Name Elle Klass
Age I don’t divulge my age. Lol!
But I’m old enough to be working on my third career.
Where are you from
I was born in Redwood City California, outside San Francisco, and spent the first 19 years of my life in the bay area.
A little about your self `ie your education Family life etc
I have a bachelor’s degree in education from University of North Florida and spent 12 years teaching junior high science. Science is a great subject to teach, lots of hands on. I’ve been married but that was ages ago. I have two beautiful daughters, my youngest can be seen on the cover of Baby Girl 3 and she’s modelling for Baby Girl 4 as well, out in January. I also have 3 grandchildren.
Fiona: Tell us your latest news?
Just last month I released my second novel and part 1 of the Ruthless Storm Trilogy, Eye of the Storm: Eilida’s Tragedy.
Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?
I began writing when I was a teenager but didn’t attempt to write something as complex as a novel until nearly a decade ago when I hashed out As Snow Falls. I didn’t release it until last fall.
Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
When I published my first novel a year ago. Really, that title is still a work in progress but I become more accomplished each day through each new reader I meet and each new book I release.
Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?
That is a tough question. I was sitting on my patio in front of my pool during a hot, humid June Florida day. The idea just came to me, maybe it was the heat that made me think of snow and a cute little cabin located remotely at the top of a mountain or maybe it was just my weird mind but either way the idea was born. I spent the rest of the summer writing As Snow Falls.
Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style?
I do, but I’m not sure I know how to describe it. I can be very descriptive and self reflective with the occasional smart alecky attitude of my protagonists reflected in self thought. They usually don’t throw the verbal assault on others, but rather think it. Sometimes their actions can be a little cagey though. There is usually some element of despair, mystery, and paranormal. The amounts differ depending on the book. My new series Ruthless Storm is dark while at the same time my protagonists Sunshine and Eilida bring a little humor to the table. Many readers have complimented my ability to ,maintain suspense within the story. That is one of the hugest compliments anybody could pay my writing. I have also been told that I wrap up my stories into magnificent climaxes well.
Fiona: How did you come up with the title?
My titles reflect the story, truly. Eye of the Storm is metaphorical for the “storm” going on inside my protagonists heads as well as reflective of the actual storm that began their nightmare.
Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Love, the struggles between good and evil. These are the basis for all my stories. They aren’t what I would call romances but are romancish. Monsters in human form also manifest themselves within the plot. Eye of the Storm has the darkest, most vile character that can exist in society, at least in my opinion.
Fiona: How much of the book is realistic?
Most of it. I tend to be a little fantastic at times, but my books aren’t fantasy. They could absolutely happen and do when my characters take over and make them realities. From time to time strange events happen in my life that mimic or mock situations in my books.
Fiona: Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Metaphorically a lot, but actually very little. My mind takes circumstances of situations I have survived or witnessed and creates stories, more like feature length films in my mind, around them.
Fiona: What books have most influenced your life most?
Truly, My Sweet Audrina by V.C. Andrews. I read it when I was about 12 and fell in love with her style and the characters. I would only read her books for a few years. That didn’t last long. Edgar Allen Poe was also a huge influence. I crave reading dark books that have endings that keep me thinking and aren’t usually happy.
Fiona: If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
I have a few writers I have gotten to know that I would consider mentors of sorts John Reinhard Dizon, Marcha Fox, and Candi Silk.
Fiona: What book are you reading now?
The Second Captive by Maggie James. It’s a great suspense novel that has kept me glued to the pages.
Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
I’m fairly new myself but I would say the authors mentioned above as well as Terri Klaes harper, Susanne Leist, Kat Green, Chris Birdy, and so many more.
Fiona: What are your current projects?
Besides Eye of the Storm Eilida’s Tragedy I participated in NaNoWriMo and wrote books 4, 5, and half of 6 in my Baby Girl series. They will be edited and released within the next year.
Fiona: Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.
Most of the authors I know, along with my boyfriend. I spend countless hours writing, marketing, and promoting and he gives me ideas as well as understanding.
Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?
That’s my goal. I love it, all of it. My favorite part of course is the writing, but next in line is all the cool people I meet across the globe.
Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I think my latest book is too fresh at the moment I’m happy with it the way it is. So many hours, days, months of labor went into it, I need a few months of not worrying about it before I can really answer that question. Everything can always be improved on and with an indie published book I can continually make those changes if I see fit.
Fiona: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
Reading would be the culprit. I have always loved to read and that desire gave me the idea of writing stories that would provide people with the hours of entertainment I received from reading.
Fiona: Can you share a little of your current work with us?
