Welcome to my weekly Author Spotlight. I’ve asked a bunch of my author friends to answer a set of interview questions, and to share their latest work.
Today: Following the recognition of his short story in the 2012 Aeon Award, T. M. Murray deftly advances that narrative into a first novel also called Teramar. Drawn to Frank Herbert and Ursula K. Le Guin’s knack for grand cultural immersions, Murray strives to infuse equal spirit for magic and wonder in his fiction. Teramar was also named a finalist in the 2016 Chanticleer Rossetti Award for fiction.
My pitch also admits to a talent for writing gorgeous sex scenes of a literary nature – errr let’s say I’ve done my research. But more importantly, I can also script a romance like no other. Racing hearts on a dreary Monday are always my goal.
In addition to his talent for writing stories, this author is an experienced musician having played two seasons with the Civic Orchestra of Chicago, the training group of the world-renowned Chicago Symphony. I’ve also performed and toured with a number of established rock and bluegrass ensembles, including: Steve Dawson’s two bands, Stump the Host and Dolly Varden; Hello Dave; Planet Warehouse; and the Dime Store String Band with Dark Star’s John Kadlecik. Life on the road, green rooms, busking, fleeting romance, stage fright, auditions, contests, orchestra hall – understandably, people love to read about show-biz in all its many, sordid flavors.
Thanks so much, T.M., for joining me!
J. Scott Coatsworth: When did you know you wanted to write, and when did you discover that you were good at it?
T.M. Murray: When I started to read books I couldn’t finish, I arrogantly came to the conclusion that I could do better. At the time, I was already an advertising copy person so I knew I could write as I was getting paid to write.
JSC: If you could sit down with one other writer, living or dead, who would you choose, and what would you ask them?
TMM: Tough question as there are so many authors from whom I’d love to learn. The Left Hand of Darkness, published in 1969, busted open reluctant conversations about sexual orientation – gay, straight, intersex – before we even knew how to really use those words to properly describe humanity in all its colors. As a closeted, young man back then, I learned much from Ms. Le Guin’s compassionate stories.
JSC: How would you describe your writing style/genre?
TMM: I strive to make words flow without hiccup. My pitch also admits to a talent for writing gorgeous sex scenes of a literary nature – errr let’s say I’ve done my research. But more importantly, I can also script a romance like no other. Racing hearts on a dreary Monday are always my goal.
JSC: What is your writing Kryptonite?
TMM: Into my fourth book about Teramar, occasionally I can become bored with the story and characters. When that happens, I try to add a shocking scene to wake myself up – sex, violence, killing off a character.
JSC: What do you do when you get writer’s block?
TMM: I have experienced writer’s block and researched other writers’ take on this issue. Across the board, they all advise that writers plough through and jam out the plot. We’ve all got the edit in the end. Don’t take first draft so seriously.
JSC: If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
TMM: Keep it simple. Short sentences. Short paragraphs. Careful of word repetition. Dickens used dashes – helps solve a sentence when u don’t know how to combine two thoughts. Layout the story ahead of time. It’s ok if parts change. I use excel as an organizer and directory of names and words.
JSC: Do you ever base your characters on real people? If so, what are the pitfalls you’ve run into doing so?
TMM: You can’t help to. Queen Livia represents every lying, mean boss I’ve had which is most of them. Plenty of grown men are also asshole liars. Livia is not an archetype for angry women.
JSC: How long do you write each day?
TMM: Sadly only 2 hours a day whereas another 2 hours are invested in marketing and social media. When close to finishing a book or story, I’ll repurpose my time to wrting 4 to 6 hours per day.
JSC: Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?
TMM: Can’t help it. Sadly I think most of the nasty ones are from someone who simply doesn’t like me in the real world. I once had an Italian queen, Furio, who stalked me and others for years until he got kicked-off of Amazon. The dude never truly got over the fall of Rome.
JSC: How long on average does it take you to write a book?
TMM: Two years. Improving as a writer, it takes less time to produce quality fiction.
JSC: What do you do if you get a brilliant idea at a bad time?
TMM: I keep a notebook of ideas on notes on my phone. I force myself to review these notes regularly.
JSC: How did you deal with rejection letters?
TMM: There are so many form letters. Soliciting representation is not a viable channel for me. It’s impossible for them to spend time with your book.
