This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Norman will be awarding an digital copy of Sick Like That to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Why do you write in your genre? What draws you to it?
I write crime fiction because it’s what I generally enjoy reading the most. I like characters who break the rules, who draw their own lines, for their own reasons.
What research (or world-building is required?
Your life experience is your research, really.
Name one thing you learned from your hero/heroine.
It ain’t about how many times you get knocked down, it’s about how many times you get back up.
>br> Do you have any odd or interesting writing quirks, habits or superstitions?
Not really. Superstition is disordered thinking.
Are you a plotter or pantser?
I want to be a plotter, but I’m a pantser.
Look to your right – what’s sitting there?
‘The Essential Rumi,’ translated by Coleman Barks
Anything new coming up from you? What?
‘Shadow of a Thief,’ coming this fall, about a drug addict/thief who’s looking for his connection to the rest of us.
Do you have a question for our readers?
What keeps you up at night? What scares you? What do you wish you could do, right now?
This follow-up to The Last Gig features a tough and edgy, one-of-a-kind heroine—an entirely fresh take on the hardboiled women private investigators who dominate so many crime fiction classics.
Read an Excerpt:
Sarah Waters climbed the subway steps out onto the street and headed for home. She lived in the basement of her mother’s house in Bensonhurst, a largely Italian neighborhood down on the southern end of Brooklyn. She always found herself dragging when she got this close, the four blocks from the train station to the house always seemed the hardest part of the trip. You’re always so happy to get out of there in the morning, she told herself, and so bummed when you have to come back. Is the basement really that bad? But it wasn’t her mother’s basement she minded, not really, it was her mother, right upstairs, and all too often, downstairs and in her face. “Frank is a good man.” Her mother never got tired of saying it. “I don’t know why you two couldn’t work things out. Your father and I had our differences . . .”
Last night Sarah had finally had enough. “Frankie is only good for one thing, Ma.” She slapped her left hand into the crook of her right arm and pumped her right fist.
“AAAAGH!” Her mother squeezed her eyes shut and crossed herself. “Don’t talk like that in my house!”
“It’s the truth, Ma.” She glanced over her shoulder, but her son, Frankie Junior, was in his room with the door closed.
She could just hear the sounds of his television. “Frankie could be fun sometimes, but you can only be doing that for about an hour a day, am I right? What am I supposed to do with him the rest of the time? When you have a family, you’re supposed to grow up, bring home a paycheck, you’re supposed to quit hanging out in the bar drinking beers and chasing the waitresses. Besides, he’s outa work two years now. I get back together with him, you’re gonna have him in your basement, too. You want that? He’s like a stray cat, you give him food, a soft bed, and a nice place to shit, you’ll never get rid of him.”
“Would that be so bad? Your father and I . . .”
>br> “I don’t wanna hear it.” You can eat shit for forty years if that’s what you want, but not me . . . But she couldn’t tell her mother that, since his death her father had completely reformed his character and was now a saint.
About the Author: Norman Green is the author of six crime novels, most recently Sick Like That. Born in Massachusetts, he now lives in New Jersey with his wife.
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