Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Welcome, Susie. How did you come up with the idea for this story?
I’m nosy on airplanes. :-)
No, seriously, I was on a plane to Florida and, as I sat down, my seatmate was on his cell phone, speaking another language. I admit I was curious, so, I asked him what language he was speaking. Greek – and he was talking to his father who was an immigrant from Greece. And it got better - his grandfather was also an immigrant, and had fought in World War Two, while his wife raised their children in Greece. But that wasn’t all – there was an uncle involved, and family scandal and….hmm…interesting. The best part was that this poor man was afraid of flying, so to keep his mind off the improbability of our giant jet lifting into thin air, he started in on this amazing story. Two hours later, he’d seeded in my heart a story about two Greek brothers who loved the same woman.
Thus, Sons of Thunder was born. I have long desired to write books set in the World War Two era. Such a heroic, courageous time, filled with heroes and epic romance and tales of hope and redemption. (Not to mention the amazing music and dress styles – oh, I was born in the wrong era!) More than that, as I’ve had the privilege of traveling the world and meeting amazing people from other countries, I’ve realized that many, many Christians fought in the war on all sides – British, Russian, Dutch, French, American…even Germans. Brothers united by a common lineage in Christ forced to pick up arms to fight in a war they may or may not believe in, but because they were patriots to their country. My vision is to write stories from around the globe of heroes from all nationalities. I call it the Brothers in Arms collection.
That is totally fascinating to me. Thank you for sharing it with us. If you were planning a party with Christian authors of contemporary fiction, what six people would you invite and why?
Oh good grief. How am I supposed to choose? And are we going to talk about writing? Or just sing a little Karaoke?
Hmmm….Susan Meissner, because she can sing The Rose like nobody’s business. And Jim Bell because he’s brilliant and every word out of him is deep and profound and exceedingly funny. And Rachel Hauck, of course! And, oh c’mon, this is too hard.
And, of course, Susan Downs.
As you can see, I hyphenated your one word, (cheating) sentence, so it would wrap into more lines. Now let’s do that for a party for Christian authors of historical fiction, what six people would you invite and why?
I’m sorry, Susan May Warren is unavailable to answer this question due to the fact she’s surrounded by amazing historical fiction and unable to make a coherent decision.
Many times, people (and other authors) think you have it made with so many books published. What is your most difficult problem with writing at this time in your career?
Keeping my stories fresh, coming up with new ideas, and the pressure to make each book better.
Tell us about the featured book?
Please give us the first page of the book.
Sons of Thunder
Susan May Warren
Markos Stavros would not go to war on the eve of his brother’s wedding.
Even if he wanted to murder his best friend.
“Lucien! Come up!” Markos hung with one hand to the mast of his skiff, the pomegranate red hull of his fishing boat a sufficient buoy should Lucien need underwater navigation.
Of course, Lucien had to pick now to detour their trip back to their village on the crisp shore of Zante Island, just off the coast of Greece. And with a catch in their nets too. A glance at the bleeding horizon suggested his mother might be waiting for him with a sharpened tongue. Markos, do you care nothing for your brother’s nuptials?
Apparently, the wind cared nothing for cooperation, either, dying to a trickle, leaving the skiff to barely list upon the smooth Ionian Sea. Perhaps it hadn’t helped that the elusive yet delicious barbouni had played the sea nymph, unwilling to be captured in the heat of such a glorious day. The red-mulleted delicacy flopped, angry and zealous, in the live-well of the boat’s stern, the mustard-yellow nets in a tumble at the bow.
“Lucien!” Markos hung over the side, searching for his friend’s porpoise body. He glanced at his brother, fourteen-year-old Dino, leaning over the edge of the boat, peering into depths so clear the algae-mopped rocks appeared within a grasp, the sand, scurried up by sardines and shrimp, a puff of crystalline magic. “I swear he did this on purpose. Theo was right. Lucien is a Pappos, and his big brother probably put him up to ruining the wedding dinner.”
A wedding from which Markos and Dino just might be banned if they arrived home with rancid fish.
Dino shook his head. “No, Lucien wouldn’t do that, even if Kostas asked him to. He loves Theo. He doesn’t care about romance or Zoë Ramone and her father’s olive groves.”
“No, but he cares about his brother. And Kostas doesn’t forgive easily. He’ll not long forget how Theo stole his bride—even after their betrothal. Not to mention the lost dowry that Zoë would have given the Pappos family. Yannis Pappos has his eye on a new fishing boat.”
“Or a keg of retsina.” Dino grinned, his teeth white against his bronzed skin. Under the wine-soaked sky, he appeared every inch the ruddy fisherman’s son, a younger, reedy version of Markos, with his salt-slicked skin, a dark shank of hair tumbling over his eyes.
Maybe Dino was right. What did a fisherman’s family want with an olive grove?
But Kostas—and nearly every other man in the village of Zante—certainly pined over brown-eyed Zoë, with her sun-dipped skin, her black-as-the-sultry-night hair. And Theo, in his drunken singing during last night’s embarrassing party, only turned the knife in Kostas’s open wound as he sang of his devotion (while emptying the family’s supply of retsina and inviting all of the three hundred souls in Zante to the feast). It didn’t help that his singing bore the edge of triumph, a conquest won.
No, Lucien probably hadn’t given one errant thought to Theo Stavros’s nuptials when he’d yelled, I have to catch it! and vanished over the side of the boat, slicing through the turquoise water after a dewey-eyed loggerhead turtle.
Lucien then disappeared, of course, into the maw of the whitewashed caves that tumbled from the cliffs straight into the sea.
Indeed, the sea beckoned, the azure blue nearly hypnotic with its lure, and on a different day, Markos, too, might have surrendered to the chase. After all, he’d been bred for the taste of salt on his chapped lips.
Not today. “Lucien!”
I can hardly wait for my copy of the book. How can readers find you on the Internet?
Go to: http://www.susanmaywarren.com/ , or check out the SOT site – http://brothersinarms.susanmaywarren.com/ for a longer preview and a contest!
Thank you for the fun time, Susie.
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