Name  Victoria Danann


Where are you from

6th generation Texan

A little about your self `ie your education Family life etc  

I have a B.A. and an M.A. in psychology, but I also did graduate work in history (with a focus on 9th century England) during which I spent considerable time in the U.K. I have also formally studied myths and comparative religion on an ad hoc basis.

Fiona: Tell us your latest news?

This past year will be known (to me) as the year of building the house. It took far more time than I had anticipated and left my writing time drained to nothing. We’ve been in the new house for five weeks and I’m amazed at how much I’m getting done. I have a super-ambitious writing schedule coming up next year, beginning with novels releasing in January, February, and March. Altogether there will be twelve books releasing in 2016 if you count the new box set (Black Swan 7-9) and the three new German translations of Moonlight, Gathering Storm, and A Tale of Two Kingdoms.

Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?

I can tell you when, if not why. I was eight-years-old. And, as an aside, I have a theory that if you pay attention to children, they will give all sorts of clues as to who they really are by that age. At age eight I spent the time that contemporary children would waste on electronic games focused on three things: music, evening wear design, and novel-writing. I wrote what would be called “fan fiction” today of Bobbsey Twins books.

I have had the privilege to pursue all three of those interests. 1.) I translated my classical training as a pianist to become the utility player in a Classic Rock band. I played keyboards, rhythm guitar, sang backup and fronted some songs. My evening wear designs were copied by the best. I could name names because they would blatantly stand outside my booth at shows with a sketchpad. I had a New York showroom with clientele in New England and South America. 3.) Last, I wrote a paranormal romance manuscript and showed it to my nineteen-year-old husband who was the furthest thing from my audience. After hearing what he had to say about it, I didn’t write again for decades. The good news is that, in the interim, I got a real education and did a lot of living so that when I did begin writing in earnest, I had something to say. When authors don’t have a well of impressions to draw on, they have nothing much to offer except thinly veiled copying of the works of others. In other words, I’m now grateful that I didn’t begin writing too soon.

Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I got started during the time now called the “gold rush” (2012) and considered myself a writer when it began to return a living wage.

Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?

My band, Roadhouse, broke up with the full juicy rock and roll experience, by which I mean turning the air blue and slamming doors. The years I was with the band were the best of my life. I tried playing with a couple of other outfits, but it was never the right fit. I think I was depressed, although I didn’t recognize it at the time, and turned to writing for healing.

Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style?

If my style has a name, I don’t know it. I was a student of literature and tend to go flowery if I don’t watch it carefully. I try to keep that reined in and use Stephen King’s modern model of straightforward write-like-you-talk narrative.

Fiona: How did you come up with the title?

Assuming we’re talking about my first book, I wanted to call it Familiar Stranger, but there were other books by that name. I added the My to distinguish it from other titles.

Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Yes. Whenever devastating tragedy occurs, seeds of opportunity for a different, but still wonderful future are planted within that experience. I like to always end the description of My Familiar Stranger with “love can find you in the strangest places even when you’re far, far from home”.

Fiona: How much of the book is realistic ?

If by that you mean how much is taken from actual experience, perhaps five percent.

Fiona: Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?


Fiona: What books have most influenced your life? a mentor?


Fiona: What book are you reading now?

Sex at Dawn. It’s a non-fiction account of the conflict between sexuality as programmed by evolution and the accommodations that have been made since the advent of agriculture.

Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

J.A. Huss. 321 was a guilty pleasure, but I think she is very talented.

Fiona: What are your current projects?

Currently working on Journey Man, Black Swan #8 to release, hopefully, in March 2016. People have been requesting the next Black Swan book for some time and I hope they will be pleased with the developments of the ongoing story.

Fiona: Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.

In recent times, that would be my assistant, Sarah Blausey. She not only supports my work as author, but gives me regular attitude adjustments. She is, without a doubt, the single most positive person I know. She will never let a grumble stand, but diverts my attention to something shiny instead.

Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?

It is for the moment. I don’t know what’s next.

Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

Hmmm. No.

Fiona: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?


Fiona: Can you share a little of your current work with us?

Following is an excerpt from Vampire Hunter, Rammel Hawking 1, releasing January 18, 2016. Vampire Hunter is My Familiar Stranger from Ram’s unique point of view, along with insights from other characters close to the story. This passage is from a chapter narrated by Sir Basil Rathbone Lansdowne, Ram’s former partner.




