Have you always wanted to be a writer?
Always.
You know the movie, Inception, where it’s like a dream within a dream? Well, I have a memory within a memory. I was sprawled out on my bedroom floor, surrounded by markers, magazine clippings, and glue. As I was
creating the vision board for Mr. Worley’s class and emboldening the word AUTHOR with thick marker, I experienced a deja vuDeJa’Vu moment and remembered doing the same for a project in elementary school.
So to answer your question, yes. I have always wanted to be an author. For as long as I can remember.
Describe your writing space.
Thanks to laptops and phones, I have several! I often snuggle up with the laptop on the couch (let’s just say that my husband, son, and I don’t always have the same taste in movies!), and pretty frequently I’ll have a sudden idea and the need to pull over to the side of the road to type it up on my phone. But, I wouldn’t quite call those my writing spaces.
In our home, I am blessed to have a spare room that I could transform into my own Creation Station. While the majority of the space is filled with craft supplies, old containers waiting to be upcycled, random pieces of wood, and well-intentioned partially completed projects, tucked in the northwest corner of the room is a window seat. It’s barely large enough for our dog, Bullet, to curl up by my feet as I sit propped up against the pillows to write. To be honest, it’s not the most comfortable spot and there are plenty of times that my leg falls asleep or my back starts to ache, but it became my writing spot nonetheless. With motivational trinkets at arm’s reach and nearby family photos for potential writer’s block support, this window seat is where the great majority of Through Quick and Quinn was written. Taped to the wall were color-coded index cards that I used to map out the path of the story, plan the timing of the subplots, and track the character contributions to the novel. Post-it notes of ideas adorned the window, also color-coded of course, and whenever I needed to grab a supply, I just hopped down and walked two steps over to the beautiful writing desk that my husband set up for me. You know, the desk with the drawers and all the stuff. The desk with plenty of room for me to stretch my arms and my legs. Yeah, that desk. The lonely desk that has yet to fulfill its destiny. Maybe next time!
What is the most surprising thing you discovered while writing your book?
I fell in love.
Don’t get me wrong. I knew well in advance that I would love the characters. I fully expected that they’d become real to me and I figured I would get emotional while writing. I braced myself, but clearly not enough! The intensity of emotion took me by surprise. I am not exaggerating when I say that there were times that I couldn’t read the words on the screen because the seemingly endless flow of tears blurred my vision. And more than once, my husband thought I was chatting on the phone when really I was just laughing with myself over another one of Quick’s snarky comments. Writing Through Quick and Quinn was like riding a heart-tugging rollercoaster of feelings because I developed such profound love for the characters. I can only hope that I expressed their story well enough for the readers to fall in love as deeply as I did.
Tell us about your first published book. What was the journey like?
What a wild ride! It actually went more quickly than I anticipated, but I think that’s because it was in the making before I was truly aware of it.
In March of 2023, two months before retiring from my long teaching career, I was driving my son to school so early in the morning that I think I was still kind of half-asleep. (Why exactly do high schools start when it’s practically still dark outside?!) As I was driving, I suddenly had an idea. The idea. But the crazy thing was that it was like a download. It was a fully-formed thought that came out of nowhere, and I couldn’t trace back to where it came from. In an instant, I knew the premise of the book, I could see the two main characters, and I understood their relationship. What’s even crazier is that I was so entrenched in the typical workload that comes with the end of an academic year, I wasn’t even thinking about writing a novel! That time in my life was so busy that I felt like I was treading water and finding my way through one day at a time. And yet, there it was. The idea.
I didn’t mention it to anyone, but it rested there in my brain. Two days later, some former students of mine came by to visit and one of them asked me what I was going to do once I left the classroom. I turned the question around on him and jokingly requested a suggestion. Without hesitation, he told me I should write. That’s not the shocking part. He continued with a general description of the exact idea that had been floating about since that fateful car ride.
In that moment, I knew God was at work and I needed to listen.
