From an Annoyed Character


Hi blog readers.

Tare here.

Who I am is irrelevant, though you may remember me from the excruciating interview my author made me go through for your alleged benefit. I hope you enjoyed it because I most adamantly did not. …Actually, I hope you didn’t enjoy it: I do not want to go through that again.

If you’re wondering what I’m doing here of my own accord, despite not being much of a written word person, I decided to hack my author’s blog because I want her to pay attention, and she’s not getting the message any other way.

KW2coverPI’m a little annoyed at her for dragging her feet and not getting on with writing my story.

Actually, “a little” doesn’t cover it at this point.

Instead of writing my story at a reasonable pace, or even putting it off until December — which might be preferable, since she’s all set on the idea of writing a random fairytale-like romance thing in some other world for NaNoWriMo and I don’t want to compete with that at this point — she seems to have decided that it’s all right to creep along at the snail-like pace of one hundred words per day, for some contest she says will “keep her writing”.

One hundred words. Per day. Honestly.

It’s getting tedious.

Plus she keeps going off to write about other characters in the story — characters who really ought to annoy her as much as they do me, but don’t because she’s not sensible like that. And she seems to write them faster than she does me, which is frankly annoying considering it used to be the other way around. It’s like she’s avoiding me.

I keep trying to tell her to get a move on, but she’s not listening. I think not listening is a common character-flaw among authors. Like when I try to tell her that she should either go back to sleep or get up and write, instead of lying awake thinking about writing like she always does. Naturally, she argues that it’s my fault for always only telling her things about my story in the middle of the night. But really, is it my fault that that’s when I’m awake? No, it’s hers, because she keeps giving me constant nightmares whenever I try to sleep; she sort of brought it on herself.

Maybe she’ll actually get something useful done this week on my story. Hopefully. Otherwise she’ll start on her other story and I’ll get a month-long vacation. …Which is not actually such a bad thing.

But it can be nettling to be totally forgotten. I’ll make sure to give her occasional hints at plot points coming up that she doesn’t know about yet, to make sure she doesn’t entirely forget about my story while she’s writing her NaNo fairy tale thing. (She’ll probably gripe about it, of course, saying that I’m distracting her, but what can you do? She’d complain more if I didn’t tell her anything…)

All right, I’m done.

You might hear from my author again if she’ll stop procrastinating and actually write some of those blog posts and reviews and things she keeps saying she’ll write. I keep telling her to just do them already but she claims she’s busy.

If by the slightest chance she doesn’t appear here until December, it will either be because I ran out of patience and locked her in her closet until she works on my story, or because she’s doing NaNo. You know. Whichever.


Q&A With Tare: Part 2

So, finally, here is the second half of Tare’s interview!

(The first half is here if you missed it.)


1. When was the first time you wore a black leather jacket? Why did you choose that as your constant clothing item?

“I don’t know; a long time ago. I was probably 13 or something. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Still does, actually. Durable, good for all occasions and all weather . . . and lots of room to keep stuff in. I don’t think about it much, it’s just… what I wear.”

2. Do you have a regular barber? (If so, he or she does a very good job, just so you know.)

“Not really. This may be a good time to add that I don’t think about my hair an awful lot. (And… thank you… I think?)”

3. What’s your general worldview?

Tare folds his arms. “What is that even supposed to mean? I’m not about to dump my entire brain to you, thank you very much.”

Jacket4. Any mortal enemies?

“Oh-ho. Getting into deep waters, are we? Yes, I have had mortal enemies and probably often will from time to time. The key word, though, is mortal.”

(Author whistles innocently in the background.

Tare glares at her. “What does that mean?”)

5. What kind of music do you like?

“I’ve never been very into music. I don’t like loud jarring music but calm music is dull. So I have no idea.”

6. Have any favorite musical instruments?

He gives a sideways look. “Not . . . really. Violins are probably above reproach, though. Unless someone has no idea what they’re doing and playing it badly. So never mind.”

