Monday, January 24, 2011
Welcome Kim Baccellia
Hello, Kim. Thanks for stopping by. Tell us a little bit about yourself, please. Did you always want to be a writer?
I’m the author of two YA books, a reviewer, and also a homeschooling mom.
I’ve always loved writing. I think it really helped that my fifth grade teacher encouraged my writing. So did my High school Journalism teacher.
For anyone not familiar with your work, what genres do you write in? have you ever considered other genres?
So far I’ve mostly written for the YA market. I write fantasies, paranormals, and also multicultural pieces. What people don’t know about me is I started off writing poetry and have a poem in a poetry anthology. I also have an edgier YA piece that I mean to go back to.
Wow, I'm feeling small here. I couldn't write poetry if my life depended on it. What do you think makes a book a page turner?
I feel a story needs to grab you at the start. Too much backstory and other expository writing will lose a reader. As a reviewer I have the 50 page rule: if the story doesn’t get my attention by the first 50 pages, I put it aside.
Yes, I do pretty much the same thing. What advice would you give aspiring writers?
Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t write. If this is your dream, be persistent. Don’t give up.
LOL. That's the advice I always give, and it's good advice. What are your future goals as a writer?
One of my big goals is to get an agent. But I know that’s out of my hands at the moment so I think the biggest goal I have is to finish my YA dystopia and the sequel to CROSSED OUT. I want to continue to better my craft by writing the best books I can.
Would you share your links with us?
Sure! Here’s my website: www.kim-baccellia.com
My link to my book: http://www.lachesispublishing.com/proddetail.asp?prod=Crossed%5FOut
Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Crossed-Out-Kim-Baccellia/dp/1897562683/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1294332608&sr=8-1
The link to my review site: www.yabookscentral.com
I’m ixtumea there!
7.We’d love to read an excerpt for one of your books. Don’t forget to leave us a buy link.
I couldn’t deal with Mom and her holier-than-thou attitude about decorating crosses. If she had any clue why I needed to do this, maybe she’d back off. I pushed my hair aside and looked down at the wooden beams. My box of paints and Sharpie pens lay close to my side. I had to get the design just right. Roses, or something plainer? It didn’t help that it was so cold in the garage.
Why was it so hard to help the dead go to the other side? It’d be a whole lot easier if they told me what they wanted on their crosses. Dead girl comes, asks for help, and tells me she’s into pink roses. Yes, that would make my job a lot easier.
But one thing I’ve learned is, life isn’t easy. Cliché, but true.
Figures, this was how I’d spend my time on a Saturday – sitting cross-legged on the floor in our garage, worrying about finishing a cross for some dead girl. In a few hours, Mom would drag me to Mrs. Swanson’s house for a sleepover. I didn’t really have time to decorate a cross.
And each time I tried to sketch, thoughts of the meeting drove any thought of the design out of my mind. I mean, how could I even think of helping others – albeit dead ones – when my own life was such a disaster?
I didn’t want to go. But Mom was using the whole sleepover as a way to get me to be around Hillary, whom she thought would be such a good example for me. But I couldn’t tell my mother the truth – I hated Hillary. Yes, we’d once been close, but it wasn’t as if we were BFF anymore. No, Hillary made sure of that when I’d been stupid enough to trust her with my secret. A secret that was better left hidden. No one believed the dead could talk to you.
According to my last counselor, the only way that could happen is through serious Steven Spielberg special effects.
When I admitted to seeing one of my dead friends, he didn’t freak. No, he did something worse. He ended up suggesting to my parents that I needed to see a counselor – for serious psychological help. I mean, only crazy people see the dead.
And, I hate to say this, but his anti-anxiety and antidepressants don’t keep them away. Sometimes I wished the drug cocktail could just erase them. It sure would make my life a lot easier.
Sighing, I decided to go with pink roses. What girl didn’t like pink?
A sudden coldness permeated the garage. Jeez, did Dad forget to close the back door again?
I pulled my hoodie tighter. Working in near darkness was bad enough without the drop in temperature.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
I dropped my black Sharpie.
Over in the corner of the garage loose papers and dust whirled around – a funnel growing larger and larger.
A light shone next to Mom’s holiday plastic boxes, illuminating some Christmas ornaments, tinsel, and wrapping paper.
The childish voice grew louder. A chill went up my back. I know that voice!
I'd read this myself, Kim! Good luck with your work. Come back to visit soon.