Love is blind interview with Deanna Dee

Posted on Categories author, author interview, authors, blog hop, Valentine's day

love is blind author interview

 

NAME Deanna Dee…………………………………………………….

Do you believe love is blind ?
I believe love can be blind. People will forgive a lot for love, and they are often willing to overlook things in the ones they love that they wouldn’t in other people. That said, I think it’s important to actively work to make love see. Falling into a pattern and taking someone for granted can be the beginning step of a relationship’s demise. Keeping an eye out for these things helps to nip them in the bud and keep the relationship strong. Sure, we might see some things we don’t like in the process, but personally, I’d rather know and be happy anyway.
What about love at first sight…do you believe in this…has it happened to you?
Honestly, I’m not sure. It hasn’t happened to me, but other people say it’s happened to them. I don’t like discounting anything in life, so my short answer to believing is “maybe.”
Have you ever had a date from Hell? What happened?
Sadly, I have not. It’s an experience that seeing in the movies doesn’t do justice, and it would have been interesting to experience firsthand.

Is there much love/romance or sex in your stories? If so how is it conveyed?
My Games of Love series doesn’t have sex in it. I made that choice because I wanted to focus on the emotional growth without the complications sex can bring to a relationship. It’s a very interesting angle to write from, especially in a romance novel.

Is there any music or films that you associate with Valentine’s day or love in general?
Disney princess movies. I know, some people say they give terrible messages to kids, but they will always be my first experience with the romance story line.

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Published by Francis H Powell

What better way to put all my angst into short stories. Born in a commuter belt city called Reading and like many a middle or upper class child of such times I was shunted off to an all-male boarding school aged eight, away from my parents for periods of up to twelve weeks at a time. In such an institutions, where I was to rest until my seventeenth year, there was no getting away from the cruel jibes hurled at me from taunting tormentors. My refuge was the arts room, where I started to find some kind of redemption from the stark Dickensian surroundings, whose aim was nurture the army officers, businessmen, and gentry that dominate the class ridden world I was born into. The seeds were sown, I was an outsider, Happier times were to follow, I went to art school, where I attempted to exorcize my time spent at school. At eighteen I turned my back on a parentally enforced weekly visit to church and my head was filled with a range of nonconformist ideas. While at my first Art college through a friend I met a writer called Rupert Thomson, who was at the time in the process of writing his first book “Dreams of leaving”. He was a bit older than myself, me being fresh out of school, but his personality and wit resonated and despite losing contact with him, I always read his latest published books with not only great expectation and unabashed admiration, but also a fascination for a person I had really looked up to, his sentences always tight, shooting arrows that always hit the mark. My yearning to be creative stayed strong and diversified, from my twenties through to my thirties and forties I made electronic music, doing concerts, in front ecstasy infused crowds, at a point I was making videos and short films. When the age of the internet arrived I was really able translate my creative endeavors into something really tangible. To earn a living I have worked as a teacher. I moved to Austria where upon I thought I would try writing. It is sure that my writing at that time was rough and rugged and without direction. I dived into a story about immortality, the story remains vegetating on some dusty floppy disk. Then tried short stories for children with illustrations to go with them. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-forties that my writing took shape. I was at this point living in Paris, France. I spotted an advert for short stories. The magazine happened to be called Rat Mort (dead rat) I sent off a short story, in the hope it would match the seemingly dark world the magazine seemed to embroiled in. I got no answer. Not put off I sent two more stories. Finally I got an answer. It seemed the magazine editor was a busy man, a man prone to travelling. It seemed my first story really hit the right note with him. His name was Alan Clark. He had a flat in the Montmartre area of Paris, where he seemed known to all, especially those who frequented his favorite drinking haunts. He offered me many words of encouragement. I was writing stories that were coming into my head at regular intervals, as if a monster had suddenly awakened. I was writing them on scraps of paper, less I would forget them, while I travelled on the Paris metro, going about my teaching work with staid business types. I had found a format for writing that worked, as well as a hunger to write about the demons of my past that still haunted me. Moving closer to present times, the desire to put together an anthology seemed to resonate in my mind. The Flight of Destiny evolved slowly. Many trans-Atlantic exchanges between myself and two editors seemingly far away. This evolution took my writing to a new level and the stories more depth and resonance.

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