7. Car, truck, or van?

“None? If I had to pick, I guess a really big truck or a really little car, depending on what I wanted a vehicle for (stealth, for example). Vans are dumb unless you want to cart around a lot of stuff or people. I’m not generally in that line of activity. Besides, if I had something with lots of seats, the Chess Club would probably want to follow me around everywhere, and just… no.”

[Aside from the author: The Chess Club is what the other main characters of the Kedran’s Wood series call themselves. They’re slightly in awe of Tare, even though he doesn’t know it. On the whole, he views them rather like overgrown puppies: bungling, pestering things — annoying but harmless.]

insnow8. You like to read, right? What kind of books do you read?

“Yes. And the kind with pages.”

(Author gives Tare a look.)

“Fine. Old books. Anything that’s good.”

9. Do you like dragons?

“Depends on the dragon. Evil dragons, no. If they’re good, I’m open to discussion on the subject.”

10. Do you like kittens?

Tare throws his arms out to either side. “What is it with these questions? I have nothing against kittens. How’s that?”

11. What are your thoughts on Baz?

Tare shuts his eyes. “You don’t want to hear them. And nor do I, for that matter . . .”

[Note from author: Baz is an extremely happy-go-lucky character, full of pranks and humor, and he consequently annoys Tare to no end. Carry on.]

12. Do you really like being alone all the time?

Tare looks thoughtful for a moment but whatever is going on in his head is quickly shaken away and he makes an ‘It’s sounding pretty good at the moment’ sort of face. “Next question.”

quote13. Were you an only child?

He drums his fingers. “Yes.”

14. Do you even have parents?

“No. I did once though. Obviously.”

15. What’s your full name?

“Tare is short for Tarragon, if you must know. As for the rest… I’m not giving that information out at this point in time. So don’t ask again.”

16. What (in your probably-not-humble opinion) is your best quality?

Tare gives his author a hard stare. “Excuse me.”

(Author: “Don’t look at me! I didn’t say it that way. Just answer it.”)

Tare sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I probably don’t have one. Or… I can fight really well. Does that count? If you want something less obvious… Well, I don’t give up. Ever.” A shadow crosses his face and his dark blue eyes stare off into nothing. “I had to learn that in order to survive.”


17. Worst quality? (Yes, I’m asking you to expose your flaws. >:D )

“Worst?” Tare raises one cynical eyebrow like a question mark. “Not sure if I know, and even if I did, I’m not sure I’d tell it. But one thing that probably counts as a flaw is that I don’t do people. I just… No.”

(Author coughs, trying to conceal laughter.

Tare says dryly, “I suppose you’ve all gathered that by now.”)

18. Pet peeves?

“Didn’t I already answer this one last time?”

(Author: “Nope, that was ‘biggest’ pet peeve.”)

“Well then. Besides people asking me questions… People prying into my affairs, getting in my way, trying to kill me, and—oh: asking what my pet peeves are.”


And there you have Tare’s interview completed! Hope you enjoyed! 🙂

Q&A with Tare, Or: “Could You Not Ask Me That?” (Part 1)

So here, as promised, is the interview with Tare! He wasn’t happy about it, but he cooperated (mostly), so I’m pleased.

(Really, Tare, you can’t blame me for the questions. I wasn’t the one who came up with them.

Tare: “You didn’t have to ask them, though.”

Author: “Oh, shush. Questions are for being asked.”)

There ended up being quite a few questions, so I’m going to post half of them today and half in my next post. If you have anything else to ask him, I’ll do those then as well!

Anyways, without further adieu, here is Part One of the interview with Tare, a main character in my Kedran’s Wood series (The Owl of Kedran’s Wood, The Secret of Kedran’s Wood, and a third currently titled The Shadow of Kedran’s Wood.) Enjoy!


1. How old are you?

“19. Ish.” Tare shuts his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

2. How would you describe yourself in one word?

Tare raises one eyebrow. “’Me’.”

