Name: Leigh Holland
Where are you from: I’m from Louisville, Kentucky, home of the Kentucky Derby. My family was originally from a holler called Stinking Creek near the Tennessee border. My great grandfather supported the family working the coal mine. They moved to Louisville when the coal mine shut down. My generation was the first to be born and raised in the city.
Fiona: Tell us your latest news?
I’m an avid reader and lover of books. I recently published my first book, “2042: An American 1984”, a dystopian novel, which can be found at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XCPLBTN. My Amazon Author page can be found at https://www.amazon.com/Leigh-Holland/e/B06XKR5XJ3/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
I’ve recently given my blog “Leigh Holland Writes!” a makeover. Currently, I’m working on writing a paranormal mystery series. I also do a bit of free style writing when the mood strikes me and post it to my blog.
Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?
I’m an only child. My father was out of our lives by the time I was 8 years old. My mother worked very hard to take care of me. We lived near a lot of elderly folks so I grew up listening to WW2 stories. My family has a rich oral storytelling tradition. We didn’t just talk, we told stories about our lives and the events in them.
I was an introverted child, so when I wasn’t reading a book, I made up worlds and characters to entertain myself. I started writing when I was about twelve years old. I got a typewriter for my birthday that year. My first novella (never published) was “The Catriphian Saga: A Sci-Fi Epic”. It was horrible. I relished every second of writing it.
Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?
My mother encouraged me in my writing. I had a few poems published in anthologies in childhood. I’ve always been writing something. I suppose I started considering myself a writer when I realized I had no dancing rhythm whatsoever and would never land a role in “Electric Bugaloo”.
Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?
“2042: An American 1984” is my first published book. I am focusing on writing another book right now, but always have at least 6 projects going at any time. I enjoy writing across a variety of genres. But for my first book I wanted to write a dystopian novel that would show people what a future would look like if far right political ideologies in the United States were given free reign. People say, “I want to outlaw this”, or “I want to severely punish people for saying or doing that”. I’m concerned about what I see as a lack of compassion among fellow Americans and how deeply divided my country is becoming politically. Extremes are never the answer to our collective problems. We need to return to sanity and working across parties to accomplish our goals and solve our problems. The “sports team” approach to politics must end.
Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style?
I think my style changes over time. It’s evolving. Hopefully not into “Doomsday”.
Fiona: How did you come up with the title?
I thought, “If the Democrats continue to be utter wimps and fall apart like origami crafted by a hyperactive toddler, and if a far-right ideology were imposed on Americans, by what year would the society be fully transformed?” I figured 24 years seemed about right.
Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Extremism caused some of the problems we face. Allowing ourselves to become extreme in response is not the answer. We are human beings capable of compassion and understanding for those who are different from us and those who disagree with us. We must remember our values, we must remember who we are.
Fiona: How much of the book is realistic and are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
It’s an imaginary dystopian future. However, it’s based on real political policy positions championed by high ranking government officials. Some of the experiences in the book that the characters go through were difficult for me to write. I had to talk to others and do research.
Fiona: What books have most influenced your life most? A mentor?
My mother always mentored me in my writing as a youngster. There really are too many books that have influenced me to list in one place. To name just a scant few- “Brave New World”, “Animal Farm”, “1984”, “Anna Karenina”, “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey”, “The Three Musketeers”, “The Count of Monte Cristo”, “Jane Eyre”, “A Tale of Two Cities”, “Native Son”, “The Outsiders”, everything in the vampire Lestat series by Anne Rice, the Kinsey Milhone series by Sue Grafton, Ed McBain’s crime novels, and many, many more.
Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest and who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
I’d have to say to take a look at my blog at https://leighholland.com . I post book reviews of things I read and enjoy regularly.
Fiona: Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.
I have the best friends in the whole world.
Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?
That depends. Is a career supposed to pay you regularly? 😊
Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
After the 2nd revision, every time I’d go back through it, considering if I should change something else, I realized if I changed anything it wouldn’t say what I wanted it to say.
Fiona: Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
My mother required us at the dinner table to engage in “intellectual repartee” time. She mostly talked about books she was reading. I found the stories in books fascinating and wanted to write stories too.
Fiona: Can you shar e a little of your current work with us?
