Hello, Nocturne Romance Readers! I
am so pleased to have been given the opportunity to be interviewed by this
site! My thanks in advance for the invitation.
NRR:How did you get started in
writing?
Well, I do detail that on my website
. . . but being garrulous by nature, I’m happy to recap. And expand, too, no
doubt. I always dreamed of writing romance novels, because I enjoyed reading
them so much. In fact, I craved them, particularly at low points in my life. I
firmly sustain that there is absolutely no better way on earth for a woman to
self-medicate the blues than a good rip-roaring romance novel. Whether it’s
sweet romance, whether it’s sexy, whether is western, pirates, vampires,
whatever, who cares, that bit is personal.
The important thing is the life
affirming transformative power of love. Better than chocolate, or any other
drug. There were times when only reading romance got me through. Even when I
was broke, and had to stand in the aisles of bookstores to read them. I read
all of Jayne Ann Krentz’s collected works that way, plus all her titles under
other pseudonyms. Elizabeth Lowell, too. Of course, when I finally could
afford it I want back and bought them all! They’re my comfort books now.
But I digress. I majored in English
Lit in college, and floundered afterwards, knowing that I needed to be both an
artist and self-employed, because being employed by others tended to not work
out too well, with the very best of intentions. I temped for many years while
singing was my main job . . . or rather, singing was my excuse for not getting
a “real” job. And I would try to write in down times in my temp jobs. But it is
very, very hard to get to that place in your head where you can actually hear a
story and follow it and visualize it if you are not relaxed, and alone. And
answering phones for an insurance office or typing up medical notes is not
conducive to that. So I never got past chapter 1 of what ended up being my very
first category romance, which I was hopefully aiming at Silhouette Desire, or
Harlequin Temptation. Until I went to Italy, which is another long story
you can read about on my site. In short, I followed my heart to Italy, and in
addition to my heart, I found long, solitary days in a place where I had no job
or friends or anything to do with my time, and did not speak one word of the
language.
So I wrote! I finished that category
romance! Harlequin did not elect to buy it, but I was fortunate enough to catch
the eye of Hilary Sares at Kensington, who bought that book and then four more
after it. After which, I was invited to write an erotic novella for an
anthology with three other authors far more well known than I. After that, I
wrote my first single title, BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. And I was off and running.
Learning as I went.
NRR: You are the queen of steamy!
How long does it take you to put together one of your novels?
Thank you for the title! I accept
the crown with great pride! How gratifying.
I remember reading somewhere a quote
about a man asking a woman where he should touch her to thrill her, and she
whispers into his ear, “touch my mind.” That’s so incredibly spot-on, for
me. The sex is always subservient to the psychological and emotional
issues between the hero and heroine. The sex reflects it, reveals it, develops
it. And they have to care about it. Passionately, desperately. Even if
they’re trying very hard to play it cool, which they usually are.
And as far as how long it takes,
well . . . it takes too damn long! My books keep getting longer, though I fight
and struggle against that. From start to finish, it ends up taking me about ten
months, allowing for some of the down time you have to factor in with a family
to raise. What I do, process-wise, is to scribble pages and pages of
incoherent, illegible dreck into my notebook, and then go through it and circle
the bits that have some pop, or some weight to them, the ones that resonate in
my head, and those are the ones that I develop and elaborate and riff on. I can
tell a scene is going to be alive by how incomprehensible and scribbled over in
every direction a scene is, full of arrows and stars and sideways writing and
upside down writing, and on-the-margins writing, and between-the-lines writing.
If it lights me up as I’m writing, then I know I’m onto something. Then I type
it into the machine, and then I revise it. A hundred thousand times.
I don’t know if it’s a good process.
It is certainly an inefficient one. I am SO jealous of those lucky people who
just tippety tap away directly into their computers and edit as they go, and
pop, out comes a book in two month or less, and Bob’s your uncle. Not happening
for me. If I sit in front of the computer to directly compose, nothing comes
out. I just sit there. Type a word. Delete it. Type another. Delete it, too. I
just gotta have a pen. A juicy, drippy black ball-point pen. It’s got to race
across the page. I don’t care if it smears.