I had finished my education and chosen to sign on with Black Swan. The ink wasn’t dry on the paper before I was out the door. First assignment was Grunewald, the unit that serviced Berlin. It was close enough by whister to patrol, but far enough away to be secluded. The building was a renovation, or adaptation really, of an eighteenth century grand house, set in the middle of a forest preserve that was off limits to anyone not Black Swan.

I had seen a lot of the world by then, but had never been to Berlin. I knew why we had a unit there. Because wherever you find prevalent nightlife, you find active nests of vampire. I didn’t have any personal experience with leeches at that time. But you don’t have to experience a thing personally to believe people when they tell you it’s nasty.

I had never heard anything about vampire until six months ago. They trained our minds and bodies to be precision instruments and occasionally said something vague about protecting the innocent. But crap on a croissant. We had no idea we were preparing to be the only barrier between humanity and monsters that turned out to be real. Our story when we met civilian juvies was that we were in military school. Hel. Close enough. Right?

Anyway, six months ago they clued me in. There are vampire out there. I had two choices when I turned eighteen. I could sign on as a vampire hunter or go home and keep my mouth shut about everything I’d learned. I was told that, if I chose the first option, I’d find that my training hadn’t even begun. I didn’t believe that. I mean how much harder could it be? Really.

They said they took the mouth shut part of option two very seriously. No threat was spelled out, but it was certainly implied. I had six months to decide. So. Sure. I thought about it. A lot.

The day before I turned eighteen I still hadn’t decided. I returned to quarters around ten o’clock, closed the door, switched on the light and nearly jumped out of my skin.

My uncle was sitting there in the dark waiting like some creeper from a film noir movie. He laughed when I jumped.

“Right. Real funny. What are you doing in this part of the world?”

His smile slowly faded away. “Sit. I want to say something.”

Uncle Al wasn’t the sort of guy you said no to. I sat in the chair closest to the sofa where he’d parked his overbearing ass. He didn’t speak at first, just stared at me, and I have to tell you it took every bit of the self-discipline I’d learned to keep from squirming under that kind of scrutiny. But I knew it was some kind of test. I was supposed to be patient and wait it out. So I did.

“You’re going to be eighteen tomorrow.”

I smirked. “So I hear.”

He nodded. “Are you decided?”

I looked away. “Honestly? No. I’ve been hoping for a sign.”

“A sign, huh?”

My uncle didn’t seem to think that was a reliable approach to decision making.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of sign you’re expecting. I thought I’d stop by. Won’t be here tomorrow. So happy birthday.”


I stood when he got up to leave. He turned toward the door, but turned back like he’d forgotten something. I could almost see him mentally patting his pockets.

“Anything you want to ask me?”

I wouldn’t have thought so, but since he put it that way. There was something.

“I guess it’s clear what choice you made. Any regrets?”

He grinned. It was a thing so rare I couldn’t think if I’d ever seen him look pleased before.

“A good question for a seventeen-year-old.”

“Almost eighteen.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “The answer is no. Not one. Hope that helps.”

I thought about it for a second. “Would you feel the same way if you died tomorrow?”

His grin got even bigger. “Definitely.”

With that he left without looking back and, in fact, it did help. Immensely.


Teachers are known to go on every year about how you’d better get ready because the next year is going to be so much harder. But it never is. It’s always the same thing. So when I signed on to Black Swan for life and they told me it was about to get real, I just smirked on the inside and thought, “Yeah. Yeah. I’ve heard it before.”

Looking back now I could slap my little bratty self for acting like a punk. Even if I kept it on the inside. For once the future of dread hadn’t been overstated. It had been understated.

The next four years were rigorous enough to make the first five look like a glide on a paddle board over a smooth-as-glass lake. Naturally, once we understood that we were going to be vampire hunters, and what that meant, we began to pay attention in earnest. But here’s the bare truth of that. Nothin’ they can do or say can truly prepare you for what it feels like the first time you are face to face with a pale-eyed leech who wants to rip you apart with virus-dripping fangs.