Excerpt from “Shrieking Mandrakes” by Leigh Holland
Chapter One: The Sinner and the Savior
Blast. The cobblestone looks nice from up above it,
but when you’re lying on it, it’s just a bunch of jagged
little rocks. They don’t pierce as much as annoy me at the
moment. Does it have to be so damned cold? It’s as if the
stones suck up all the cold air and guard it like a precious
treasure. If heat rises, why is Hell supposedly lower than
this cobblestone? Ah, well, one must try to look on the
bright side, I always say. I may be wounded, but at least
I’m not lying naked, prone, and unconscious with my buttocks in the air. I am in full possession of my mental
faculties, such as they are, and it appears the Llamhigyn Y
Dwr intends to go back to its bog and leave me be. Of
course, I’m awfully tired. I may be bleeding. I feel a bit
nauseous and woozy. If I just lie here a bit perhaps I’ll start
to feel better. The difficult part, I imagine, will be avoiding
anyone noticing me while I rest here in front of this church
for a couple of days.
Speaking of which, there’s the priest, sweeping the
walk. Somehow, I think he’s going to notice me. Ouch, my head stings! Oh, no. Here he comes. I suppose I could turn
into a large aardvark with rabbit ears. That would definitelyscare away most human beings. But I don’t have enoughenergy left for such a feat.
The priest leaned closer to me, setting his broom
aside. He was about five feet, eleven inches tall; with kind
green eyes and dark hair. Kneeling next to me, he laid an
index finger tentatively on my neck to feel for a pulse. His
finger was warm. I couldn’t help it, I cooed.
“There, there, little bird,” he told me in Irish Gaelic,
“I’ll take care of you.”
Here in Wales, it seemed they preferred pork and
onions. I was happy to have not landed in France. There, I
would most assuredly have been eaten. I briefly worried
that he may eat me yet, as he raced back into the rectory.
My worries proved unfounded when he returned with a
warm blanket. Had I the capacity for human speech at the
time, I would have praised the priest’s god.
It had been a long, hard journey hence, and my goal
remained unaccomplished. Yet I knew that if I stubbornly
tried to remain awake till I healed, I would recover myhealth far too slowly and thereby would my cause be lost
forever. His strong yet cautious hands laid me with care
upon his bed. He fashioned the woolen blanket into a nest
shape, then swaddled me in another piece of warm cloth,
laying me within the nest. Gently, he began washing and
tending my wounds. Suddenly, I didn’t want to sleep. I
feared his reaction to what would happen shortly after. I
began squawking wildly in an effort to remain alert.
Humming an old Irish tune, he soothed me. In spite of
myself, I began slipping into unconsciousness.
Groggily, I awoke to the sound of a dumbfounded,
startled priest. Feeling the pain course through my upper
arm, I groaned. I wondered which form I had taken this
time as I had slept off some of my injuries. Glancing down,
I saw two long, human legs…make that three. A small
brown cloth lay across my right hip. I positioned it to cover
that “third leg”. I almost chuckled, but it hurt to smile. A
pain was forming in my head, a sort of dull but persistent
thudding behind my temples. Annoying.
“Pardon me, have you been listening to a word I’ve
said?!” The irate and amazed priest demanded. Loudly. In
I held up a halting hand. “Please, good man,” I
asked in a small, whispering voice, “my head is aching all
the more as you scream at me. Could you yell excitedly in a
tiny whisper perhaps?” I looked about the room. There was
a cask of something on the writing desk next to the quill
and ink. Motioning to it, I asked, “That wouldn’t happen to
He moved quickly to retrieve the flask of liquid.
“That’s not for you.”
He stood still and ever so thankfully quiet as he
gathered his thoughts and stared at me. I looked just past
and around him at my reflection in the mirror. The glass
was darkened and the room dimly lit; not at all like home
where everything was bright, clear, and sparkly. I liked
sparklies. A lot. I could make out much of my reflection.
What a sight I was! No wonder he couldn’t stop making
such a fuss. My skin was lovely and pale, as usual (it was
hard not to just rub myself all over and make wild noises). I
was tall, slender, and very male. My long mane of wavy
black locks cascaded down my back and into my face.
Brushing them out of the way, I saw that I had large,
floppy, black furred bunny ears protruding from my head.
My dark violet eyes held deeper mysteries for those who
dared. No wonder he sounded so bloody loud when he
screamed. I was so gorgeous, sometimes I scared myself.
