We are joined today by Andrea Digiglio, author extraordinaire. She's been kind enough to answer some questions, and to give us an excerpt from her debut novel Finding Alice. I posted a review for that book last month, it was absolutely phenomenal. The book will be available to buy February 19th.
Check out her blog for updates on her books. She's got a giveaway going on, follow the link to enter
Q and A
Q: What do you enjoy reading? Do you read often?
A: I’m a sucker for anything paranormal. I read young adult, YA crossovers, fiction and romance; all of which are also fantasy/paranormal. If it has witches, demons, ghosts, fallen angels, vampires, werewolves and anything in between I’m bound to read it. I do now, a year ago I bought a kindle and my credit card has felt the hardship of my new bond.
Q: Have you always been a writer?
A: Yes, well at least I have always been a writer at heart even if I was the only one to read it. When I was eight or so I wrote a novella called Marina’s Mallrat in my composition notebook. I have no idea what happened to it but I am sure it was awful. I have from time to time worked on novels but spent the last decade writing screenplays.
Q: Was it hard to write your debut novel?
A: Hard no. Writing the first draft is my favorite part. You have this idea on how things will happen and the characters take over and you are just along for the ride.
Q: You said you are sharing an excerpt from Finding Alice, correct?
A: Yes, I wanted to share a piece that didn’t give too much away. This particular piece is a moment right after a traumatic event; it is an emotionally challenging moment for Alice. I hope you enjoy.
“I knew I was home when I walked up my driveway without a memory of the drive itself. I walked in, locking the door and shoving the table in front of it. I stumbled up the stairs, first aid kit under my arm, while juggling three bottles of vodka in my bashed up hands.
I turned the shower on and climbed in with the vodka. I slowly started peeling off my blood-soaked clothes, flinching, wishing I was numb. I poured a little vodka on my body wounds and down my face in between chugging some to deaden the pain. I opened the second bottle, doing more drinking than cleaning. I looked down at myself and found bruises starting to form on almost every inch of my body. Head to toe, my skin was covered with blacks and purples, reminding me of my box of feathers. Tears filled my eyes and for the first time in my entire life, they were my own. I sat curled up on the floor of my shower, wishing the salt I was tasting was from the scent of ocean that radiated from Cole. I drowned it out with more vodka.
I spent the next day in bed, coddling my last bottle of vodka. Camille called several times to see if I was working. Her last text message read, Are you okay? Max called me and said some anonymous caller called the cops and said they saw two guys break into the bar and then kick the crap out of each other in the parking lot. Max is freaking out. Call me. I’m worried. I ignored them all. Max called a few times as well. I texted him back with, See you Thursday. He replied with an Okay and left it at that.
Around four am, I dragged myself out of bed. I walked to my front door to find it still covered with furniture, as if an intruder couldn’t get past it. I clutched the most recent bottle of vodka I had become so attached to and finally set it down. I struggled to push the furniture to the side and opened the door. I love the smell of four am. I walked cautiously to my car to pull out my art supplies. I attempted to ignore the giant dent while painfully dragging my supplies in the house. Just to be safe, I returned the furniture to its spot in front of the door, snatching the vodka before taking off for the spare room.
I dumped everything onto the floor and dug through it for my iPod. I plugged it into my stereo system and cranked it up, loud enough to feel the vibrations rush through me. I reached down, almost collapsing in agony, to grab my charcoal. There were no canvases left in the house so I shoved my extra couch away from the wall and started rubbing the charcoal onto the wall. Music, vodka, and art were not a cure, but they soothed the soul.” –Excerpt from Finding Alice
Thanks again for stopping by to brighten my day Andrea.