Tell us all about the world of you in fifty words or less.
It has always been my dream to make writing my day job. Now I'm living that dream and working harder than I ever have, but I love it. My husband is very supportive of my writing and that means a lot to me.
Do you ever write to music or do you require complete silence?
I seldom listen to music while I write. Music with lyrics sends me into orbit while I'm writing and not in a good way. On the rare occasions when I do use music, it's classical or meditation and I keep the volume low.
Facebook ... fundamental to the Indie Author or the forth sign of the apocalypse?
In my opinion Facebook is yet another important tool writers can use to get their work out there. I use Facebook to connect with readers and other authors and I enjoy it. I never get involved with the games, though. I hear they're highly addictive and I don't have time for addictions.
What method of book promotion has worked best for you?
That's hard to say. I've gotten nice sales boosts when I've been on sites such as Daily Cheap Reads and Kindle Nation Daily, but I think that simply establishing an online presence is the most important factor in selling my books. I spend time online every day participating in forums, helping others, and sharing news about my books.
I know this is like asking why do you breathe ... but why do you write?
I started writing stories while I was still in elementary school. I've always loved reading, so the idea of creating my own worlds simply came naturally to me.
How do you think of your ideas? Do they simply hit you like a bolt of lightning (figuratively speaking) or do you pick a topic and build from there?
Both. Sometimes an idea comes in and excites me right from the beginning. Other times, it's more like the ghost of an idea that nags at me and I keep adding to it until I have enough to start the story.
We Interrupt your Date has some amazing reviews, and is rocking several bestseller lists on Kindle US and UK ... what’s got everybody so stirred up? Tell us about the story.
I grew up in the South and have always been fascinated by Southern women. Even the ones who try to come across as sweet and ladylike are often the toughest people you will ever meet. They have ways of making you do their bidding. Susan, my main character, is insecure and a late bloomer, though she possesses an inner strength. In her mind somehow her loved ones will disappear if she isn't a good girl, so she sacrifices herself to solve their problems. I built my story around Susan's adventures in trying to be crisis central for her family and then, of course, I bring in the events that force her to change.
Thank you for stopping by!
You can connect with L.C. Evans on many places online;
You can grab We Interrupt This Date on Kindle: Here is a short excerpt. This is from a scene where Susan has just told her mother that she's going into business running ghost tours.
But then, I was one to talk. Married for nineteen years, divorced for one and I was finally getting around to figuring out I didn’t want to be stuck in a loan office answering phones and soothing the feelings of entitlement-minded customers. I wasn’t sure that running ghost tours was what I wanted to do either, but I’d been forced into the situation and maybe that was what Patty’s Universe had had in store for me all along.
“Mama?” I got up and started filling the dishwasher. “I hope you’re not still upset about my phone call last night.”
“Your phone call?” She made phone into two-syllables. “You mean that nonsense about selling the house to live in a bed and breakfast and going off to hunt for ghosts like some common street person with pagan beliefs? I’ve raised you better, the good Lord knows I have, and by now you’ve surely to God realized you simply can’t do such a thing. I mean, people will think you’ve been mentally unhinged by the divorce, positively gone around the bend and that you need help before you ruin your life entirely. Though no one could blame you after T. Chandler dumped you for that gold digging home wrecker with the huge bosoms. I’m sure they were fake; pure silicon—or is it carbon they’re made of? What was her name?”
“Crystal,” I said. “Crystal Rose.” I gritted my teeth and hunted under the sink for the dishwashing powder. A year later and Mama still brought up the incident like it had happened an hour ago and, of course, it was my own fault and she wasn’t going to let me forget.“Whatever. Sounds like a made up name to me, like she’s one of those low women who take off their clothes in bars and fit themselves into all kinds of suggestive positions around metal poles. But didn’t I say to mark my words? I said, I don’t know how many times, I said, ‘Susan, when a man claims a best friend who’s a woman, and that woman isn’t his wife, then there’s trouble brewing.’ As sure as peach blossoms turn into peaches you can expect trouble.”