“What are you?” he asked in a small voice. “Are
you demon? Angel? Ghost?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. This was exactly why I
hated relying on humans for aid. “Look,” I replied, “I’m no
demon. And I’m surely no angel. I might be a ghost,
He seemed confused. Then he turned pale as a
summer’s day cloud and jumped back, nearly tripping over
his long robes.
“Oh,” I said, giggling in realization, “don’t worry
about that. When I’m wounded or sleeping, my body parts
often just change shape of their own accord. By the way, I
wanted to thank you for tending to my wounds earlier
today. You may not realize it, but you helped me a great
deal. I owe you a great boon for that.”
I wanted to grab my words from the air before they
reached his ears, but sadly, sound traveled faster than I did.
I inwardly cursed myself for having said them. Now I was
bound to repay my debt. Nothing was worse for my kind
than having to actually come by something honestly.
Honesty just wasn’t in our nature. Indeed, the more lies we
told, the greater our powers grew. We gained our health
and power back at an exaggerated rate when the lies were
ridiculous and humans believed them anyway. The absolute best was when the humans started telling our stories as if they were true; as if they were their stories to begin with. Ah, the magic that could be tapped then! Maybe I’d get lucky and he wasn’t paying attention to anything I said.
“Really?” he asked. “What sorts of things can you
Damn it. Now my head was really pounding. This
wasn’t fun anymore. “Unfortunately, I’m in no state to do
anything. My battle with the Llamhigyn Y Dwr didn’t end
“Never mind.” I replied, examining my wounds.
He’d done an excellent job patching me up when I’d been a
bird. Now the wounds were solely internal. But they
needed more time to heal. I couldn’t waste my magic on
doing parlor tricks for a priest. I needed to gather my
strength. “Suffice it to say, I’m of no use to you while I’m
still healing. Why, what is it you want of me?”
I bit my own tongue for having asked. It hurt. I
whimpered and whined a bit into a nearby pillow.
“Are you alright?” he asked, careful not to move too
close. I could smell his trepidation. I didn’t blame him. If
the shoe were on the other foot, it probably wouldn’t fit.
He’s stockier and has bigger feet than I do.
Sitting up, I smiled and answered, “Sure. I’m fine.
Look, I don’t want to trouble you any further.” I felt a jolt
of power return to me as I fibbed to him. “So, loan me
some clothes, and I’ll be out of your way.”
He kept staring at my ears. I can’t be certain but I
think they’d taken on a hooded asp sort of shape. They’re
cheeky like that at times.
“What?!” I said, exasperated. “By Manogan, you’d
think you’ve never seen ears before.”
Suddenly, wordlessly, the knave left the room and
locked and barred the door. I glanced around the candlelit
room. No windows. Blast it all! I was trapped, exactly
where I wanted to be. Things were working out perfectly. I
decided to relax on the priest’s comfy bed, and practice
humming that tune of his. Catchy, that.
When I awoke the next day, there was a new candle
burning on the plain wooden desk in the small, sparsely
adorned room. A pile of clothing lay in the desk chair that
sat facing me. Two things occurred to me as I dressed.
One- he had been in here, watching me sleep, sitting in this
very chair. This thought had a number of sub-thoughts
associated with it, including but not limited to what was he
thinking about as he stared at me, and the less popular mynuts are freezing. Two- thank Manogan; he left me
attractive, decent fitting clothing. I was outfitted in a new
black tunic, black leggings, a black leather belt, a deep
forest green vest, and a pair of simple leather boots.
Enjoying myself, I began flexing muscles and admiring my
“Yes, you’re a gorgeous man, aren’t you?” I said to
“Don’t be daft.” he replied, rolling his eyes. I hated
it when he answered me. He was such a spoil sport. No fun
at parties whatsoever.
The door creaked open and I stepped a few paces
back, standing to the far side of the room. The priest
peaked in around the edge of the heavy wooden door. He
gawked at me a few moments, and then entered the room,
shutting the door behind him.
“I know what you are.” he told me from across the
He was keeping more than a safe distance from me.
I frowned. “We’re really going to have to work on your
interpersonal skills.” I told him from my side of the room.
Sighing, I asked, “What is it you think I am now?”