My internship was mostly served as backup to the Grunewald Unit knights. I went to Brazil for a few months and did an awful rotation in Central America looking for Chupacabra. Ew. Things give me willies when I think about them. Yeah. They’re even worse than vampire.

I was always sent back to Berlin though. Like it was home base. That was okay with me. There was a lot of action and the Grunewald knights were good solid teachers. They taught me about slaying vampire and they taught me about camaraderie.

Then, of course, there were German girls. I mean, you’ve gotta love girls who have beer with breakfast. Right?

It was a good place to pay my dues and hone my skills.

Three years later, I was told that I was being sent to Jefferson Unit. Rumor had it that I was going to be a vampire slayer in New York, New York.

I wasn’t very impressed when the jeep stopped in front of J.U. It was the farthest thing from Grunewald Castle. A plain brick building with not a single window showing. Looked more like a prison than a Black Swan facility.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t require frills to complete me. It was just an observation. I stopped at the intercom.

“Knock. Knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Just a minute.”

I heard the buzzer and pushed on the door. My first thought was that there was an awful lot of activity for a place that looked so quiet on the outside. I hoisted my duffel up higher on my shoulder and stopped a kid going by.

“Sovereign’s office?”

“Down one level and turn right.”

I nodded my thanks and headed toward the elevators. The central area was impressive with its three-story ceiling, modern gleam and polish. The place looked like a prison from the front, but once inside it was open and light with a view to what appeared to be a park on the other side of tall windows.

When the elevator opened, I checked to make sure the down arrow was lit, stepped inside and pushed S1. A couple of girls, well, young women I guess you’d say, got in after me in workout clothes. One of them looked me over, taking in the duffel, “Transferring in?”


She smiled. “I’m Ellsbeth. I work in medical.” The elevator opened. When I realized they weren’t getting off, I finally got the hint and exited. “See you around.”

The sovereign’s office wasn’t hard to find. The reception area was glass to the hallway, but I checked the plaque just to be sure. Sol Nemamiah, Sovereign.

There was a kid at the desk, young enough to be a student. He looked up when I walked in and dropped my duffel.

“Transfer from Berlin,” I said.

“Go on in.” He pointed to a closed door.

I opened the door, hoping the instruction wasn’t a new-guy-hazing prank.

The first thing I saw was a mess of blond hair. I knew he was an elf because he had some of that hair tucked behind the ears. I guess he could have been fae, but I didn’t know of any fae knights.

When he turned around, I had three thoughts. That he was just about my age. That his eyes sparkled with elf mischief. And that the only word to describe him was beautiful.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have a strong preference for the opposite sex and don’t usually think about whether other guys are attractive or not. But this elf had it going and I would have had to be blind to not notice.

I looked past him to the man behind the desk. You could tell it was the Sovereign by the way his jaw seemed permanently clenched. He pointed at the elf. “Rammel Aelshelm Hawking, meet Basil Rathbone Landsdowne.”

The elf stuck out his hand. I took it and shook. That’s when it registered. I laughed and blurted out, “You’re P.P.”

“Excuse me?” he said, with his brow knitting.

I looked at the Sovereign and thought better of saying more. “I’ll explain. Later.”

“You two are getting a try out as partners, attached to B Team, starting,” he looked at his monitor, “Thursday. Mr. Hawking, Mr. Landsdowne’s quarters are next to yours. Show him the way.”

“Aye,” said the elf as he moved toward the outer office. He held the door open to the hall and gestured toward the elevator. “Welcome to worm patrol.”

“Worm patrol? Sounds like I should turn around and ask for reassignment.”

He laughed. “I’ve been told that’s what they call rotation in the Big Apple.”


Once inside he pushed the third floor button and leaned back against the wall facing me. “So what was the peepee thing?”

I grinned. “Not peepee! P. P. Your reputation is widely known. Parties and pussy.”

He cocked his head and gave a tiny smile. “’Tis what they say about me?”

“Yeah, man. It could be worse. They could be sayin’ you’re a limp dick wanker who’s scared of girls.”

He combined a grin with a sly look that I’d come to think of as Ram’s trademark smile. “Spent a lot of time alone as a kid. I suppose there was some pent-up party in me. Maybe I’ve over-compensated. I would no’ want P.P. on my tombstone.”