I gathered ideas and jotted down notes throughout the summer, planning to hit the ground running as soon as school picked up again and I’d have quiet days to work on it. August came and went, and before I knew it, it was September and I was still dilly-dallying and finding excuses not to write. All of the excuses other than the real one, which I knew from the start would haunt me: Fear of failure.
And then in October, God nudged me. This time, it was a little harder. Like He knew I needed a slap.
A friend of mine called. And not just called, but called me OUT. Now let’s be clear. We were more of acquaintances at the time. We barely knew each other, we had coffee once, and maybe a total of five conversations. And yet there she was, calling me out on my excuses and telling me that she was going to hold me accountable for writing at least five times a week. It was a painful phone call for me, but I still tell her how grateful I am that she forced me to voice my fears out loud and galvanized me into action. It was that phone call that kicked my writing journey into high gear.
I wrote nonstop for eight months. Weekdays were for writing, while weekends were for reading, revising, and editing. I finished Through Quick and Quinn on May 15, submitted it to Defiance on June 3, and received an offer on June 12.
Now that’s God’s doing. No question about it.
Are there any secrets from the book (that aren’t in the blurb), you can share with your readers?
Yes! It was very important to me that I honor my students in some way. They taught me more about life than I ever did them, and if it weren’t for my experiences with them, I wouldn’t have been equipped with the understanding and empathy needed to craft the novel. So… I managed to slip in shout-outs to all of my students throughout the book. Whether it’s a nickname or a silly memory, a favorite food or a special place, all of my adolescent mentors are in there. I can’t wait for them to read it and find their own particular Easter eggs!
What do you hope your readers take away from this book?
Oh, this book is chock full of so many life lessons that all boil down to two basic things: Be authentic and think for yourself.
Quick and Quinn’s journey is riddled with events that shape them, just as it is with each and every one of us. At different points and in different ways, both protagonists find healthy processes of dealing with hard things. I hope the readers can relate, even if in just one way, and realize that hard times are temporary. That even though self-awareness can be uncomfortable, it’s vital. That loving and accepting the self is imperative. That only through authenticity can one truly find love, peace, and joy.
The other take-away would be the importance of thinking critically. That it’s okay to question the narrative. That other people’s truths might not be the truth. That intuition is real and that we should listen more carefully to the answers that lie within. And that we should be brave enough to not only seek the truth, but speak it as well.
What book is currently on your bedside table?
Other than the Bible? At this very moment, What to Say Next by Julie Buxbaum is resting bedside. I have thirty-one books lying in wait on the nearby book tree as well, along with a library of books that are begging to be reread.
Favorite quote
“Every human ambition is extraneous but the giving and receiving of love.”
-John Welter, from the book Night of the Avenging Blowfish
What famous author do you wish would be your mentor?
This could very well be the hardest question on the list for me! Right now, I am especially in awe of Tamara Ireland Stone. Her website alone is a work of art!
What do you like to do when you are not writing?
Everything. Anything! I am never ever bored, but I am also content as ever to just sit and relax. But if I had to give a list of hobbies, I’d say…
Tinkering in my amateur garden or repotting houseplants into unconventional containers. Lounging in the pool with my mini fish net in hand so I can clean as I go. Crafting home decor, everything from wall art to table centerpieces. Texting my son and asking him why he never texts me back. Watching the neighborhood flock of quail argue with the doves over the massively sharable amount of seed I poured out on the grass. Drinking coffee with a friend or two and always finding something new to chat about. Taking Pilates and water aerobics at the nearby rec center. And of course, researching. I am obsessed with geopolitics, but I’m trying to take it down a notch to more of a healthy level!
Read “Through Quick and Quinn”
I can’t breathe. Air is getting caught between my sobs and my screams.
“Geoffrey! Geoffrey!” I fall to the ground, dizzy and gasping. I choke on my tears and start coughing, which finally alerts the people around me to pay attention. Had I not been screaming long enough or loud enough? Did they think it was a game?