Be happy to! Here is a chapter from Eye of the Storm Eilida’s Tragedy.
I dragged myself into work not at all my normal ray of sunshine. I didn’t even know what day of the week it was. I hadn’t slept except for the freakish dream which left my internal organs in a knot tighter than a constrictor. Jerry didn’t believe me, and I had an appointment with a doctor in psychic shit. Was that even possible? I had decided Dr. Reisen was my best chance at getting my life back.
For lunch, Jerry took me to Hoagie World. It was my favorite sandwich shop but the wrenching in my gut took away my appetite. With listless determination, I managed a few bites of my chicken Caesar.
“Are you upset over our conversation last night?” he asked.
“No… actually, yes. You need to believe me. I saw the woman and it stormed just as I predicted.” No matter how preposterous it sounded, I had something to say. “After you went to sleep last night, she came back. She was outside my bedroom window. I went outside to check it out.”
“You went outside?” he interrupted.
“Yes, she was gone, of course, but two small female shoeprints were left behind. I’m sure they’re gone now because the rain washed them away but I saw them. I came inside and went to sleep and had that recurring dream again.” I went on to explain the dream in detail.
“Maybe I was too quick to look for simple logic. It could be that you have a stalker,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Well, I have an appointment today with a Dr. Reisen in Hatters Park.”
“What type of doctor is he?” Jerry inquired.
“She,” I stressed, “Is a doctor who works with and studies the paranormal.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I am. The appointment is at a quarter after four and Joe has agreed to let me leave early.” That was it. I was going. Why couldn’t he just take a leap of faith? Was it so strange? Yes, it was. The entire situation was chaotic!
“I’m coming with you,” he stated.
“You don’t believe me! No, you stay here. I’ll call you when I get in touch with the dead.” The rest of the meal was quiet.
The traffic to Hatters Park wasn’t as obscene as I thought it would be and I reached her office by ten after four. My phone buzzed softly in my pocket, assuming it was Jerry, I willfully ignored it.
Her office wasn’t what I expected. There were no crystal balls or tarot decks and it was painted a pastel blue with creamy yellow curtains. Her secretary was a gentleman about my age. He had a long face with a hawk-like nose and thin hair that was smoothed back into a ponytail.
He moved with impeccable grace, “You must be Sunshine,” carefully placing his hands over mine, he continued, “The first appointment is always free.” Letting go of my hands and grasping his together in front of his chest he said, “Dr. Reisen is expecting you.”
He guided me to her office. He was so graceful that he appeared to float. The door glided open with his gentle push. OK, maybe I was a little creeped out. “Your four fifteen is here.” His voice was even poetic.
“Thank you,” came a voice stemming from behind a gigantic velvet chair. He floated out of her office.
Dr. Reisen swiveled her chair around. I fully expected her to have a huge wart dangling on the edge of her horned nose, instead she was pleasant looking.
Actually, she was a very attractive woman who couldn’t have been a day over forty. Her hair was blond and styled short. She wore a dark purple polyester jacket, accentuating the whiteness of her skin, which came down tight around her chest and frilled at the waist. The collar of her jacket stood at attention around her neck as if starched in a vertical position. Her skirt was white and came down to her ankles with purple flowers sprinkling the fabric. On her feet she had open toed gold sandals with a three inch heel. Stones flared brilliantly, carried inside gold and silver bands around each of her fingers. Around her neck was a thick gold chain with a purple flower that fell just beneath her breasts. Matching ear rings dangled loosely beneath her impeccably styled blond plumage. She looked a little like Dracula’s wife and I half expected wings to form off her back and sharp canines to dig into my neck, leaving me bloodless.
Dr. Reisen motioned me to sit on a chaise that looked more like a shrink’s couch. “Sunshine please, tell me why you are here?”
I was feeling a little intimidated and clumsy at the moment. “I’m not sure where to start,” I said settling my butt onto the chaise. “I think I may have a twin who’s trying to tell me something. I thought I had figured it out but she’s still haunting me.”
“Haunting you? Is she dead?” she queried.
“No, she’s very much alive but I never knew she existed until a few weeks ago when she turned up in the hospital.”
She tapped her long acrylic French manicured fingernails together, “She is sick?”
“Yeah, kind of. She had a really bad accident.”
“What is it you want me to help you with?” She asked.
“Can people with head trauma start experiencing psychic episodes or gain psychic abilities?”
“Oh yes. It happens quite frequently. Now, is it her that has the head trauma? Is that why she is in the hospital?”
