I am excited to introduce you all to author Julie Ann Hacker. She has a number of titles being released this year that I am sure you will enjoy. And as you will see below, she is a true delight!
To start, shamelessly plug your books!
- The Dead Dance Faster – Unsacred Awakening (Book #1 in a—at least!—3 book series). I was shooting for an end-of-May release, but may be June 1 or June 2.
- The Dead Dance Faster - Book #2 due out in September 2016, Book #3 due out in Winter 2015/16
- Literary Fiction Novel - Title TBA – But I will tell you, what goes on in the neighborhood, stays in the neighborhood J. Scheduled for release Winter 2015/16
- Vindication Series - Non-fiction, real-life vindication series. Release dates? When you least expect it J
As a psychological-spiritual-metaphysical and mystical author, what scares you?
Nothing scares me but fear. LOL. I’m not kidding. Not your everyday fears like, death, car accident, getting sick, spiders, the dark, is there a God?, not the phobias or catastrophic type of fears; but the unexplainable fear kept hidden in the deep wells of our sub-conscious. Haunting qualms: Foreboding dread. Subtle torture that you don’t even feel—it’s just that slow. Unidentified, but caressing the soul deep inside, lulling us into subtle manipulation of reality. Those fears creep out all over the place without acknowledgement. The ones we can’t explain; scary and true.
FEAR of succumbing to the belief that another human being would willingly suck the soul right out of my mind and body is pretty scary. You know who I’m speaking of. Don’t you? The others who lurk; one in every 25 people. They espouse a psychopathic, narcissistic personality. I’ve personally known at least two. They can be very clever, unless you learn what to look for.
Who or what has influenced your writing, and in what way?
You know the psychopaths I mentioned above? They are the ones who influence me to write. And, I write to figure out what the heck I’m trying to say to myself. (I talk to myself constantly while I’m writing.) Come on now. I’m NOT a psychopath. Sheeeze.
Honestly, all the great books in the world made me want to do the same. Write and read.
If you were stranded on a deserted island, what three things would you have and why?
Ha, ha. This is one of funniest questions. Hmmm. I’m going to be careful here, Lynn!
Endless books, of ALL kinds.
Clothes to wear, to fight off sunburn.
Chocolate and wine for sustenance.
That’s all I’m sayin’!
What was the first book or story in your genre that you remember reading?
The Secret Garden…no joke, now. I believe it is/was genre-ized (I think I just made up that word) as a ‘coming of age’ novel, which is not what I write; but the mystical garden tweaked me deeply as a child. When I was a kid, it was one of the more serious books I’d read. And, The Secret Garden held gems of psychological mystery for me. I still enjoy the book to this day. Secrets lie at the heart of the best work.
Have you ever used contemporary events or stories “ripped from the headlines” in your work?
Only from the headlines of my own life.
What is the message in your book(s)?
You exist in time, but you belong in eternity’s loveliness. Find the fearful secrets that keep you from being free, then, don’t be afraid of releasing them and allowing the wind to carry them away, forever.
Julie Ann Hacker’s social media digits:
Everything about Screaming Ego Books, reviews, interviews, blog, and social media can be found here:
My author website: julieannhacker.com
Facebook: facebook/julieannhacker.com
Twitter: twitter.com/julieannhacker or @julieannhacker, if you’re already connected
LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/julieannhacker
Pinterest: pinterest.com/jahacker
Goodreads: goodreads.com/julieannhackerscreamingegobooks
Please give us an excerpt from your upcoming release.
The Dead Dance Faster – Unsacred Awakening
Before God’s Word passes through any minster’s pursed lips, the table speaks to you in holy whispers. The altar stands alone. Through my eyes, filtering into my mind, the ornate, smooth wood lifts and heaves, bringing life to the etched illusion; the breath of Him still living. “How clever,” I mumble to myself as I run my right pointer and middle fingers across the silky edges. Intricate carvings of the Passion of Christ tell The Greatest Story Ever Told to each parishioner; the ones needing their guilt secured. An esteemed oration spurs my conscience just by passing in front of this shrine’s profound crevasses. The Passion follows you: No matter which direction you step in.
“Don’t touch the altar,” Pastor Jude pushes my hand away as if he’s a docent in a museum.
Not knowing what to say, I pretend I didn’t do it.
Flat rippled limestone sits atop the altar’s fancy base. There’s nothing subtle about it. Stiff, dried blood stains drip over its edges, left as an un-scrubbed reminder, I guess. Overwhelmed, the impulse to curl up inside myself spurs me to ask for forgiveness. As if the damn table already knows something. How the hell could that be?
Pastor Jude tells me, “They dug the stone out of the mountain in 1848. Some of the old timers had to hunt for their food and they offered it up to the Lord on this old rock.”
I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you; it’s freakin’ creepin’ me out.
He quickens the pace of our tour, taking about five steps before I notice he’s moving. I lift my face out of the notebook trying to complete my drawing without stumbling over the carpeted flooring. He stops. He turns his head and looks at me as if I need an introduction to this big box. Before us, a staunch confessional stands at the back of the sanctuary and to the left. It’s shiny too, just like the pews. I find myself tilting my head. It looks like something a child would use. I’m not Catholic, but it seems to me in the pictures I’ve seen, standard confessionals tower larger than this.
“People were smaller during that time. If you notice the door’s no larger than a foot and a half wide and five and a half feet tall. Men didn’t feel the need to confess. They didn’t worry about fitting through the eye of the confessional. Only the plump women would feel the heaviness—of their sins, I mean, as they squeezed through—mastering a psychological weakening of their souls, if you will,” he smiles.
But I don’t think it’s funny.
“These signs of sin continue on through the seed of women, according to early church beliefs,” Pastor Jude looks me straight in the eye.
I cringe then squelch my urge to run from this place by fixating on my pen and its movement across the page. My soul numbs and I consider the effort a success; I’ve quelled the anxiety squirming up my back and into my head.
“Jael, do you want to come close to God?”
My eyes entreat his, “Huh? Oh, I think I already am,” I offer a quick stammer.
He nods his head toward the confessional door. He expects me to go in.
And, for some unexplained reason I follow his nod, “Not sure if I even fit through this door.” But for the sake of acceptance, I step in, and, yes, I fit. Part of me wants to celebrate, as if I’m innocent or something. Why the hell did I do this? I think. This sacrosanct tomb of wood surrounds me. Grated holes relinquish a trickle of air.
“How do you like it in there?”
A peephole catches my eye. “It’s a little claustrophobic.” I slide my middle finger in. When I pull it out, a splinter pricks the thin skin underneath. Not having a bandage, I swipe the dot of blood on the corner of my page.
“It doesn’t matter. No one was usually in there too long,” he quips.
A room hides behind the confessional. I see it through the hole. “Weird,” I mutter. I take a deep breath and suck in my tummy squeezing back out the door.
“How’d it feel?” He asks as if I should know some kind of judgment he’s placed on me. For what? I don’t know. Some people grasp on to judgement. “Ridiculously pointless,” I answer and let it drop, even though it felt so humbly strange.
He turns his back and walks a few steps over, pausing and contemplating my remark. Quickly I draw the peep hole and scribble a room around it. He didn’t say anything about the hidden room. I don’t think he knows I’m all about it
***
Thank you, Lynn, for graciously interviewing me. I’m a really big fan of your writing! ----Julie
I am humbled by your kind words and I love this excerpt of your work. I can’t wait until it comes out! Thanks, Julie Ann, for your time today!
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