Fay has a passion for working with and encouraging fellow writers. As a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), she co-moderates the large Scribes’ Critique Group and manages the smaller Scribes’ critique groups. For her efforts, she was the recipient of the ACFW Members Service Award in 2010.
In 2012, Fay was also elected to serve as secretary on ACFW’s Operating Board.
Fay and her husband, Marc, reside in
Tell us how much of yourself you write into your characters.
The truth is that I can’t write main characters if they haven’t faced issues that I have faced. I might put them into different circumstances, but it would be a little hard for me to relay the emotions of a character if I have never been through what I plan to put them through.
What is the quirkiest thing you have ever done?
I’ve been called quirky by numerous people. I never understood why, so I enlisted a good friend to tell me one quirky moment she remembered. She listed about ten, and, well, I still don’t see why she thinks I’m the least bit odd. Anyone could announce on a road trip that the next rest stop on the interstate is a very nice one and accidentally follow a semi-truck into the weigh station.
But I guess one of my biggest quirks is that I’m a big fan of a little-known actor. I love his work, and I enthusiastically support him in everything he does. When I actually ran into the wonderfully talented young man, though, I was as speechless as an adoring teenager to a rock star. All I could do is call my best friend and whisper into the phone, “He has the darkest hair I’ve ever seen” after my actor friend took off his hat and sunglasses and smiled at me as if all his online contact and my promotion of his work showed me to be somewhat normal, and he expected to carry on a conversation. It didn’t happen, and my friends won’t let me live it down.
When did you first discover that you were a writer?
Before I could string letters together to make words, I was telling stories, but when I was twelve years old, my friend’s mother asked me to share my writing with her. She was a college professor, and I know the dribble of a twelve-year-old was probably amusing to her, but she told me that I would be a writer. I took her at her word, and I never stopped putting pen to paper.
I was a storyteller first, before I became an author. Tell us the range of the kinds of books you enjoy reading.
I consider myself one of the luckiest people in the world. As a co-moderator of the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Scribes’ large critique group, I’m reading volumes of pre-published fiction by writers of every genre. When reading published works, though, I tend to gravitate toward romantic suspense and contemporary romance. I like any story as long as it has meat for me to chew on.
How do you keep your sanity in our run, run, run world?
I’m a fifteen-minutes-at-a-time kind of gal. I will deny that I suffer from A.D.D., but it is much easier for me to finish a project when I have ten of them going on at a time. That’s not hard when you co-moderate a large critique group of approximately 275 writers, manage approximately thirty-five small critique groups, enjoy being on the ACFW operating board, and work as an acquisitions editor for Pelican Ventures (White Rose and Harbourlights). I set out four different tasks and work on each fifteen minutes out of each hour. When I finish one, I add a new one to the list. I’m never bored.
How do you choose your characters’ names?
I don’t believe I’ve ever made a conscious effort to name a character. My ideas actually come to me through my characters. Often they show up on the stage of my mind, announce who they are, and tell me the basic premise of their story.
That’s not considered quirky is it?
What is the accomplishment that you are most proud of?
Netting my husband. There are so few good guys out there, and when you’re able to find one that puts up with everything about you and loves you the way you are, that’s a big accomplishment. I know other people think so, too. I have all kind of dear women telling me how lucky I am to have him. I’m not sure what that says about their opinion of me, but that’s okay. He’s mine!
If you were an animal, which one would you be, and why?
A cat. Have you ever notice that they never doubt that they deserve more than they will ever receive? The two that live in my home have their own personal maid, butler, cook, and chauffeur, and sometimes they look at me as if given the chance, I’d be fired without notice.
What is your favorite food?
Anyone who follows my chatter on Facebook knows that I love fried pickles, a hot fudge sundae with bananas and whipped cream, and sweet iced tea from a local restaurant, the Moonlight Drive-In.
I love fried pickles, too, but I can’t eat them anymore, because of all the sodium. What is the problem with writing that was your greatest roadblock, and how did you overcome it?