Part One
From the Start
Declan: A Decision of Indecision
What would a child get if he was blessed with a mother who saw meaning in every single thing and a father who just chuckled and went along with it all? A name like Declan Alexander Broderick Williams.
My mom used to say that every piece of my name had meaning, that she couldn’t deny me any of them.
Declan
Origin: Irish
Meaning: full of goodness
Alexander
Origin: Greek
Meaning: defender of men Broderick
Origin: English, Welsh, Irish Meaning: brother
My dad chalked it up to her indecisive tendencies, that she couldn’t choose a name. But she did decide. She chose all three names that came before the given one. She knew that I would be a model big brother, always protecting my future siblings with goodness. Manifestation, she called it. Not that it really mattered. No one called me by any of those names when I was growing up. Everyone called me Deck, even him. Especially him.
Until no one dared to.
Declan
Maverick:
The First Dig
It was a Saturday in June. Summer break. I wrapped up elementary school and was dreading the start of junior high in the fall. That dread, combined with the incessant, dull nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from since spring break that year, just meant that I was sleeping nonstop. Or at least trying to. Or pretending to.
My folks walked into my bedroom that afternoon, probably around two o’clock. They flicked on the lights and called for a family meeting. My dad was the one to begin the chat, which came as no surprise since my mom had basically become a selective mute.
“Hey buddy, we want to have a chat. Sit up, son.”
I blinked away my pseudo sleep and forced my body to oblige. My dad started talking about how much they love me, how that could never change, how they only want what’s best for me, how they were worried. Easily three minutes of the usual stuff. Enough time for me to cognitively awaken.
“Declan, we—”
And that was it. I heard my dad say my name for the first time in ages, and my entire world shattered in slow motion. Again. I could hear him talking to me. I could process what he was saying. Too hard to stay here. I’ll do better in a new environment with new faces. Clean slate, start from scratch, next town over, new friends, blah blah blah.
All I could really focus on, though, was the sound of my name. Declan. I hadn’t heard it for as long as I could remember, so when he said it that day, it struck me differently.
Declan. But I didn’t hear “Deck-lan” as I should have. I don’t know if it was my fuzzy sleep brain or what, but I could have sworn he said, “De-clan.” As in, undoing a clan. As in, undoing our clan. Our family.
I started sobbing hysterically, screaming about how my mom got the meaning wrong. That my name wasn’t about being full of goodness. How could I be full of goodness if I’m the reason for the de-clan? I felt like I broke in half, doubled over in my dad’s lap, begging to erase it all. Somehow through the uncontrollable crying and nonsensical blubbering, my parents got it. They understood. Or at least my dad did. He told me I could choose a new first name if I wanted. I had no idea what my mom was thinking and hadn’t since the incident. I could have guessed though.
A new town. A new school. A new name. New, new, new. Maybe it would help.
And so was born my first dig.
I searched on the internet for hours that day. It felt cathartic almost, casting aside any names that reminded me of, well, anything. Characters from shows I used to watch with him? Those were out. Names of friends he had at school? Out. That was round one. I moved on to round two, filling pages upon pages in my notebook with potential names and their meanings. A total waste of time. Because when I saw it, I just knew.
Maverick
Origin: American (that made sense, considering I was born and raised)
Meaning: an independent man who avoids conformity; a free spirit.
Maverick. I loved it. And no, not because of Top Gun. I didn’t even see that movie until my sophomore year in high school, and I would not have named myself after a role being played by that actor. Just saying.
Ok, so, Maverick Alexander Broderick Williams.
Ugh. Seriously? That’s ridiculous.
Alexander. Nope. Not a defender in the least. Not after what happened that spring break. Out.
Broderick. Brother. I thought I should keep the name, but Maverick Broderick? Nope.
Maybe Brody, I thought. Turned out Brody meant “ditch” or “muddy place.” Ummmm, no thank you. That was literally the last thing I wanted to think about, especially when it came to my brother.
Maverick, it was then. Just Maverick.