The elevator car stopped and the doors opened. He held his hand on the door seam while I hoisted my duffel and stepped out. I walked next to him down the wide hallway. It was carpeted with a rich red pattern, like a five-star hotel. The plus column features of J.U. were definitely all on the inside.

“So,” he continued as we walked, “your name is Basil Rathbone…”

“Landsdowne. My mother named me after some famous swordsman.” I chuckled, looking down at the carpet. “Maybe she set me up for this gig. You think?”

“Could be. I met a guy named Rathbone when I was thirteen. He recruited me. Big fella. No’ quite a giant, but really big.”

“Yeah. That was my uncle. He’s not that big. Matter of fact he’s just about the same size as you and me.”

“No shit?” he asked. I nodded. “I guess things looked bigger when I’d just turned thirteen.” He stopped in front of a door with my name on the plaque. “This is you. That’s me one door down,” he said as he pointed down the hallway.

“Okay.” I waved my new ID in front of the sensor and heard the internal click.

“Dump your stuff and I’ll show you ‘round.”

“Sure. Give me five.” The place was a lot bigger and nicer than I expected. In fact, it was a step up. I could stand being called “worm patrol” if all the perks were like that.

I followed the elf’s suggestion, dumped my duffel, looked around and walked back out. He was leaning against the wall facing my door looking at his fingernails. He seemed to read my thoughts when he said, “’Twas exactly my reaction when I was moved up here a day ago. ‘Tis the big leagues. Compensation for risk I guess. If we pass probation, we’re goin’ to be knights.”

I let that sink in. “Knights,” I repeated.

I’ve been lookin’ at that plaque on your door. “What do you go by?”


“Noooooo.” He drew the word out, shaking his head. “That will never do. Try it on for size. ‘Hold the fucker at bay, Basil.’ ‘Basil, jump back. He’s goin’ for your dick!’” I had to laugh. It looked like I’d scored a partner who was entertaining. “See? It just will no’ do.”

“So you want to rename me? What do you suggest?”

“Shorten your limey last name. Lan. I like the sound of it. Girls will, too.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you go by?”

He smiled. “Ram.”

I nodded, somehow knowing that it suited him perfectly. “No promises but I’ll try it out for a couple of days.” Walking out of the elevator into the Hub, I said, “Have you met the guys we’re paired with?”


He didn’t elaborate. So I decided to save the interrogation for later.


Ram gave me a tour of the facility. He was thorough when he was on a mission, left no corner unexplored. He introduced me to more people than I could remember then took me back to the Hub.

Opening his arms as if he was embracing the space, he said, “The perfect end to the comprehensive tour. The lounge. Off limits to students. What’ll you have?” he asked, sitting down at a table near the double-sided fireplace and gesturing at the bar attendant at the same time.

“What do you suggest?”

Ram grinned. “Keep it simple. Irish whiskey.”

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I haven’t eaten in a day. No alcohol on my empty stomach.”

“Great Paddy, man! What kind of a shit host am I?!?”


“Let’s get you some food. What do you…? Hold on. Let me guess.” He tapped his fingers and jiggled his right knee, his brows knitted like he was trying to divine my food preferences. “I’m guessin’ you’re a French dip man.”

It wasn’t something I would have thought of, but once he said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

“Yeah.” I grinned. “That actually sounds great.”

“With tomato soup.”


The bar attendant arrived. “I’ll have my usual. My friend, Lan here, will have a cup of tomato soup, Caesar salad, and a French dip. Do no’ dawdle and do no’ be stingy with the beef. The lad is hungry and very likely still growin’.”

I had my doubts that I was still growing, but I had no doubt that I’d been partnered with a force of nature. But that was okay because he gave every indication of being a force of good nature. It was too soon to judge, but I was already feeling like, when it came to partners, I could have done a lot worse. Only time would tell, but I might have won the lottery. And I might just survive Black Swan, with a guy like him at my side.

“So take your mind off your empty belly by tellin’ me about yourself. For starters you sound American. You from here?”

“Born in Santa Clara. You know where that is?”

“Everybody in Black Swan knows where that is. Crawlin’ with vampire. Where did you do secondary school?”

“San Francisco. You?”


“I did my internship there! Must have just missed each other. Es ist eine seltsame Welt.”

