Please welcome Marcus Damanda !!!
It’s
All About the Author…
1) Please
tell us 5 interesting facts about yourself that readers might not know about
you …
Fun question! Here you go.
One: I’m a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and am
able to fight with my hands, bo-staff, and sword. Thankfully, the ninjas
haven’t attacked in months.
Two: I’ve seen KISS in concert 23 times.
Three: I have the movie EXCALIBUR memorized.
Four: I have framed maps of Middle Earth and
Narnia hanging from my wall, along with some rare classic heavy metal albums.
Five: I’ve kept a glass jar of peaches in my
closet at work for fourteen years, all in an attempt to age them into
“Sploosh,” just like in Louis Sacher’s book HOLES. (The process takes 100
years, so I’ll need my descendants to finish it.)
2) What do
you like to do in your spare time?
I do a lot of online gaming. I play bass guitar (but not very
well). I enjoy watching football and GAME OF THRONES. I’m always on the lookout
for the next great horror or fantasy novel. I go for walks, occasionally do
some target shooting.
3) Is there
one book that you love to read over and over again? If so, what is it and what is it that keeps
you coming back to it?
IT, by Stephen King, has called me back more than once. I
first read it as a kid. Now, as an adult, seeing those characters the way King
wrote them, alternating between their childhoods and their adult lives, just
resonates with magic, heartbreak, and terror. You can skip the movie,
though—total garbage.
4) How did
you get started writing and have you always wanted to be an author?
I started telling stories when I was very small. I started
writing for fun at age nine. From that time on, being a professional author has
been my number one ambition—no question.
5) If you
for some reason couldn’t be an author, what would your other choice be?
Rock star. Disc jockey. School teacher. (Wink-wink.)
6) Did you
like school? Were you a good student?
I was an atrocious middle school student, trapped in a private
school I hated and tried to get kicked out of. High school was better—had the
time of my life. It wasn’t until college that I did consistently well with my
grades, though.
7) When you write, is there a specific way you
have to write, ie: certain room, noise
or quiet, computer or paper etc…
I plan my stories out on notecards. Once I have an idea of
where I want the story to go, I turn those into an outline on the computer.
After that, I write as much as I can, as fast as I can, until the book is done.
8) If you could write a collaboration with
another author, do you have one in mind and what would you write?
These days, I’d have to say Neal Shusterman. His UNWIND
“dystology” simply blew my mind. I would have killed for an idea like that,
so—well, if you can’t beat ’em, collaborate with ’em. Hey, Neal, are you
reading this?
9) How do you come up with your story
ideas?
Every writer draws from his or her own personal experience. In
my case, that’s usually a very subconscious motivator, though. Generally, I sit
down and brainstorm a few dozen absolutely stupid ideas until one of them just
unexpectedly calls out to me.
10)
Do titles stump you or do they come easy? When do you pick a title, before the story is
written or when it’s done?
My last two major projects were very different from each other
in that regard. THE FOREVER SHOW didn’t get its title until I was nearly done
with the first draft. I was honestly panicked I’d never think of anything I
liked. But I had the title for THE DEVIL IN MISS DRAKE’S CLASS, and all three
of its individual books, before I’d actually written any of it.
11)
Do you keep a notebook near you for when new ideas
pop into your head?
I keep a stack of multicolored notecards in a small plastic
box—meticulously ordered, unlike my life.
12)
If you write a series, do you re-read your
previous books before you begin the new one?
Oh my god, yes. I don’t even write a chapter without
re-reading at least the two chapters that came before. So, as it pertains to
books, definitely. It helps me keep the same narrator’s voice. Or maybe I’m
just obsessive.
13)
How does your family feel about your writing?
They wish me great success and require quite a lot of arm
twisting to actually read any of it. But you know what? I love them just fine,
anyway.
Thanks
for sharing “you as an author” with us !
We hope you’ll come back and visit again soon!
*****
Devils in the Dark
(The Devil
in Miss Drake's Class, 1)
Marcus
Damanda
16+ / horror/paranormal/27K
To most of the Facebook 15, bullying Audrey Bales was
just a game—until two deep cuts with a Swiss army knife changed everything
forever. Audrey didn’t want attention anymore. After five weeks at Fairview
High School, Audrey wanted to die.
The doctors did the only thing they
could with her: they put her away.
But in Fairview, Virginia, the nightmare
is only beginning. The chat session had not gone unobserved. The Facebook 15
have drawn the attention of an ancient evil that lives only to punish those who
would prey upon the weak.
They are the ghosts of 1,000 dead
children—1,000 suicides—and their master…
Their master likes Audrey
Bales.
And as Audrey attempts to heal her mind
and body, far from home, their master prepares for the revenge he will unleash
upon her return.
Excerpt:
Underneath
the blackened veil of her powered-off monitor, the comments kept coming, kept
taunting her.
The observer
had stopped watching. He leaned back in his chair, head upturned to the
ceiling, eyes closed, still eating. The overripe apple had a worm in it, and he
sucked it down.
He projected
his sight outward, miles and miles from his little home. He didn’t know where
he was anymore.
Somebody’s
house. An empty room. A closet.
Here he
first saw the girl, the one they were tormenting. Her Facebook icon had shown
only a skull and crossbones. In real life, she might have been pretty, if she
had not worked so hard to hide it.
Familiar
too. Something in her eyes and her lips.
She was
close, very close, to a bad decision.
She was
imagining the ghost of her brother and talking to it, opening boxes that
contained his possessions. She listened to him speak words the observer could
not hear. Oh, he wished he could. From this distance all he could hear was the
pain inside of her, the loneliness, screams within whispers. An oncoming storm.