Sometimes it seems like speed is
everything in this business. But I just grind along, as best I can.
NRR:What is your guilty pleasure?
Mmmm! That’s a hard one to answer,
living in Italy, which is the home of so many guilty pleasures I can’t shake a
stick at them all. Pizza? Fine wine? Awesome olive oil?
I have discovered the delight of
Charlaine Harris novels, and really enjoyed the series “True Blood,” although
my husband was too faint-hearted to watch it with me. Too much blood for the
poor guy. (good thing he doesn’t read my books, since I write them in English,
and he does not read in English. Lots of blood in my books.) And I really
go for very fine Scottish shortbreads . . . I have a friend who makes the best
ones in the world every Christmas, and I hoard them, shamelessly hiding them
from my family. And there is a panificio here in the town I live that makes
out-of-this-world focaccia and panzerotti, to be washed down with a nice cold
Baffo d’Oro beer, drunk out of a plastic cup of course. And tagliolini
with frutti di mare. And big, fat ripe dripping green figs, so juicy and heavy
with their syrup they’re splitting open right on the tree, those just
drive me wild . . . and I better not even go down this road, because it has no
end to it.
But you know what? I don’t feel
guilty! I feel GREAT about enjoying all these things! Not necessarily when I
try to button my jeans, but . . . well, never mind. Too much information.
NRR:What was the most challenging
part of putting together BLOOD AND FIRE?
Wow. My books are across-the-board
challenging for me on so many levels. (whine, whine.) But what distressed
me the most was how hard it was to deal with the back story. Which was, as
usual, totally huge. Like, the size of Montana. The way the book unfolded,
there were so many things that had to happen to the heroine before she could
meet the hero. Pages and pages. I longed to get them together, right off the
bat, so I could use their connection as momentum, fizz. But I couldn’t! Things
had to happen first, to make the whole scenario even possible! Ack! My other
possibility was to start with their meeting and put the whole shebang into
flashbacks, recollections. But yuck. I mean, how many flashbacks can a woman
read before she gets irritated? I’m already a dream-sequence slut. I had a
beloved editor some time ago who was forever kicking my ass about my antique
long prologues and my wacky dream sequences. So baroque. So
self-indulgent. That crazy Shannon . . . what will she think of next.
So I balanced it as best I could,
but I had lots of angst about that massive back-story issue
NRR:What is a day in the life of
Shannon McKenna like?
Oh, dear. Do you really want to
know? I’m afraid it will wreck any mystique I might have if I admit this, but
my life is a chaotic blur of little-kid management. I don’t even have time to
notice that I’m in another country on most days, and an alluring, sexy,
sensual, attractive country that everyone longs to visit. But who sees the
gorgeous monuments or feels the breeze from the Adriatic when she’s busy
loading the dishwasher? I’m out of my mind most days, just trying to find the
time and space to work. In the place that I live, my writing is mostly regarded
as a somewhat odd but more or less harmless hobby, and the fact that I make my
living at it is totally irrelevant—I’m supposed to be cooking and cleaning and
ironing underpants all day, or I’m not a good and virtuous woman. Fortunately,
this does not bother me. I just smile, and play dumb. You’ll never catch me ironing
underpants. No, sir.
NRR:Can you share with us the
storyline to BLOOD AND FIRE? Of course, no spoilers!
Certainly! I became fascinated
with Bruno Ranieri when I wrote the preceding book, FADE TO MIDNIGHT, and he
just jumped out at me and demanded his own story. But there was that haunting
scene that Bruno remembers from his childhood, which was recounted from his
point of view in FTM, which just stuck in my mind. The mafioso thugs who came
to his great-uncle’s diner to abduct him when he was twelve years old, who
ripped his dead mother’s necklace from his neck before Kev came down on them
like an avenging angel and pounded the crap out of them . . . gee, sounds
like a story there, wouldn’t you say? Though I had no idea at the time what that
story would be.