3. Where do you live?

“In an abandoned apartment on the abandoned side of town right next to the wood. And no, I’m not giving you my address.”

4. How does your home reflect your character/personality?

“Alone, quiet, dark and unwelcoming.”

5. If you only had three days to live, what would you do?

He glares and narrows his eyes. “I spent such a long time assuming I had less than that to live, every day, that–” He breaks off. “I don’t know. I’d just live. Could you not ask me questions like that?”

6. What’s your favorite food?

“Seriously?” He sighs. “Um. Meat.”

7. Have you ever considered getting a motorcycle? I can just picture you with one. That would totally work. You should get one.

He clears his throat and says carefully, “I . . . have . . . had one.”

Jacket8. Three things you could absolutely not live without?

“Food. Water. Air.”

(Author: “That’s too literal!”)

“Fine. Jacket, weapons, brain.”

9. Do you like cats?

“Not really. I don’t know. Does it matter?”

10. Do you like animals in general?

“It depends on the animal. And whether it wants to kill me. Or is annoying. Otherwise, I’m mostly indifferent.”

11. Do you like handwriting or typing better?

“I don’t do either much so I’m not worried about which I prefer. Typing is faster but takes more work because there has to be something to type on. So probably handwriting unless I have a lot to say. Which I usually don’t.”

12. What’s your favorite time period?

“Now is fine with me.”

13. Favorite activity?


14. What’s your biggest pet peeve?

He gives an accusatory look. “Probably, people asking me questions.”

15. What do you think about your author?

Tare looks at his author for a long moment. “What do I think…?” He taps a finger against his chin. “How long have you got?”

(Author: “Okay, I’m realllly not sure I want to hear this, but it’s the last question for today and technically…” *checks clock* “we still have awhile left. So answer away.”

Tare: “And you won’t interrupt or edit my answer?”

Author: “Okay, okay.”

Tare looks skeptical but partially satisfied and begins.)

Arm“Well… for one thing, she has the attention span of a squirrel. Seriously, she’s so easily distractable it would be amusing if it wasn’t so irritating. She’ll work on my story awhile, and then go dashing madly off to work on other stories without any warning, and without coming back for forever. I hear from her other characters that I’m the best of all of them at getting her to come back quickly, and that she’s always neglecting them for me, but I don’t believe a word of it.”

(Author: “It’s true, actually.” *cough*)

Tare continues. “She also procrastinates endlessly about actually writing, instead choosing to dream away about it. Which effectively means that all the stuff that happens to me happens multiple times because she’s always plotting it over and over, instead of just putting it on the paper so it happens once. A lot of things that happen to me aren’t exactly a ride on the merry-go-round, and are bad enough happening once, let alone half a dozen times in subtly different ways. In other words, I’m quite nettled at her about this.”

(Author: “My goodness. I never thought about that!”

Tare: “Well maybe you should START thinking about it.”

Author: “You didn’t tell me!”

Tare: “You should have known without me telling you. And stop interrupting; you promised.”

Author: “But this was important… Okay, never mind. Carry on.”)

Tare sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Let’s see. She’s also annoying, impulsive, sentimental, impractical, flighty, and too fascinated with my backstory for her own good. Overall, though . . . she’s harmless.”

(Author: “Except when I threaten.”

Tare: “Except when you threaten. But you don’t always mean it.”

Author: “Ha. Like you can tell when I’m bluffing.”

Tare: “I usually can.”

Author: “What if I said that I’m going to extend this interview even beyond next time’s post?” *laughs maniacally*

Tare: “First of all, your maniacal laugh needs work. Secondly, I know you’re bluffing because for one thing you’re out of questions, and for another it’s Camp NaNo and you can’t waste all day doing random things instead of writing.”

Author: “That’s never stopped me before…”)

Character Interview Attempt

Today I’m going to attempt an interview with one of my characters. I say “attempt” because he is somewhat unsociable (if not downright hostile) and may not appreciate my pestering him with questions.

