Good morning readers, I will be leaving for work this morning but will return later to post further. To allow to better understand me and my books, here is my bio, and other personal information. Have a great day.
JoAnne has been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and worked in the blue-collar industry most of her life. Besides having several novels under her belt, JoAnne canvas paints.
When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, JoAnne spends time with relatives, her dog Jasmine, and volunteers her time within the community. JoAnne is a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill’s Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. JoAnne believes in family values and following your dreams. JoAnne’s original canvas paintings, can be found at: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com
1. In your “Never Give Up” blog post, you state that you put art and writing on hold for years, then returned to them. What steps did you take to do this? What advice do you have for aspiring authors who want to “pick up” writing again? When I decided to go back to painting, I took lessons from an artist living in my area. I needed that help since it had been many years since I painted. He taught me the basic rules of painting; what size brushes to use with what images, mixing colors, and not to be afraid to experiment. With my writing, I began with poetry, then country songs, short stories, and then full length books. My advice would be to just start writing something. Taking a writing class never hurts either. I think many who want to write don’t, because they are afraid of failing. One must find a subject they are interested in. Write what you want to write, not what others want from you. Joining writing groups and book reading groups are good because members give support to one another. To write anything you must take the “plunge.” Nothing ventured nothing gained. Forget about failure, and what others will think of your writing. For some it takes years to complete a book, but they stayed with it. Sometimes when I got writers block, I stepped away from my computer for weeks until an idea came to me, and I went back and added it to the book. The secret to anything you want to do, is to never give up.
2. You write many paranormal books and murder mysteries. Where do you find your inspiration? I watch a lot of television and read the papers. Two of my books, The Crime of the Century, and Twisted Love, are actual homicide cases from Ohio. To find that information I went to the courthouse for the case documents, and witness and police statements.
3. I’m fascinated by mystery authors and their abilities to create suspense. When you’re writing a mystery, how do you sprinkle clues throughout the story without giving anything away? Do you outline your mysteries in advance, or let them evolve organically? I try to outline each paragraph and keep track of what clues and activities the main characters did in past chapters. You don’t want the same incident such as a shooting, happening several times. Mix up the killings a little. Throw in a fist fight, or poisoning, or an incident with cut brakes lines to put a character into danger.
Blurbs for New Release:
Loves, Myths and Monsters
Welcome To Anna
Little does 17 year old Zoe, realize, but the Chupracabra followed her to Ohio from South America. What happens next is a series of chilling mysteries, and unsuspecting friendships and love.
The Hunter’s Bride
When all game warden Daren Abram, had to worry about was which lucky lady to woo, he comes to the realization that his town is being stalked by the reincarnation of the town’s legend.
For teenage mermaid Constance, coming to the quaint seaside town of Willowick, is heavenly, until she falls for mortal boy Drake. For the town to survive, Constance is forced to choose between her kind and the boy and town she loves.
When young Lycan Sonny Red Blanket, a Shawnee Indian falls for mortal girl Drenda Way, he must save her from his fellow Lycan’s and stop a werewolf uprising.
Apiologist 34-year-old Duncan McPherson goes to Circleville, Ohio, to investigate a series of mysterious bee attacks. What is uncovered proves to be more dark and sinister then anyone imaged.
Incarcerated in the abandoned Roseville jail, is the last thing rich college student and speeder Brice Conrad, needs. With an “agreement” between the town and a permanent demonic “guest”, only the unfortunate ones know the truth, but do not live to tell.
For The Love Of Ginnie
Handsome bachelor and Scientist Alex Anderson from the thirtieth century, returns to the Civil War with time serum to save his beloved Ginnie Wade from a snipers bullet, while finding a roller coaster ride of joy and perils.
Is It Only A Myth?
When 32-year-old Vinton County Sheriff, James “Jim” Connors, discovers he has a Mothman hunting in his county, he stops at nothing to save his citizens.
The rough and ready cowboy John Queenie gets the shock of his life, when the ad to break a “wild filly” turns out to be a fiery Quaker girl named Tess. This is a story proving love conquers all.
The House On Shady Lane
A seemingly loving family turns out to be serial killers in 1873.
When an Egypt love curse scroll is stolen from a Dean’s office, persons begin dying in bizarre and grisly ways, with the college’s mascot a Viking King statue jokingly blamed for it.
For the Love of Ginnie
I don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was because I was tired of bachelorhood. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia “Ginnie” Wade I had read about.
These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to the bar to meet my best friend Will.
Will’s favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route 93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place became a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The invention of the transporter alsoreplaced many other primitive jobs such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.
“The Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A” clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.
I pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the baby-faced valet, by-passed the doorman with no questions asked. Just an exchange of large smiles between us. Will was also part-owner.
As I entered the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will immediately spotted me and motioned me toward the bar with his diamond embellished hand.
I loved sitting at the bar. It was the perfect place to see the shows. “Two double scotches and water,” Will said, as we shook hands, and I slid into my seat beside him, just as the tall, leggy waitress produced the drinks in an instant.
I immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife” robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially females.
“I don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said, cautiously sipping my drink. The immense emptiness of not being able to acquire a wife and soul mate, I felt at this age in my life, almost drove me to alcoholism, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my life and promising career.
“Because, dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”
“Ugh!” I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.
“Come on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another round of drinks. “You’re alive, so act like it. Don’t let your beautiful mind go to waste. This world needs people like you. People started treating me like a god once I became an entrepreneur, and I love it.”
I had to laugh. Maybe my self-pity stage had outlived its use. Only I can find a wife for myself. I certainly won’t ask Will to hook me up. His sense of values are as artificial as the women he beds.
The pain and loneliness I felt at times from yearning for a life-long partner and family wasn’t easy to accomplish. Scientific and Medical technology still could not reverse the sterilization effects on the female species.
Sure there were some human women to date. But most were either sterile, too old, too young, or there was just no chemistry between the two of us. I wanted that spark that unites between two people madly in love…like my parents. I never met any couple happier with one another then my beloved parents. That’s the kind of love I want…never ending.
The emptiness and frustration of not finding companionship at times made me want to die. But that was the loneliness talking. I know that now. I love life. I want to live, and I know who I want for a wife. It’s just that meeting her would be a little tricky.
Abruptly, I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”
“Are you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for hundreds of years, and failed.”
“Maybe they failed because they weren’t Doctor Gabry and me.”
Will looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”
“We discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We believe this is the answer.”
“So who is to be the Guinea pig?”
Silence came from Will, then a gasp. “That could be suicide.”
“Or the biggest discovery of the thirtieth century.”
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