J. C. Conway is a romance, science fiction and fantasy author, writing novels and short stories for adults, young adults and teens. He is a grand prize winner of the Yosemite Romance Writers Smooch contest. His writing passion began with a grade-school assignment to write anything he liked, which, at the time, included dinosaurs, robots, army heroes and alien invaders. Since then he's added deep simmering passion, tense internal conflict and emotional dilemmas. To learn more, visit:
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Ink Motions Interview:
How do you get an idea for your novel?
The idea for this novel came up while I was researching past celestial impacts with Earth. The most famous ones are associated with extinction level events. But there were many more, including an impact that may have released the Greenland Ice Sheet quite some time ago, changing the global climate for centuries to follow. I did not want to write a story all about that. But what if a moderately civilized human culture existed at the time, back before any known civilization, and vanished because of such an event—what could happen if archaeologists found traces? From there, two archaeologists at odds with each other about how to treat and analyze the findings were a perfect start for conflict-driven romance.
What is your writing style? Do you just sit down and write or do you create character sketches, outlines, or notes?
I go back and forth between planning and doing. Before I start a story, which is a big time commitment, I generally have an opportunity to do some sketches and outlining. But once I start setting out the scenes, I don't always use those sketches and outlines, depending on what I find in the characters' voices. From there, I outline and re-outline, go back to writing, and keep circling, trying to fix my bearings and see the story I'm creating, as well as the story I'm subconsciously trying to create. It’s a wonderful process, but hard to fully explain.
Who is the "Writing Muse" in your life? I.E. who gets your juices flowing when you are blocked?
Fortunately, there are a host of candidates. Thirty minutes in a hot tub can do the trick. Pink Floyd and Pat Metheny, to mention just a couple of musical inspirations, can help me along. There is something about how Carl Sagan looked at the universe that always gets my motor running. And I can't emphasize enough that good writers and good stories really keep me motivated. There is no one writer, not even several. There are countless amazing authors, and every time I find one of those stories I didn't expect to touch me, but does, it drives me forward to get my thoughts down and flesh out these worlds that peek through my mind.
How many novels have you written including all work in progresses you are currently working on?
There are two completely finished, polished and ready, including my recently published novel, Hearts in Ruin. I have many works in progress, and four of them are drafts of novels I am presently revising.
Who is your "writing idol"? I.E. Who do you like and what is it about there writing that captures your soul?
John Steinbeck had a way of writing that allowed him to get out of the way so that it seemed the story simply unfolded. He's not the only one that's captured my soul. But he epitomizes a style I idolize.
What is you favorite plot line type?
I can't say I have one type of plot line that I favor, but there are criteria I like for selecting plot lines and developments. For me, it all has to do with the juxtaposition of character and circumstances. The plot has to be something that fits and focuses the key conflict and related problems the main character faces. Plots serve the story, not the other way around. But when I start a story, I usually have a very traditional three-act structure in mind and a character arc woven with it where the key plot catastrophe leading to the climax and the story arc epiphany work together. Whether that requires modification as the story develops depends a great deal on the characters and what their ids tell me, once they come to life for me.
Is there any advice you can offer to anyone who would like to write?
Read and write and write and read. Study the craft. Don't assume your work is golden. Learn to take, and appreciate, criticism. Stand your ground when you know what you're talking about. But don't be too quick to think you know what you're talking about. It takes time. Put the time in. Analyze works you like. Learn to enjoy revision, never stop learning, and always keep writing.
What is a good villain?
A great villain is someone that could be a hero from another perspective—someone with real motivations and something to lose—but in the end, someone who crosses the line and deserves the loss, rather than the win.
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Here is the first kiss scene in the story—it takes place on an outside patio at a formal dinner at Daniel's former university. He is uncomfortable with some of his former colleagues and has stepped outside for a breath of fresh, desert air.
Later in the evening, Daniel slipped out to the patio for a reprieve—just a few moments of peace. The wide balcony overlooked the east side of campus with the lights of town beyond, backed by the night shadows of the mesa. He inhaled. Even here, amid streets, buildings, miles of surrounding commercial and residential neighborhoods, the scent of the uncivilized desert predominated. Its stillness soothed him.
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“So there you are.”
Daniel turned, startled. Andrea stepped into view, stunning in Pamela’s dress. He’d seen her in it all evening, but not in the moonlight like this.