Background: his name is Bithoa (prounounced bih-THOE-uh), he is a twenty-two year old outlaw, and at the time we meet him he lives in the Land of Darrotai (over the mountains from the Land of Starrellia). He’s from my 8-book fantasy series, The Chronicles of Starrellia, at the moment appearing in books 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 and 8 (but primarily 2: Out of the Unknown and 5: To Few the Road).

Without further ado, I bring you an attempted interview with Bithoa.


I am standing in a sunshine-filled forest glade, surrounded by leafy green trees. Before me stands . . . a rather brown figure. A tall young man, dressed in brown leather, with a brown leather vest instead of a shirt, laced up with brown leather laces in the front. His arms are bare and tanned, with more than a couple scars visible on them, and he is holding a transparent double-ended spear made of crystal. His hair is reddish-brown and shaggy, with some of it hanging down partway over one of his deep green eyes, which are staring at me rather dauntingly with mistrust in them. In his face is a wary look and he always seems to be watching out of the corner of his eye, like a hunted animal for the hunters. His eyebrows are drawn together in a frown and his mouth is a thin line as I explain to him that I would like to ask him some questions, as an introduction to some people I know. (I figure a blog might be difficult for him to grasp, since blogs are not exactly medieval . . .)

“Won’t you have a seat?” I ask him, pointing to a stump next to him.

He glances at it but makes no move to sit there, remaining where he stands. I start to sit on the stump opposite, but think better of it. I’m already a whole foot shorter than him, being only 5′ 2” myself, and decide I should not go shorter.

“Tell us about yourself, Bithoa.”

He starts to walk away. “Not interested. Why don’t you annoy David instead? I’m sure he’d love to be interviewed.”

“Get back here! Please,” I add.

He sighs and turns back to me. “Look — I’m sure no one wants to hear about me except my enemies, of which I have far too many already. If you’re so keen on these people learning about me, why don’t you tell them yourself?”

“I want it straight from your mouth. Just . . . tell about your situation. Your life. Anything.”

His eyes harden. “Allow me to say this very clearly: No.”

“Well then I’ll have to go find Calendula and make her ask you nicely. Then you’ll have to,” I threaten.

“What makes you think—?” He breaks off. Rolling his eyes in an expression of “whatever, better get this over with”, he says, “Fine.” Sitting down on the stump, he plunges the spear into the ground next to him, folds his arms, and begins. “Here in this land — which is entirely surrounded by mountains, marsh and desert, and thus inescapable — I’ve been an outlaw for the last ten years. The problem being that there are four different places — Wevion, two kingdoms in Darrotai, and the domain of the Lawdefs, the Law Defiers — and I’m an outlaw in all four.”

I whistle. “An outlaw four times over.”

He glares at me. “Yes. You know that.”

“I . . . was being dramatic,” I say sheepishly.

He looks like he wants to hit me but goes on. “So I’m hunted everywhere I go, with no escape, and now to top it all I’ve got two princes tagging along with me, bringing more danger with them. In short, life is not good right now. And I don’t see it getting any better,” he says with an accusatory glance at me. I cough awkwardly. “Is that enough?” he asks.

“No. Go on.”

He huffs. “Like what?”

“Well . . . how about some more details of your life? Like . . . your past and lineage and what you love and your greatest fears? Would you like to share some of that with us?” I should have known better, knowing what I know about those things. Warning signals go off in my head as his green eyes suddenly blaze with unconcealed anger.

“Oh yes,” he says through his teeth, “I have something I’d really like to share with you.” He stands up, his fingers closing over the shaft of the spear stuck in the ground beside him.

Before I can say or do anything, another voice calls somewhat frantically, “Bithoa!” A boy of sixteen runs up, with light brown hair, dressed in clothes that look like they were once very fine but now look a little the worse for wear, a dark blue cloak billowing behind him as he comes to a halt. A crossbow is slung at his shoulder and he has a long knife on his belt.