For Bruno, as far as I knew, it was
just a painful memory from his past, and a reason to worship his foster brother
all the more. His mother’s death was chalked up as a tragic but banal incident
of domestic violence. Hmmmmm.
So, here is the blurb I wrote for my
editor, and thank you for your kind interest . . .
BLOOD AND FIRE – BLURB
By Shannon McKenna
We met Bruno Ranieri in FADE TO
MIDNIGHT, the story of Kev McCloud, the last of the indomitable McCloud
brothers. Bruno is Kev’s restless, hotheated, ass-kicking younger adopted
brother from the loud and chaotic Ranieri family. With the help of Bruno and
his other brothers, Kev has finally faced the monsters from his past, and
emerged victorious--but Bruno’s got his own monsters to deal with, and lately,
they’ve been circling around, closing in. And they’re hungry for blood.
Bruno’s been trying to keep it all
together since his adopted brother Kev’s life exploded, leading to Bruno’s
Uncle Tony’s untimely death. He’s been working hard at his business, keeping
his nose clean, making money, trying to save his uncle’s restaurant—all while
functioning with virtually no sleep, since the dreams from his childhood are
back—terrifying nightmares that practically tear him apart, night after night.
Then Lily Parr sashays into the all
night restaurant, wearing a black wig, a low cut dress, and a fifty pound chip
on her shoulder, and blows his mind, in more ways than one. Like it wasn’t
enough to be pole-axed by her ethereally seductive beauty, she’s also on the
run from mysterious assassins, and she’s convinced that Bruno is somehow
involved. Problem is, the second he touches her, he is involved—up to his neck,
whether he wants it or not. And when violence explodes around them almost as
quickly as the raging desire explodes between them, Bruno has to start
wondering, weird as it seemed, if there’s something to her wild story—or if
he’s just being used.
Lily Parr is desperate. She’s been a
fugitive ever since her father’s death a month before in a mental
hospital—ostensibly a suicide, but Lily knows in her heart that it’s murder.
Her father tried to tell her the secret that had broken his mind right before
his death, tried and failed, and right afterwards, Lily barely escaped a savage
murder attempt outside her own New York City apartment. All her father had been
able to give her was a name: Magda Ranieri, a woman who’d been murdered by her
mafioso boyfriend twenty years before. It seemed like a dead end, but Magda had
a son. Bruno Ranieri.
Lily has finally hunted him down,
hoping for clues, but didn’t bargain for what she actually finds. The sexiest
guy she’s ever seen. Volcanically hot. Magnetic. Protective. Charming. Funny.
She does not need such a stupid distraction, not with rabid killers hot on her
heels. But she cannot resist him. Not for a second.
Bruno has left the heartbreak in his
past behind him. The last thing he wants is to reopen those old wounds, but
Lily ignites a hunger inside him that he’s never felt before, and he can’t turn
his back on her desperate plight. Nor can he stop touching her.
But a terrifying and unseen foe is
right behind them, an enemy with seemingly endless power and resources. The
faster they run, the harder they fight, the worse things get. Because there is
a terrifying secret hidden in Bruno and Lily’s pasts, a secret that only the
two of them working together can unearth—and their mysterious enemy will do anything
to stop them from finding it. Passion rages unchecked as they race
against time to unravel the mystery, but passion is not enough. They need trust
to find the key, or the evil from their past will overtake them . . . and
destroy them.
NRR:What can we expect to see from
you next?
Well, one of the things you will
discover when you read BLOOD AND FIRE, is that Alex Aaro comes to the fore. I
got fascinated with him, in his turn. So the next book, which I am writing now,
features him. Wish the heroine luck . . . Aaro’s going to be a real toughie to
wrestle to the ground! The guy’s got issues, to put it delicately.
Wish me luck, too! I’ll do my
damnedest to make it good, because I am so grateful to all my readers for
making this dream job, of writing romantic stories, possible for me. However
much I may complain about it, it is so very excellent. So thank you all, for
your interest in my books.
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Lenore
~Media Coordinator/ Site Owner