“Aye. ‘Tis a strange world.”

“How do you like it here so far?”

“Think we might have landed on our feet.”

“Yeah. Seems alright. So far.” The attendant set a whiskey down in front of Ram and put a water down for me. “So. About the other two assigned to B Team?”

Ram shook his head. “Met ‘em briefly. My first impression is that they come with sticks up their asses. Sittin’ up just a little too straight if you ask me. One of them is a berserker.”

“No way! I thought they were all gone. Stuff of legends and all that.”

Ram was shaking his head. “He’s real and big as life. And I mean big! I guess you’ll meet them soon enough if they’re sendin’ us out startin’ day after tomorrow.”

“Kinda hard to believe. Goin’ out unsupervised, I mean.”

“I hear you. But we have a day to fatten you up for the leeches and maybe get laid a few times.”

I spluttered into my water. “A few times?”



At that point, I thought he was mostly bluff and bluster, but it turned out that he could have had a new sexual experience every hour if he’d wanted. Girls did things trying to get his attention that made me feel embarrassed for them. The notice he got for being beautiful made it hard to be inconspicuous, which is what works best for vampire hunters. He took to wearing a black knit hat that covered the ears and most of that blondeness. Seemed like those two things combined were like catnip to women. But you know what? After a couple of days I couldn’t even imagine another partner. When Black Swan put us together, they must have used some kind of magic. They knew what they were doing. We complemented each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And it’s no small thing that he made things that should have been drudgery or tedium seem like fun.

We needed that counterbalance because there was plenty about our lives that was not fun.

It turned out that Ram was kind of right about the other partnership that made up B Team. Storm and Kay were straight arrow types, but I didn’t object to that. Straight arrows are predictable. Well, I mean, so long as they don’t let their berserker out.

Certainly everybody can’t be Mr. Party like Ram. Sometimes a situation calls for a serious attitude. Vampire hunting is one of those situations. The most serious one of us, Storm, was the one we started listening to, like our lives depended on it. And I guess they did.

Ram was technically the most senior member of B Team because he’d arrived a couple of hours ahead of them, but it wasn’t a distinction he cared about. He seemed more interested in getting the job done and staying alive than being in charge. So I had no problem with his priorities.

Kay got stuck with the nickname Ram gave him, just like I did. Not that I’m complaining. I wore the name “Lan” like I’d never been called anything else and the fucker might have even been right about guessing that girls would like it better than Basil.

Yeah. Storm and Kay were good guys that I learned to love and they did their share of snatching my hiney from the jaws of death.

Until they didn’t.

When probation was over, the four of us went through the knighthood ritual together. The hardest thing I ever did was to get through the ceremony without laughing. Every time Ram caught my eye he’d give me a look that made me want to double over in giggles. So much for decorum and solemn occasions that call for reverent behavior.

I remember how much pride I felt the first night on rotation as a fully fledged knight of Black Swan. I think my chest swelled to twice its normal size when someone called me Sir Landsdowne. It’s a fine thing to be a titled part of such an old and honorable organization, but guys who do what we did need sweet perquisites. ‘Cause nothin’ about it was easy.

Three nights a week we’d report to the roof Whisterport and catch a ride to Manhattan, which was infested with vampire like maggots on a carcass. They were so thick it was hard for me to understand how people could be oblivious. It’s amazing that human minds allow people to see only what they believe in and ignore everything else.

Even though the four of us learned to work together almost telepathically, like part of a single machine, morale was slipping. None of us wanted to be the one to say it. So we kept quiet. But Black Swan was losing the war against vampire and we all knew it.

Sometimes I wondered why they didn’t send more knights to Jefferson Unit. I guessed it was that everybody was having a problem with escalation. I could guess all I wanted. Decisions about such things were way above my pay grade.

I just knew that any night that ended with us waiting for the cleanup crew to come dispose of a corpse or two felt like a victory. You might think that’s kind of a sick way to live. After all, you could spin it that the leech had once been human and was turned through no fault of his own. But it was just fucking impossible to feel sorry for vampire.