He looked me up and down. Well, two could play
that game. I looked him up and down, sizing him up as
well. Tall, dark, and handsome. That about described us
both, though I honestly think the overused phrase failed to
describe my amazing looks adequately. If we were dating
the same girl, she’d dump him for me. A bunny ear flopped
forward onto my eye. It pulled itself back up into an
upright, alert position on my head. Okay, maybe she
wouldn’t dump him for me after all. He was stockier and
stronger physically than I, this was true. He could probably
take me down in a physical brawl, were I the sort to not
cheat. At the moment, I was a bit short on magical power,
so I decided it would be best to avoid any scuffles with
“Ha!” I exclaimed, “We wouldn’t be dating the
same girl, because you’re a priest!”
His brow furrowed in confusion at my seemingly
unconnected proclamation. Shaking his head, he said,
“You’re supernatural. A Sidhe.”
I flashed a dazzling smile. “Worked that one out all
by your lonesome, did you? I’m not a Sidhe, that’s as Irish
as you are and not quite accurate, really. Now, look, speak
Welsh. We are in Wales, you know, and both Manogan and
your god are surely aware how badly you need the practice.
I’m a TwylethTeg.”
“You’re what the locals call a pwca.”
I strode over to him and extended my hand. He
recoiled nervously. “Please,” he said, “stay back.”
I did as he asked, but insisted, “I mean you no
He calmed himself as I took a couple of steps back.
Then he told me, “My grandmother always talked about
your kind, but I never believed her. I mean, I always
thought the stories were just-”
“Blarney.” I finished for him.
“Yes.” he admitted. “But it seems you’re real
He very slowly and cautiously reached out a hand to
touch my arm, to make certain I wasn’t just some figment
of his addled imagination. I took the opportunity to grasp
his hand in mine and greet him properly.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I said. “What’s your
Once he realized I wasn’t going to turn into a
hideous beast and devour him, he relaxed. He replied,
“Muircheartach Mac Cuindess. It’s nice to meet you, too. I
have so many questions-”
“Oh, no.” I remarked. “I think I’ll just have to call
“But my name is-”
“A tad bit difficult for your Welsh parishioners to
pronounce, and impossible to spell. Well, presuming any of them were literate.” I finished for him merrily. “You’ll always be Kieran McCandless to me.”
“My name is Muircheartach.” He insisted. He sat in
the desk chair, and I sat at the edge of his bed. He asked,
“What’s your name?”
My eyes lit up like a new day and I replied in my best evil dwarf voice, “You have three nights to guess my name. If you can’t, then I’ll be back for your baby, ladle in
“What on earth are you talking about?” he
demanded. “I don’t have a baby.”
“Really, Kieran,” I answered, “Haven’t you ever
heard the story of Rumpelstiltskin? I could tell it to you, if
you like. It’s a true story, or so I’ve been told by the
German prince who told it to me.”
“You’re not going to tell me your name, are you?”
“Of course not. Names have power, you know. I’m
absolutely shocked at the way you mortals throw yours
about so carelessly.” I told him. “Indeed, when mortals die,
all you have are your names. The scavengers come and
pick apart everything else you had. But your name- you’d
have to be really unpopular for them to blatantly pick that
apart once you’re no more. Your names can echo through
eternity, in stories told of you.”
“If names are important because of stories told
about them, why won’t you tell me your name?” he
queried. “Don’t you want to be remembered forever?”
“Unlike you, I won’t die. Well, unless something
supernatural like me surprises me and kills me.” I rubbed
my sore arm, recalling the dreadful encounter with the
Llamhigyn Y Dwr. It was still out there, waiting for another
chance. I could feel it. “Even then, I’ll never die.” I
explained. “I’m cursed, you see.”
He didn’t see. “What do you mean?”
My mood had turned serious and somber. I pouted,
lying back on the bed, propped up by Kieran’s exquisite
down pillows. “I have lived a number of lifetimes. My soul
is caught up in a pattern; a cycle of reincarnation, from
which there is no escape. And what’s worse, I remember
things from them as if they were my own memories, as if
they happened in this life.”
He considered my words. “I don’t believe in
“Of course you don’t, silly. And you don’t believe
in the old legends, such as me, either. You’re a Catholic
priest.” I answered. “Really, Kieran, am I going to have to
teach you who you are?” My smile faded, as I
contemplated, “That’s the other part of the Tynghedau; the
curse. Everyone else reincarnates, too, but I’m the only one
who remembers anything.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you don’t want your
name to live forever in stories told about you.” he said.