“Yes, I have been experiencing her thoughts and memories for a few weeks now and I knew we looked similar. I went to the hospital the other day to see for myself. We share the same birthday and look identical except our hair color. She has… mahogany colored hair.” An epiphany unloaded on my brain at that exact moment. “Like the father in my dream.” I blurted out.
She leaned forward and asked, “You are having dreams about her, too?”
“No, she’s never in them. It’s like a recurring dream but every time I have it, I see more.”
She replied, “Tell me more about your dreams.” I went on and explained each one with fantastic detail. She sat back in her huge purple chair that threatened to swallow her whole. An entire foot of the chair must have extended above her head.
“Tell me more about this woman you believe is your twin?” She seemed genuinely interested and I spilled my guts, everything except the part about me and Jay.
She nodded her head and asked, “I’m not sure what is happening to you is psychic. You may be having repressed memories. The episode you experienced in Chesterville may be a memory related to her, but this person you are seeing and the woman in your dreams may be something else entirely. Would you be willing to undergo hypnosis?”
Jerry would call off the wedding if I told him I was considering it. At this point, I figured what was there to lose? I wanted this over and my life back in time for my wedding.
She must have read my wavering mind because she spoke again. “I don’t practice hypnosis myself. A good friend and long time colleague of mine does. He has a valid list of credentials and PHD’s including physcogenics, spiritual psychology, and hypnotherapy. He is one of the best, and we have combined our skills on many occasions to assist people in their beyond the physical realm dilemmas. You don’t have to give me an answer now.”
She stood up and walked to her desk, opening the top drawer, pulling out a small card. She then walked back and handed it to me. “Here is his card. Give him a call when you decide.” I took the card, thanked her and left her office.
Outside, I took one last glance at the building fully expecting to see a pointy roof, three varied levels, and statuesque gargoyles peering down at me, but nope, it was the same building I had walked into an hour ago.
I had stuffed the card into my purse but now I took it out, his name is Dr. Weered. His office was located in Horn City. I plugged his name into a search engine and got his website and a couple articles. Scanning his website it said his specialty was hypnosis of repressed memories and dream interpretation. He believes past memories are connected to our subconscious and come forth in our dreams. I clicked back and chose an article. It appeared that he was highly recommended and maybe not a kook as his overly generic name would suggest. His work had been used in court cases and crime solving. The next day, I would call.
Fiona: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
My stories are very detail oriented so I have to keep meticulous records and charts on characters, time frames, and events. I’m learning the more books there are in a series the more important it is to be accurate and reflect back as I write. Readers may not begin with the first book and I don’t want them completely lost I also don’t want to reminisce for half the story and bore readers who have been reading since book 1. It is a skill I’m developing.
Fiona: Who designed the covers?
Ashleys’s Addictive Book Promotions designed the cover for Eye of the Storm. The picture on the cover of As Snow Falls was drawn by my talented daughter.
Fiona: Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
I learned how fun, exciting and therapeutic it is to allow my characters to do the talking and my fingers do the walking.
Fiona: Do you have any advice for other writers?
Don’t give up the world needs you as an author! There are trillions of readers out there find your audience. There is no exact way to attract readers and you’ll probably try some crazy things before you find your groove, but once you do outline a marketing plan and plunge forward.
Fiona: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Keep reading! My characters love you and I appreciate all you do introducing their stories to all your friends. I also love to hear from you so keep up the messages.
Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?
I am easily amused, especially when I’m overworked or stressed and find I laugh at the oddest things sometimes.
Fiona: Is there one person pass or present you would meet and why?
I would love to meet Jerry Rice, retired wide receiver for the San Francisco Forty Niners. His skill, hard work, and class make him an all time great role model. I also think he is the best of the best at what he did. That’s arguable but to me he is and always will be #1 at what he did.
Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone and why ?
I plan on being cremated and would like my ashes dumped in the ocean, I know that’s illegal and probably won’t happen, but my loved ones can find something creative to do with my ashes.
Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?
I loved True Blood but unfortunately it came to an end. I still have Vampire Diaries and The Originals.
Fiona: Favorite foods / Colors/ Music
Pizza is my favorite food, dripping with cheese, and loaded with pepperoni and black olives. Yummy! My favorite color is pink and I love rock but listen to a wide variety of music.
Fiona: Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?
I have a website http://elleklass.weebly.com and a blog http://thetroubledoyster.blogspot.com. My website is mostly about me and my books whereas my blog I entertain an international audience with other enticing authors and books as well as a variety of other fun stuff.