Believing in myself. I’m very timid by nature, and it took a while and a lot of honest critique from people who cared enough about my writing career to gain that tough skin all writers mention. Once I was able to take the criticism and determine for myself what was right for my story, I gained confidence in my abilities. At times, my husband has had more faith in my talent than I did. He talked me off the quitter’s ledge many times, and the day I received my contract for Because of Me, I stood in stunned silence, and my husband cried tears of joy.
Tell us about the featured book.
Because of Me was birthed when the hero, Michael Hayes, came onto the stage of my imagination and said, “There’s a young boy, Cole. I’m not his father, but he’s definitely on this earth because of me. I allowed something horrible to happen to his mother, but I still love her. I despise the kid, though. I’ve forgiven another for so much more, and Cole’s only fault is that his father is the man who took everything from me. How can I learn to love this child and protect his mother from the man who can again take her from me?”
Michael’s story captivated me, and when it was all said and done, I realized that Romans 8:28 permeates the pages of this story. All things, both the good and the bad, are used by God for our good.
Please give us the first page of the book.
“Michael.” Issie bolted upright in bed, fighting the blankets and gasping for air. She ran her hand across her mouth and scanned the darkness enveloping her room.
Her breath, harsh at first, settled into a normal rhythm. She had nothing to fear. “Michael,” she choked out his name again then settled back down and curled into a ball.
She’d clung to the memory of his handsome face, but with each passing year he slipped further away. The desperate yearning to see him took her breath away.
One thing she’d never forget was the way his eyes, the color of dark chocolate, always followed her lips when she spoke, as if he wanted to kiss them long and deep. He’d loved her then. She loved him now.
Another face fought to replace her treasured memory. She shuddered and closed her eyes, fighting the vision of Tom Jervis on top of her, taking everything she’d saved for Michael—for their marriage bed. Everything she desired fell out of reach on that night.
“Mommy?” the frightened voice sounded from the hallway.
“Cole, I’m here. What is it?”
With bare feet, her seven-year-old plopped across the wood floor and over the old woolen rug to her bed. “Are you okay?”
Issie turned on her bed stand lamp. A soft light shone from beneath the green glass top, illuminating his sleepy face and tired soul-filled gray eyes.
“I had another bad dream.” She scooted over, and he climbed up beside her.
The nightmare had vanished for such a long time. Why was it resurfacing now? Could you call them dreams if the events really happened?
“Mommy, who’s Michael?”
She stiffened. He’d never asked that question. Had she not cried out for Michael in the night before? How could she answer? Yet, not responding might alarm him since he heard her call out the name. “Yeah, baby, I do.”
He rolled over to face her. “Your bad dreams are about him?”
She touched her finger to his nose. “No, they aren’t about him, but he’s in them. Having him there makes it better for me.”
Better for her, but not for Michael. What had it cost him to watch Jervis do what he’d done to her?
“How does he make it better?”
Issie pushed her boy’s shaggy blond hair from his face. He needed a haircut, but he wanted it long until the end of the baseball season. His helmet fit better, he said.
“How does he make it better?” He repeated, propping himself up on one elbow. “Did he help you?”
A vision of Michael branded her memory—the tears in his eyes, the rage in the flare of his nostrils, and the sorrow in the turn of his lips.
“No, but he would if he could.” She pressed her chin against the top of Cole’s head and wrapped her arms around his pint-size body, drawing comfort from his warmth and concern. Cole was a good boy. No one could tell her differently. “In my dream, Michael’s having a tough time too, maybe worse than Mommy.”
“Where does Michael live?” He yawned and turning, he faced away from her, his little body curving with hers.
“I don’t know where he is today.” At least that was the truth now. “I haven’t seen him in over seven years.” Since his release from prison, Issie had no idea where he’d gone.
“Oh,” he said. His breathing soon settled into a sweet rhythm of sleep.
“Michael.” She breathed the name. As she’d done since the day she learned she carried a boy, she imagined Michael embracing her son and accepting him as his own. The fantasy, though, was too fantastic for even her to believe.
Wow! I’m hooked. How can readers find you on the Internet?My website is www.faylamb.com and I love making new friends on Facebook and Twitter at www.facebook.com/fay.lamb and www.twitter.com/@faylamb
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Because of Me
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