“I’m not going to tell you my name.” I stated
simply, refusing to discuss the issue of my magical true
name any further.
“Oh, no.” he remarked, shrugging. “I think I’ll just
have to call you Riordan.”
I felt a tear come to my eye, but choked back my
emotions. No one had ever given me a nickname before.
Most people just called me “annoying bastard”. I agreed,
“Riordan it is, then.”
Just when I thought we were bonding, Kieran
remarked, “They say if you capture a Sidhe- I mean, a
TwylethTeg- that it will owe you three wishes.”
“That’s a genie.” I corrected him. “But even that’s
not entirely true. Genies will kill you if they get the chance,
and will make quick their escape. They don’t give a fig
about mortal wishes. Why, do you want a genie?”
“Not really.” he said. “Three wishes would’ve been
“Ah, but at what risk?”
“Are you saying you’re risky?”
“You really don’t pay attention, do you?” I said. “No wonder you don’t believe in anything your grandma
told you about. You have no idea what she said. You never
listened! I’m saying trucking with genies to gain three
wishes is very risky business.”
Kieran leaned forward, placing his elbow on his
knee and his hand on his chin, deep in thought. Good. He
was finally going to use that brain for something.
“I have to admit I’m irritated with you at the
moment.” I informed him. “You treat me like I’m a thing
you can control and demand things from. I have feelings,
dreams, wishes of my own, you know.”
Immediately, he looked horrified and regretful. “I’m
sorry, Riordan. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying
to figure out…” he paused, then appeared as if hope had
fled from him, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, never
At this rate, he’d be setting me free in a matter of
minutes. Then who would call me “Riordan”?
“Wimp.” I insulted him.
“What?” he looked up at me, surprised.
“I said, you’re a wimp. A totally impotent,
powerless little man who is utterly incapable of taking
charge of his life, much less accomplishing anything
beyond what’s expected of him by others.”
Kieran pouted. His mouth was lovely when he
pouted. I bet if he did that, any girl we both dated would
dump me for him in an instant. Oh, wait. We already
established he was a priest. I kept forgetting, in spite of the
long black dress and white collar. On him, it looked more
like a costume than a calling.
He replied, “You’re right.”
This was going to be more work than I previously
imagined. I hated work. Blast it all. “Kieran, what are you
trying to figure out? I may not be a genie, but maybe I can
help in some way.”
Something suddenly occurred to him. His eyes grew
wider and his eyebrows shot up. “I remember my granny
said there were two types of TwylethTeg. The good kind
and the dark kind. Which kind are you?”
I put a finger to my chin thoughtfully. “Kieran,
could you please scoot your chair just a bit to your left?”
He scooted over. Ah, that was better. I posed
pensively and checked out my reflection in the mirror. Dark
and brooding really worked for me in this form. Kieran
looked behind himself. Seeing that I was preening over
myself, he sighed heavily.
“If I said I was the dark kind, what would you do?”
“Not trust you.”
“And if I said I was the good kind?”
He realized his dilemma. “Still not trust you. But at
least I’d feel more comfortable sleeping in the same house
“You know,” I stated, “the dark ones are not
necessarily bad. They just use different methods to achieve
their goals than the so-called good ones do.” I enjoyed the
panicked expression on Kieran’s face for a moment, then
laughed and said, “I’m the good kind, of course. I really
had you going for a minute there, didn’t I?”
Kieran laughed nervously. “Yes, you sure did.” The
word ‘naïve’ sprung to mind.
“Come on, then,” I insisted, “what’s troubling
Kieran eyed me suspiciously. “How stupid do you
think I am?”
I had a feeling he didn’t want an honest answer, so I
didn’t give him one. “You’re not stupid at all.”
“You’re one of the dark sort.”
“How’d you figure it out?”
“Good never defends or excuses evil, it fights it.”
“Who said the dark ones were evil?” I asked. See,
humans are stupid. “What makes you think the light ones
are morally superior? If you ask me, we’re all bad when
viewed through your narrow lens of morality.”
He nodded in agreement. His expression had turned
entirely too serious and grim for my taste. “I’m keeping
you here.” Kieran informed me.
“My, aren’t we the judgmental prick?” The nerve.
“You’re just afraid of me, afraid of anything different, or
that challenges you and your worldview. After all, what
have I ever done to make you believe I’m evil?”