Smashwords- Eye of the storm-https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/483818
Elle Klass Bio:
Elle was born into this world in Redwood City, California and spent her childhood growing in and around the San Francisco Bay Area. She graduated from the University of North Florida with a bachelor’s degree in education. For fun she reads, spends time at the beach, travels, and enjoys time with her favorite friends, and family. She is a night-owl known to be a hermit during rainy days, as she has a love for sun, and is mostly found poolside over the hot, humid summer months.
Eye of The Storm: Eilida’s Tragedy (Book 1 in the Ruthless Storm Trilogy) Blurb
A disturbance at her neighbor’s house piques Eilida’s curiosity. What she discovers is so shocking it sends her running through the mountainous woods during a thunderstorm. She slips on the wet ground, plummets down Mount Wilde, and slams into a large boulder beside River Freedom. Eilida is transported to Lyden, where Sunshine, a receptionist at the local paper becomes engrossed in her story. The further Sunshine delves into Eilida’s life the more entangled their lives become. Paranormal events, frightening dreams, and terror filled memories draw the women together into an unthinkable web of horror.
Eilida finished polishing her hair and face, got dressed and grabbed for her purse. She habitually left her handbag in an exact location and when her hand came up empty, she panicked for a second, until her eyes zeroed in on the familiar fabric bag forming a lump on the sofa. Without giving thought to her purse’s strange location, she tossed it over her shoulder as she headed out the door. Her mind was far more occupied with whether or not she would be able to get into town before the storm, as the darkening night sky was moving in at warp speed. Blackness had overcome the sun’s natural light while lunar brilliance was predominantly obscured by the thick clouds hovering overhead. The night sky appeared starless, and thunder continued a forceful battle cry. Her deep sapphire eyes scanned the churning menace above her as she opened her car door. Mid movement her body froze like a deer scanning the forest for predators. Her eyes cemented on the Turnwell’s residence. Inside her head the puzzle pieces began to fit, one matching up to the next, until her quandary over the house across the street finally came together. After, a few split seconds she quietly closed her car door with the keys still in her hand, and crept across the street. All the lights were off in the house, but one, glowing dimly in the back.
Silently, she stole across the street, but instead of going to the front door, she put her ear up to the wall and listened. From somewhere buried inside her a primordial instinct welled up, which frightened her more than the storm brewing overhead. With her body close to the Turnwell’s house and her chest facing out, she advanced to the back. Trembling sobs alternated with short, shallow breaths told her ears that a small child was wailing inside. Her eyes caught sight of a dim light shining from the door which had been left open a crack. As she slid along the wall of the house, steps unfolded in front of her, leading up their back deck. She cocked her head, glancing towards the window and slowly progressed up the steps without a creek, something like a cat stalking its prey. As she reached the final step, she melted along the wall until her head became flush against the door frame. Taking a deep and silent breath, her guts inside wrenching and twisting, she peered inside the cracked door, gasping at the scene before her eyes. Eilida tore down the steps at warp speed, descending the tree stuffed mountain, while tears cascaded violently down her cheeks.
Thoughts raged through her brain churning and contorting. While she was on auto pilot, she continued to charge downhill without any thoughts as to where she was going. The horrific scene inside the house played like a broken record in her head. Tree branches tore at her clothes and scratched at her flesh as she dashed down the ridge. She barely felt them stinging as her mind was too consumed by the vivid spectacle she had witnessed inside the Turnwell’s home. Bleeding gashes covered her arms, face, and legs. Gnarled tree branches grew arms jutting into the path before her eyes. The rain began to pour across her forehead, leaving flowing rivulets washing away her tears and blood, leaving chunks of hair plastered against her face.
The solid earth had become bombarded with water rushing hard under her feet, causing her to slip in its wetness. She reached her hand out for something to grab hold of, but the trees curled in their disfigured appendages while her feet slipped further beneath, digging into the wet savage ground. Desperate mud covered hands penetrated the sludge groping for a large tree root. Her feet sank further into the ooze until they hit a large rock, sending Eilida flying one end over the other, jostled like an unwanted toy, down the ridge. Tree trunks and small rocks got their licks in bouncing her to and fro. The inertia of her body halted by a large boulder nestled beside the river, leaving her petite frame motionless against the flooding rains. A mess of blood curled and flowed from her head, leaving tributaries along her cheek. Shreds of fabric that used to be clothing clung to her bloody skin as the shadowy moonlight bathed her immobile and unconscious body.
“E, wait up,” called a voice. Me? I was the only person out here. I turned my head to see a young man jogging towards me. His chocolate hair flopped behind him in jumbled waves. He must be mistaken. I continued on. His footsteps quickening at my heels, I wasn’t sure whether to run or wait for him. Maybe he knew her? Alongside me now, “E what’s up with the hair?” He was tall and thin but not gangly. With his left hand, he brushed a large flap of waves out of his eyes. He was more than vaguely familiar and I knew him.
