of the number of ditches and sloped banks beside the twenty-three miles of highway she drove each day home from work. Most days, the long stretch of highway appeared benign, lulling her into a hypnotic state till she reached her door, but today it had been ugly, angry, hungry, and malcontent.
“God, it’s good to be home,” she whispered into the empty mudroom.
She shucked off her jacket and scarf, thick with the moisture of melted snow. Her nerves still jangled from the slow, slick drive home from the plant. Everyone moved at a crawl, each one increasingly afraid of what could be under the thick, fluffy, white layer. Could it be black ice? Or slush? Anything could send their cars careening off the side of the road into the imposing bank. It was enough to set anyone on edge.
The whole ride she’d been petrified of the same thing, sliding off the road, getting stuck in any of the number of ditches and sloped banks beside the twenty-three miles of highway she drove each day home from work. Most days, the long stretch of highway appeared benign, lulling her into a hypnotic state till she reached her door, but today it had been ugly, angry, hungry, and malcontent.
Lucky Ben got to
stay home today. He didn’t have to brave the roads at all, or worry about the
possible risk of property, life, or limb. She should’ve listened to her mother
and become a teacher. She could’ve been a good math teacher, found a school
where Ben and she could both work, and spend their snow days at home, together.
They could have stood by the radio this morning, like kids, anxiously awaiting the name of their school to be called. Instead, she’d quickly slurped down her coffee, with no solid food to accompany it, and ran out the door, already late. They could’ve returned to bed together, as Ben no doubt had done after she left, instead of racing down the slick roads to arrive at her desk, before her boss noticed she’d appeared twenty minutes late.
“Ben, I’m home,” she called up the stairs, only to be met by silence.
They could have stood by the radio this morning, like kids, anxiously awaiting the name of their school to be called. Instead, she’d quickly slurped down her coffee, with no solid food to accompany it, and ran out the door, already late. They could’ve returned to bed together, as Ben no doubt had done after she left, instead of racing down the slick roads to arrive at her desk, before her boss noticed she’d appeared twenty minutes late.
“Ben, I’m home,” she called up the stairs, only to be met by silence.
Whiskey Creek Press
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