JSC: What is the most heartfelt thing a reader has said to you?
TMM: I’ve been attacked by bigots on my Teramar Facebook page that has three thousand followers, and to my surprise, a few of my readers go after these assholes on the page on my behalf. It’s right there on the FB page. Check it out.
JSC: What tools do you feel are must-haves for writers?
TMM: Reading other novels and two screens.
JSC: What book is currently on your bedside table?
TMM: Like my old man I typically read a few books at the same time. Kindle makes this easy and possible. Recently, The Disappearers, Marlon James, All works by F Scott Fitzgerald, Gore Vidal’s 1876 and Sherlock Holms.
JSC: Who has been your favorite character to write and why?
TMM: A.I. Jessica. She can be so many things and sexual.
JSC: Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?
TMM: No. Writing comes easier to me now. It’s like breathing.
JSC: What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?
TMM: Times Roman. Serif fonts are proven easier to read. I also prefer Palatino.
JSC: Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve them?
TMM: I kill main characters but sparingly and as the plot requires. But some can come back to life. Readers need hope with their drama.
JSC: What’s your writing process?
TMM: Blob it out and then refine.
JSC: What other artistic pursuits (if any) do you indulge in apart from writing?
TMM: Playing music, violin, mandolin and piano. Jamming with my blue grass buddies and orchestra collegues.
JSC: What are some day jobs that you have held? If any of them impacted your writing, share an example.
TMM: I’ve worked at three agencies, DDB, Ogilvy and FCB. About 15 years.
JSC: Do you have any strange writing habits or superstitions?
Can write anywhere and listening to music wakes me up. Helps me focus.
JSC: Star Trek or Star Wars? Why?
This is a tough one but Star Trek, Next Gen, Discovery and Picard. When Data wears the card dealer visor during weekly poker, you can’t help but smile.
JSC: What’s your drink of choice?
Vino and Diet Coke.
JSC: What’s in your fridge right now?
Apple Cake, my mom’s recipe. I don’t make it much. I’m not a good baker.
JSC: What are you working on now, and what’s coming out next? Tell us about it!
Teramar Book 4. No title yet.
And now for T.M.’s series: Terramar:
Upon contact, Teramar leaps into a sexy, spirited adventure when a young prince must adjust to life on the lam. After a long night inside a starship’s hyber-bed, great engines power down and ease the royal cargo into orbit above hospitable earth. New York City offers a busy refuge along with a host of revolutionary ideas. Unfortunately, the war between the imperial families ultimately finds the boy, threatening earth’s innocent. With the FBI also hunting him, difficult decisions drive the prince’s transformation from a downy Holden Caulfield to a heroic Paul Atreides. An accidental romance with an earthman further complicates this evolution, as Teramar’s warrior caste has never recognized the existence of gay people. Punishment for this peculiar condition is always swift, where even a prince could be quietly put down like a sick animal. Ashamed and conflicted – but true to his new home, the young royal rallies local defenses for one last stand on earth’s doorstep.
Teramar is a dangerous, class-ridden world where a warrior’s creed spars with scientific achievement and the undeniable truths that flow from such learning. Space travel, clean energy, weather control and the elimination of disease are tolerated derivatives.
Always present, the king’s A.I. who calls herself Jessica exerts a quiet influence over the ruler of all peoples, privately guiding her lord’s affairs toward benevolent outcomes. Jessica’s meddling fails to escape notice of the king’s daughters. Wary princesses soon conclude the sprawling machine has evolved into something much more than a genius computer. If Jessica can control free will within sentient life, nothing stops her from picking winners and losers in the unforgiving process of natural selection.
As of today, I’ve sold 5,538 Teramar ebooks on Amazon.
Amazon | Terramar Trailer
Excerpt
“Still, Miandar stood alone in his alcove. The joyless seas of alcohol infused a sad pessimism inside the warlord. He had entered the nightclub with such hope and enthusiasm. The young men here seemed to sense desperation just as the academy boys did years prior. No one wanted to talk to him. Not even these misfits.
None of his neighbors paid heed but for one. Standing opposite, a long lanky Chiang watched him with a salesmen’s eye. This was no boy – young enough, but certainly no youth. Built like an antelope, the man was tall for his race. This stranger confidently held the Uriahan’s battered gaze. The handsome face offered empathy.