At the time I didn’t really understand the first meaning, but I knew that I wanted my spirit to be free. Free from the sadness and the guilt. I definitely lived up to the non-conformity thing, without trying or perhaps without even realizing it. Interestingly enough, though, the name never stuck.
Declan
Maverick
Quick: The Name That Stuck
Seventh grade. New school, new town, all the new stuff. Well, except for friends. I didn’t care enough to try to make any, but I still had some all the same. Maybe not friends. Acquaintances?
There was this one kid who I kind of hung out with that year. Aiden. No, Kayden. Hayden? Brayden. No, not Brayden. There wasn’t a consonant blend at the beginning of his name. Jaden? I never remembered the name of the kid who basically named me. Not really my fault though. Everyone called each other “bro” and “dude” back then anyway.
I didn’t memorize his name, but I did his goofy face, probably because he was always sticking it right in front of mine. “Hey, wanna walk to P.E. together? Hey, wanna study for the history test together? Hey, wanna sit together at lunch today?” It was constant. Constant questions, but never a space to answer. He just kept talking. It was fine with me. The more he talked, the less I had to.
He named me on a Thursday in October that year.
For two months in gym class, we’d have to start by running a mile. Coach said it was a warm-up, that we needed cardiovascular exercise, that it would wake us up and our endorphins, too. All of us went along with it, but I knew the truth. At the top of every hour, Coach got a fifteen-minute break. Not a bad gig.
That Thursday in October was a little different though. Coach incentivized us, offering a free pass for the following day’s running and fitness tests to anyone who could finish the mile in under seven minutes.
Challenge accepted.
I checked my laces. I took some deep breaths. And then I knocked that mile out in five minutes, seventeen seconds.
“Dang, dude! How the heck did you run that so quick? Are those some magic shoes? Did you even know you could run that quick? What the heck?” Yep. All questions, no space to answer. Fine by me. I needed to catch my breath a bit.
We walked to history class together after that, and Aiden/Kayden/Hayden/ Jaden was still reeling over the mile, that I had been keeping this superhero power a secret all this time. Not but an hour later, he considered his new assessment of me as officially confirmed, given what happened in our next class. The teachers must have had a meeting and decided on this thing together. That, or the mid-fall laziness kicked in. But our history teacher offered the same type of deal that Coach did, on that same Thursday.
Berkey started off every history class with a trivia question. It was her thing, I guess. “Just for funsies,” she would say. I knew most of the answers, but I only begrudgingly muttered them when no one else would get it and it was taking too long. But that day, that Thursday, was different. If I was first to answer correctly, I wouldn’t have to take the vocabulary test the next day.
Challenge accepted.
“What are the two types of lava?” Berkey smirked when she asked the question, convinced that she stumped us and that everyone would be taking the test. That debunked my laziness theory.
I knew that I knew the answer, but I didn’t know it right then. I remembered seeing it in a book I had in the bathroom when I was younger, one of those kid encyclopedia books. I used to read that book for hours. I could even remember the lava types being on the left side of a left page, towards the top. There were two big photos in round frames with lots of bright oozing lava drops all over the page. I could even see the font! Ugh, it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t grasp it. Probably because it wasn’t English.
What was it? Hawaiian or something?
“Simone!” Berkey was shocked someone was going for it. “What’s your answer?”
Simone said something stupid, like hot and cool. Of course Berkey couldn’t say it was stupid, but we were all thinking it. A couple of other kids gave it a go, too, but Berkey kept saying the same thing.
“No, no, not that. Good try! Anyone else?”
And then I remembered. It clicked. Just popped into my brain, like a download.
“I got it,” I uttered. “A’a and Pahoehoe.” It was Hawaiian, so surely I mispronounced them.
Berkey was stunned. It was silent for a solid ten seconds, minimum, while the whole class waited to hear if I was right.
“What the what?!” Leave it to Aiden/Kayden/Hayden/Jaden to break the silence. “How the heck? First the mile, and now this? Dude, you are so quick!”
And that was that.
Not Maverick.
Quick.