“I’m keeping you here,” he explained, “until such
time as I’m sure you’re not a danger to mankind.”
Offended, I bowed my head slightly. Who did he
think he was? No mere mortal could force me to do
anything I didn’t want to do. Who did he think he wasdealing with? I realized with instant regret that I must’ve
been subconsciously transforming again, because the
expression on Kieran’s face was one of fear as he stood and
backpedaled towards the door. In the mirror, I saw that my
eyes had become deep red and cat-like, my skin had
changed to a light violet shade that deepened the longer I
was angry, and my ears were twisting and hardening into
horns. I felt my teeth’s edges sharpening.
Jumping to my feet, I aimed to calm myself. “No!” I
instructed my body, as I closed my eyes and began
breathing deeply to relax.
When I opened my eyes again to gaze upon my
reflection, I had returned to my previous form, floppy
bunny ears and all. I smiled at myself, and then turned to
face the shaken Kieran. For a long minute, neither of us
spoke. We merely took in each other, trying to determine if
the other were a threat. I decided he was mostly harmless.
After all, he was wearing a dress.
“Kieran-” I began to say, but he merely left the
room, locking me in once more.
Fiona: Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Yes, finding time to write uninterrupted. Wanting to work on one project but another beckons to me has also been an issue for me.
Fiona: Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?
Only in my imagination.
Fiona: Who designed the covers?
An artist known as Fantasia at www.selfpubbookcovers.com. Amazing artist, great to work with. Reasonable prices.
Fiona: What was the hardest part of writing your book?
Honestly, there’s a torture scene that was hard to write. I kept getting nauseous just thinking about how that must feel. The rest of the book seemed to flow along well.
Fiona: Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
I learned it was easier to finish the project if I had a thorough outline before I started writing. I enjoy free style writing best, but the outline kept things consistent and on track.
Fiona: If any of your books was made into a film who would you like to play the lead?
Chloe Grace Moretz as Temperance. As Rachel, maybe Emma Stone.
Fiona: Do you have any advice for other writers?
Don’t do it for money or fame, do it for love. Don’t get stressed out about the process of writing. It must be your joyful passion.
Fiona: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Thank you for all the support. I appreciate you all! I hope you enjoyed my first novel. I hope you’ll check in at my blog to read more of my reviews, writing tips, and “Shrieking Mandrakes”. Keep an eye out in the next few months for my next book, “Things of the Day”, a paranormal mystery.
Fiona: What book are you reading now?
I’m reading two books, “Murder in Absentia” by Assaph Mehr and “As Wings Unfurl” by Arthur M. Doweyko.
Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?
Yes, it was an old copy of the King James Bible. That’s how my great grandmother taught me to read when I was 4 years old.
Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?
I love satire, witty one liners, and jokes with a surprise punchline. I cry when a character I love dies or suffers in a book/movie.
Fiona: Is there one person past or present you would meet and why?
If I say Doctor Who, does he count as one person past or present? Who wouldn’t want to meet the Doctor!
Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone and why?
“Nothing’s Ever Right.” It’s very true. Also, my dad wanted it on his tombstone as it was uttered by him daily. But he was cremated, ironically proving his point.
Fiona: Other than writing do you have any hobbies?
Reading. I like making mosaic tile art. I love the St. James Art Fair we have here annually in Louisville and Irish Fest. I’m into video games and RPGs with friends. I like attending sci-fi and fandom conventions when they come to town.
Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?
I love suspense, psychological thrillers, sci-fi, fantasy, mysteries, action/adventure, 80’s nostalgia. Things I’ve watched recently include “13 Reasons Why”, “Split”, “Passengers”, “Doctor Strange”, “The Autopsy of Jane Doe”, “The Babadook”, and I can’t wait for the next season of “Stranger Things” on Netflix.
Fiona: Favorite foods / Colors/ Music
Spaghetti. Lasagna. I love Italian food. My favorite colors are red, peach, and coral. I love most musical genres, not into rap though. My current writing playlist includes Lady Gaga, Halsey, Lindsey Stirling, Melanie Martinez, the Beatles, Panic at the Disco, and David Bowie.
Fiona: If you were not a writer what else would you like to have done?
By night, I’m Bloggy, a book loving superhero, but by day I’m an intrepid Social Worker.
Fiona: Do you have a blog/website? If so what is it?
Blog: Leigh Holland Writes! https://leighholland.com