Miandar scowled at the people standing between them. These queens were oblivious to the first spark of the night. Angrily, he stepped from the alcove and moved the group as one might reposition a heavy curtain. In a swell of returned frustration, the crowd absently shoved Miandar into the lanky Chiang. Heads bumped.
“Ouch! You aristocrats really don’t give a damn? Push us around whenever you get a chance?” He spoke the imperial tongue. Miandar blushed. The other man’s face continued to frown, though his thigh nudged underneath the Uriahan’s tunic. “Feel that? Feels good? Now, I’m giving the orders, clansman,” said the Chiang with a shark’s smile. The knee ground deeper. Miandar caught his breath as a bolt of pleasure locked onto his mind. “Before we continue,” the Chiang said in a rich voice, “I really need to know why a highborn like you is here tonight? Isn’t there great risk stopping at a place like this?” He pulled the warlord closer. “You can whisper your answer in my ear.”
Miandar followed these directions as best he could. His mind swirled in a mix of excitement and fear. “I’m not looking for trouble. Nor do I want to hurt anyone. Rather the opposite.”
“You avoided my question? Look around, friend. Are you here for something?” Miandar was confused by the question. Presumably, all the patrons knew what this place was. The ruffian’s knee pushed deeper. Miandar stood wide now, gratefully accepting the warm pressure. “You want this, don’t you?” repeated the handsome gigolo.
“Ahhhhhh,” Miandar gasped. “Do you have to do that?” The Uriahan’s loins hardened up. “By nature’s… Yessssss,” he hissed. “I want that.” Desire roared. Flecks swirled. “But I know you want the same!”
The warlord roughly pushed the Chiang’s thigh out of the way with a vastly more powerful leg. He immediately confirmed the same, glorious physical state on his new friend. Eyes met. Blinked. The handsome Chiang was casting a spell.
“You’re the right-hand-to-the-king, Miandar Uriah. What could I possibly do for you tonight?”
The Uriahan suspected he had seen this man’s face before. The clans weren’t the only ones who grew large families. “You know my name, though I don’t know yours?”
“Safer you don’t,” the Chiang replied.
“Except you look familiar to me?”
“No, lord. We’ve never met.”
The Uriahan shook his large head in disbelief. “Then maybe I’ve encountered a relation of yours? I’ve had dealings with Chiang traders, especially after the return of the king. Your people procure much of the material we need to rebuild.”
“The war was bad for business.”
“But you have the look of an outlaw, boy. Not a trader.” Miandar tried to put a rough smile on his words. Humor was not a strong suit.
The Chiang pushed him off. “You’re the criminal!”
“It was only a joke! Please tell me your name?” The Chiang took a sip of wine. “White wine, a woman’s drink.” The former seeker instinctively cataloged important clues, as a reckless urge to kiss those lips suddenly possessed him.
“Not here, man. Meet me on the street.” The briefest of smiles wrapped a warm glow around the invitation. And then he was gone – slippery as an eel.
The Uriahan stood there bewildered. He wasn’t sure he properly understood this request for his presence. Fortunately, Miandar could easily track a tall Chiang through the crowd. His new friend briefly looked back and jerked a handsome head to follow. The Uriahan obediently rushed after.
Outside in the alley, the lonely light over the door didn’t extend far enough. Miandar stepped away to better survey the street. Eyes adjusted.
“Where did he go?”
The roar of a low flying hover screamed overhead, stirring the garbage. The sound of flight reminded the warlord of duty. He had to attend the king for an early hunt the following morning – only a few hours from now.
“Pssssssst.”
The sound came from the right. Miandar whirled on his heel and easily located the Chiang’s pale complexion inside an alley. The Uriahan stormed down the passage, kicking trashcans out of the way. The other didn’t flinch at an exuberant approach.
Without asking, rough warrior hands cupped the handsome face. This time the Chiang didn’t evade him. Fierce tongues fought until Miandar took control. Tentacle arms whirled to unbutton a loose tunic. The garment slipped from the Chiang’s shoulder revealing a chunky breast with a large tattoo. Miandar took a second to appreciate the well-made man. It was a moment of pure joy until the unmistakable prick of a knife pressed against his neck. A rivulet of blood began its warm drip.”