He struggled for composure. He hadn’t expected anyone to join him here, especially Andrea. She was a hit at the dinner, a fresh young woman, as smart as the stuffy regulars, but piercingly direct and good humored.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Sure.” She stepped toward him. “Except my date ditched me.”
“I didn’t think you needed me in there.”
Her eyes glinted. “So, you tired of the crowd?”
He laughed. She could not have nailed it much better. “Let’s just say I’ve already been to enough meetings, dinners, and functions of all kinds with this group to fill a lifetime.”
She stood next to him now at the railing and stared across the campus. “It’s a pretty school.”
He shrugged. “It has its charms.”
A subtle hint of perfume mingled seamlessly with the desert breeze. Amazing. Most of the women inside seemed anxious to disguise or completely cover up the smell and feel of the dry desert environment. But Andrea, who had never lived in the climate or even visited the desert before, chose a fragrance that accepted it and even complimented its arid beauty.
“Not all fake Ivy-League like the U,” she explained.
He smiled. “No. And if you have a thing for adobe and stucco then you can really learn to love it.”
She turned, leaning back against the railing. “The people seem nice,” she ventured. “I don’t really know why you left. Just because they didn’t support the dig? It seems you could’ve worked it out with these folks.”
Daniel could not tear his gaze from her profile and the bare shoulders just touched by soft and inviting golden-brown hair. But he was held by more than that. All of her qualities were admirable. Not only was she fascinatingly attractive, and perhaps even in spite of it, she was brilliant and clear minded, and she loved her work.
“They um…” Daniel’s throat thickened, as if he were trying to talk underwater. There was something about her—something between them that transcended this project, he knew. He’d been avoiding it. He wanted no complications during the dig. But that was only part of the problem. The fact was, he didn’t want to draw her too far into his private quest. He couldn’t do that to her. Not now, not at this critical juncture with her career poised to launch. It was bad enough that she was the project leader, and he hoped she didn’t have to explain that away the rest of her life after he finally published his findings. But why then, if he felt that way, did he recruit her? She was clearly in the running for a post at a good school. This project, once the controversy surfaced, was not a good stepping stone on that path. Did he really think if he kept her role limited that it could minimize the fallout to her career?
It had been different for him. He didn’t work so hard for his opportunities. He had been young when he reached that point. Just eighteen, still a kid. He met Madeline and willingly abandoned most of the career courses Andrea should follow. He was committed to his project. He never saw it as a choice. But how could he lead Andrea down the same path—especially after she worked so hard for so many years to gain a solid foothold in academia?
Andrea’s brow furrowed with contemplation and she turned to him. “I think you should have just stuck to your guns here. They like you more than you know.”
He drew a breath. “Not all of them.”
She lowered her chin. “You’re about as likeable as they get.”
He smiled, and without thinking, touched her hand. She didn’t retreat. The air warmed with electricity. A remnant of his rational mind searched for a response to her statement—a quip, a compliment, a rebuttal…anything. But the futile effort was overshadowed by the sharpening of his senses, an awakening triggered by her presence and warm touch.
“I uh…”
She turned to face him squarely. He touched her arm, feeling the impossible softness of her skin. Her hand touched his stomach and slide to his waist. Her expression shifted. Her eyes surveyed his face. Was she searching for resistance or its opposite? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he cared. But he could tell that this closeness was something they’d both thought about before.
The moment grew, nearly eclipsing all else. He knew in his mind and heart that if he didn’t embrace her now, the moment could vanish forever. His heart pounded. He did not weigh options. This was not a matter of choice. It was roaring compulsion. He leaned close. He felt the heat of Andrea’s cheek, her warm breath. Their lips brushed across each other. Daniel savored the soft pass once, twice, then opening slightly more and connecting, pressing, tasting and melding. His chest filled with fire. The world fell away. He reached around her, pulling her close. She nestled in, leaving no gap.
He felt no barrier between them. His lips touched her nose, her cheek, the crook of her neck. He returned to her lips and they tasted each other again. Andrea mewed. It felt right to be lost in her touch and her breath. Their chests heaved together. Their embrace softened. Daniel roamed the curve of her spine. She responded with equal, soft passion. He felt the release of a long, satisfied sigh.
They touched foreheads.
He smiled. She giggled lightly.
A rough, “Ahem,” broke the moment like shattered crystal. They weren’t alone.
Eyes widened, they released their holds and turned.
“I don’t mean to disturb you.”
Daniel regained his bearing. William Lassiter and Morgan Hamilton stood near the patio door holding cocktail tumblers.
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