It made him
angry on her behalf.
He returned
his gaze to the real world of his apartment. The five of them were still chatting,
their cruel banter punctuated by internet abbreviations and emoticons, calling
for Audrey-Bear to say something, say something….
More joined
the chat.
He shook his
head.
You
deserve to die, he
thought. All of you.
****
Audrey
returned to her bedroom and closed the door. This time, she broke a house rule
and locked it. She put the blanket back in place and thumbed the monitor back
on.
It was
nearly one in the morning, yet the number of people on Cody’s page had tripled.
Stranger still was the activity coming through on her end.
She gazed in
bewilderment.
Benny
Talbot has sent you a friend request.
Heather
Roberts has sent you a friend request.
Ally
Watson has sent you a friend request.
Gabriel
Daniels has sent you a friend request.
Eleven
requests, all kids from school. Most of them had sent her personal messages
too. Some were fake-friendly, some openly mocking. Most pretended to rally in
her support, as if they had somehow stumbled upon this Internet lynching by
accident, all at the same time, and were offended by it. A virtual party had
gathered in Cody’s little corner of cyberspace, and Audrey was the game they
were playing.
Had Maggie
called or texted them all out of bed?
“Creative,”
she said. “You’re really good at this.”
She wasn’t
crying anymore. In fact, she was perfectly calm. With the ghost of her brother
standing by her side, she set his old Swiss Army knife—he’d gotten it for
Scouts, before he had quit—next to the keyboard.
Click
Accept, her brother
said. For all of them. Now, before they give up and start to log off.
She accepted
them all, and the result was chat room bedlam. The comments came faster than
she could read. Evidently this was the very height of hilarity.
And,
naturally, as soon as she had accepted them all, one-by-one, they unfriended
her, and posted.
Just
kidding!
Sry!
Changed my mind!
What an
idiot!
Inspired,
she clicked the Like button over every comment. Then, ignoring the perplexed responses
to that maneuver, she got to work.
She
retrieved the gym shirt from under her bed. Most days this particular item of
attire would have remained a crumpled ball in her P.E. locker after school, but
she’d had to wear it all day, and so it had come home with her.
“Turn your
head, Alex,” she said, as if he were really there.
And as if he
were really there, he answered. Not looking, not looking.
Once she had
the shirt on and smoothed it out, she sat back at her desk, got out her cell
phone, tied her hair in a tail, and took a picture of herself.
****
When the
first picture appeared on Cody’s page, the observer knew exactly what was
coming. He’d seen it before. The details differed each time, but the common
threads were easily picked out: theatrics, spite, spectacle—and from the other
end, disbelief. Then there would be panic, frantic attempts to undo the damage,
and afterward, there would be remorse.
From most of
them.
The picture
was off-center. The girl was smiling, posing. The mascara tracks on her face
looked like war paint.
Val: OMG,
she’s postin selfies!
Cody: Give
us a twerk, emo.
How they
didn’t see what was coming, the observer could not fathom. But that was part of
the pattern too. Bullies, as a rule, didn’t get it until it was too late—for the
victim, or less frequently, for themselves.
The observer
was truly torn. On the one hand, if she went through with it, she’d set him
free. He had made contact with her, though she didn’t know it, and he was the
oldest within the host. After many, many years, it was his turn, and he would
finally learn what lay beyond this purgatory. But on the other hand, he felt
bad for her. He really did.
“Let’s go,”
he said to the screen. The suspense was killing him. “What’s next, Audrey?”
A second
picture came up even as the first was being liked and shared by nearly everyone
on the page. This one silenced most of them.
Audrey was
holding an unfolded pocket knife against her cheek with one hand while the
other took the picture, still smiling, tilting her head.
At first,
the only comment came from Maggie: Drama. Whatever.
Audrey
responded: Stick around. This is for your benefit.
Everything
slowed down, then. Time rolled out like an empty rug, the Facebook page inert
and dead. Minutes passed with nothing.
Then,
Val: Audrey?
Still,
nothing.
Val
again: Audrey, don’t be dumb. Come on.
Five minutes
became ten.
Maggie: She
went to bed. She wants us to worry all night. As if we would.
After
fifteen minutes of relative inactivity, the final picture appeared.
*****
Author Bio:
Marcus Damanda lives in Woodbridge,
Virginia with his cat, Shazam. At various times throughout his life, he played
bass guitar for the garage heavy metal band
Mother’s Day, wrote for The Dale City Messenger, and published
editorials in The Potomac News and The Freelance Star. Currently, while not
plotting his next foray into fictitious suburban mayhem, he spoils his nieces
and nephews and teaches middle school English.
Find Marcus Damanda here:
Website: http://www.marcusdamanda.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarcusDamanda
***Giveaway: 1 ecopy of Devils in the Dark to a lucky
commenter on any of the participating blogs.
Thanks so much for inviting me into your corner of cyberspace! I had fun with this interview, and your time and interest is SO appreciated!
ReplyDeleteVery cool insight to see how your stories develop!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Max! And--a winner is you!
ReplyDeleteA glass jar of peaches? Really?
ReplyDeleteYes. Really. It's on the top shelf, very tightly squeezed shut, with a date label on the front. No stink so far. Thanks for asking!
DeleteGreat interview, Marcus! I'm impressed by the index cards :)
ReplyDeleteWhy, thank you. I've been told the index card company is happy with it as well. I have to write things down as they come to me--otherwise, they drift away like dreams in the morning.
Delete(I had a great idea last night ... What was it? What WAS it? Damn it!)