“Jay,” I uttered which surprised even me. How did I know his name? My hair has always been blond, but I decided to play along, “I’m trying something different.”
A dimple lit up his left cheek with a wide smile displaying his very straight teeth as he said, “ never imagined you as a blondie. Missed you in Chem… I got the notes if you want to meet up later?”
“Yeah, okay where at?”
“Gino’s where else? Sometimes, you are one strange girl.” He pecked my cheek and ran off backwards shouting, “ about four thirty, got another class now,” pointing to the invisible watch on his wrist.
Talk about weird that was one of the strangest situations ever. Who is E? I must be her doppelganger, I surmised. They do say after all, that everyone has a twin. I found mine and was extremely interested in knowing more about her. The pain was beginning to return and the bumpy path along the river only stressed my soreness more.
My biggest question at the moment was how did I know him? Can brain tumors make a person telepathic? I really needed to get my head checked. Ambiguous recollections of being here before registered inside my brain, but the pangs in my buttocks and legs won out and I headed back to my car.
I checked my phone. The time was twenty six after one and I had missed a call from Jerry. Shit, shit, shit! I had forgotten to call him and tell him I wouldn’t be at work. He had probably stopped by for lunch. I texted him a quick message Sorry L I am still sore from the fall took day off be home later.
I took a left out of the parking lot and followed it until I came across Temptation Drive and turned right. This road followed the mountain upwards. I hadn’t thought about where I was going until I came across Eclipse Lane. My driving had been mechanical as if I had followed this path hundreds of times before.
There were three houses on this road and I was frighteningly close to the top of Mount Wilde. To my left was a small brick house with the number fifteen hanging on the brick close to the front door. Directly across the street was another brick house, number eighteen, with yellow police crime scene tape surrounding it. At the end of the street was a wooden A-frame. I parked my car along the street and surveyed the area. What happened? Why the crime scene tape?
Curiosity got the best of me and I exited my car and staggered towards the taped house. Suddenly my legs became jellylike again and the house in front of me started shifting. The bottom of the house relocated itself from the roof and then continued rearranging. Snowy static filled the air around me. I felt as though I was walking into an old horror movie. Closer to the house my legs became more difficult to control and I almost fell. Steadying myself, I rested against the home and clutching each brick walked around it. In front of my eyes flashed blood, in flowing streams. Catching my breath and fighting to stay a foot, I stopped. A crack of lightning beamed from the sky, leaving a hole in the ground. Smoke elevated from it. Within seconds, I was covered in rain, drenched, unsteady, and cold, I half stumbled, half crawled back towards my car.
Jerry’s house was a simple ranch style three bedroom two bath house. His parents had one of the extra rooms and I got the other. Up to this very moment, I had never considered why we so seldom spent time here. His place was neat, orderly and sparsely accessorized with modern style furnishings. Soon I would be living here with him. I examined the place with my wifey eyes. The house was cold and impersonal, devoid of anything that might say, “I’m Jerry and this is my humble home”. His walls were near bear with the exception of his forty inch plasma hanging from the living room wall. It is commonly known that your home is a reflection of who you are. At this juncture, I asked myself who is Jerry? A one dimensional man. Is this the man I am getting ready to marry? I will have to add some color and life into this dismal but orderly home.
The bedroom I stayed in had a twin bed with starched flat sheets that felt cold and inflexible against my back. Unable to sleep, I moseyed into the kitchen for a drink. Everyone else was asleep and an ambiguous silence fell through the air and surrounded me. I felt like I was in a dream lurking around a haunted home. With every step I expected a poltergeist to sail down from the ceiling and take charge of my body or find a zombie hunkered in a corner eating Jerry’s flesh.
In the kitchen I rummaged through his refrigerator watching my back the entire time. The contents inside were catalogued into groups, and unopened like he never ate. His cabinets were the same, all labels facing out and nothing out of place, creepy. A breeze against my back told me I wasn’t alone. I turned slowly and my ghost sat at the table, her head down and dark hair flowing long and twisted.
I’m not scared; I’m not scared I chanted to myself as I moved towards her. I’m not scared, I’m not scared, and she was now in front of me. Anxiety cropped up within the pit of my stomach and crested. I took a deep breath and slowly, gingerly raised my hand to touch her. If she was a ghost my hand would go through. If she was something more than I probably wouldn’t live to know what. My hand glided towards her, ever so close, dangling beside her bent-in shoulders. “Mrs…” I started to say.
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