OUcover2“Hi, David!” I smile and a wave at the sixteen-year-old main character of Out of the Unknown.

“What is it now?” Bithoa says to David, clearly annoyed.

“Don’t do anything . . .” David starts, with a glance at me.

“Anything? I wasn’t. I was about to do something,” Bithoa interrupts. “And if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll start with you.”

David sighs unhappily. “Why do you have to be so hostile?”

“Me? Hostile?” Bithoa laughs, sarcastic and devoid of humor.

“You can’t hurt David, Bithoa,” I say. “Killing the main character is not allowed. And it’s even more not allowed to kill the author. So why don’t you just sit down again, please?”

“Maybe . . .” David begins.

Bithoa looks at him sharply. “Maybe what? Oh, I know: maybe she should interview you instead.”

“Well, I . . .” David says uncertainly.

Bithoa tugs his double-ended spear from the ground. “I’m off. I’m sure there’s some hunting to be done, or a stick to be whittled, or Donavin to get in a fight with, or some guards to find and have chase me. In short, something more enjoyable than being interviewed.” Though I know he doesn’t enjoy any of those things — except maybe getting in a fight with Donavin. He walks off, while David and I watch helplessly.

“He can be kinda difficult,” David says.

“I heard that,” Bithoa calls back before disappearing among the trees.

David looks at me and shrugs. He sits down on the stump. “Did you have some questions for me? I’d be happy to answer them.”

“Well, at least you’re polite and willing to comply . . .” I think about it, deciding I should try to salvage this interview by getting *someone* to answer some questions. I shrug. “Tell us . . . well, about you.”

David frowns thoughtfully. “Um . . . I’m a prince from Arothin in Darrotai. My older brother Donavin is in line for the throne but . . . there were problems. And now we’re on the run. With Bithoa.”

“What are some things you love or hate or fear?”

“Well, I love my brother if it comes to that. And apples.” He grins. “Hate?” His grin turns to a frown and he shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “Hate is kind of a strong word. I suppose I hate  my uncle and cousin. They killed my father the king, blamed my brother for it, and took over, and now they’ve got all the soldiers out tracking us down. Besides which my cousin Kiya always used to beat me up whenever Donavin wasn’t there to beat him up back for me . . . So I guess I fear him. And I fear for Donavin — he’s, well, a bit reckless and hotheaded, and sometimes I’m afraid he’ll just get himself killed one of these days because of it. Especially the way he and Bithoa rub each other the wrong way . . .” David glances all about and murmurs, “I fear Bithoa sometimes too. He . . . kind of scares me. And there are times when I just want him to leave. Or to throw him in the river . . .”

BithoaSketch“I heard that, too,” Bithoa calls.

David jumps. He clears his throat and squirms on the stump, his eyes appealing to me. “Um . . . could we talk about something else, please?”

The voice of David’s brother Donavin calls from somewhere on the other side of the glade. “You should leave poor David alone and interview me instead. I am the crown prince after all.”

“Oh yes,” Bithoa’s voice says derisively. “Heir to a throne that’s been stolen, and here you are, a fugitive, running from the guards who should be serving you. A lot of good your royalness is doing you.”

“Shut your mouth, outlaw!”

“Don’t call me that,” Bithoa growls.

“Oh, and what shall I call you then?”

“You needn’t call me anything, princeling.”

“Princeling!” Donavin exclaims in rage. I can practically hear him fuming. David and I look at each other, wincing. A few more heated words are exchanged between Donavin and Bithoa before sounds of a scuffle break out.

David sighs and hauls himself off the stump to his feet. “I’d probably better go see to that . . .”


And there you have it. It was not supposed to get that long, or that sidetracked. And I guess I introduced more than one character. But it is so hard to get some of my less sociable charries pinned down long enough for an interview . . . Hope you enjoyed! I definitely had a fantastic time writing it.
Do you have any questions to ask them?