Sometimes we waited for cleanup over what was left of the body of a woman. Those were the nights that were really depressing. The remains had to be disposed of without notifying anyone, which meant there would be no graves or memorial services and their families and friends would simply never know what became of them, would maybe even hold out hope that they’d come back. I used to think that, in a sense, that was more merciful for them than knowing the truth, but still, it’d be hard.

It started to seem like for every one we took out, two more took his place. The population of young men was being thinned by being infected by the virus. The population of young women was being thinned by being killed by vampire.

People were afraid. The smart ones were trying to leave New York like refugees. People with families tried to keep their kids on lockdown at night. But those at greatest risk were also the most reckless and least likely to believe something bad might happen to them.

As for the job of trying to give young humans a chance to live long enough to gain some wisdom, well, at the time I would have said it bites. We’d chase down vampire only to have them vanish. Poof. Like magic. We couldn’t find where they were hiding and it was becoming increasingly frustrating.

Let me tell you, it’s not easy to maintain a state of alert vigilance for hours at a time, every muscle tense, every synapse firing, unless there’s an apparent reason for it. Victories weren’t nearly plentiful enough to keep us at a safe state of readiness. I know that sounds like excuse-making, but the only way we could get a break was to divide the team, trying to stay close enough to provide backup for each other without making it apparent that we were together. Ram and I had perfected the art of splitting up. Or so we thought. We got to be good at looking like we were alone, while never losing sight of each other. For one thing, we’d usually be on different sides of the street.

At six feet tall, Rammel was the smallest of us, but he was also very quick. And very lethal.

Three times he risked himself by pulling a leech off one of us a second before we were on the way to Palesville. Twice more he interrupted an abduction in progress and sent young ladies home to rethink being out at night. Every time Storm wrote him up in a report that resulted in some honor or another, but Ram always declined formal decoration.

It was strange that somebody so charismatic shied away from notoriety, but I knew he had his reasons.

It makes me laugh to myself to say it, but his heroics were the one and only thing he was humble about. The thing is, he had plenty of reason to think he was all that. I never told him, because his ego certainly didn’t need inflating, but I couldn’t imagine a better friend and I was so proud to be his partner.

I wish I’d said that when I could have.


Fiona: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Sure. Getting books out as fast as readers want them.

Fiona: Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

Tiffanie DeBartolo. She wrote one book in 2002 and one book in 2005. Not exactly prolific or particularly interested in novel writing, but when she writes she packs a powerful punch. You don’t forget books that take you on an emotional journey.

Fiona: Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?

There’s a lot of travel in my books and the mentions are all from memory. I worked for an airline in my twenties and did A LOT of traveling.

Fiona: Who designed the covers?

I do.

Fiona: Do you have any advice for other writers?

Know what you’re talking about. If you don’t have a formal education, look stuff up before you write it. Examples of what not to do. “They took their wedding vowels.” “Fire in the hold.” (No. Not unless your character is on a ship and there is a fire in the ship’s hold.) Please don’t use the word ‘but’ more than once in a single sentence. Last, but not least, a woman cannot get air by “breathing through her nose” when her air passage is blocked by a penis. My high school biology teacher would find it ironic that I, of all people, feel pressed to give a lesson on anatomy.

Fiona: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Thank you for making it possible for me to make a living writing. I love that you love the books and am as excited as you for what’s to come.

Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?

The first book I remember was being read to me. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?

Political humor and smart social commentary make me laugh. Love lost makes me cry.

Fiona: Is there one person past or present you would meet and why?

Paul Rodgers. He’s my favorite rock singer/songwriter. I would love to hear about the process from writing to recording. Oddly enough, my four favorite vocalists of all time are English, adding David Coverdale, Robert Plant, and Roger Daltry. For a people who are famous for being emotionally reserved, these four belt out a tsunami of feeling that knocks you over.

Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone and why ?

I no longer care if I have a headstone, but if I did, I would want it to say, DID HER BEST.

Fiona: Other than writing do you have any hobbies ?

Bridge. Dog walking. Reading.

Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?

I like dialogue more than explosions. I detest formula. (Yes. That includes the latest installment of Star Wars.) Love romance, of course.

Fiona: Favorite foods / Colors/ Music

Rock. And. Roll. Texmex. Red and green.

Fiona: If you were not a writer what else would you like to have done?

Party planning. Or maybe dog breeding. LOL

Fiona: Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?




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