One of the things I love about inviting other authors onto my blog, is the chance to discover books that I might otherwise have missed. Today, I'm delighted to interview Wade Kelly who talks about his book, When Love is not Enough, published by Dreamspinner.
Over to you, Wade.
When and why did you begin writing?
I began writing years ago when I had so many thoughts in my head about other characters and stories that I needed to let them out. When my little storylines started completing themselves, I was astonished. I’m a person who always continues a movie in my head after it’s over. I always start something, but used to rarely finish it. Then I wrote a tale from beginning to end—END—and I sat back and said, “Holy crap! I can follow through on something!” It was hard to believe. I’ve always been a dreamer. It’s hard not to see someone, or be somewhere with out writing a mini-story about it in my head.
I guess I write because I CAN’T not. It goes against my nature.
What inspires you to write and why?
Everything! I can see a person on the street and something makes me write about him. Not everyone everywhere mind you, but I cannot discern a reason for who and what will strike me next. I guess my explanation is God. I think I am given a gift and the inspiration comes from a higher, all knowing source.
What is the best piece of advice you received before you got published?
Never give up. Write what you feel.
Do you have any rituals to start your writing day?
NO. I write by the seat of my pants.
What are you currently writing?
A sequel to When Love is Not Enough. It is titled: The Price of Loving
How do you find your names?
Some are people I’ve met ad liked their names. Some are family member names, some are just names I personally like. Actually, coming up with names can be hard and sometimes I run out and just leave a blank in the MS until I come up with one.
What is the most interesting piece of research you’ve done so far?
Firefighting. (I know nothing about it.) and Ophthalmology. And brainwaves. Varied topics, I know.
Do you include your life experiences in your books?
Always! My characters are ME. I put my own traits into the people I create. I also write LOADS of real situations I have lived through. (and some which friends have lived through.)
Who is your favourite author and why?
Andrew Grey. I think he is real. I feel at home with his characters. I feel his emotion and I appreciate his passion and depth of writing. I only hope to be half as good a writer!
What do you do to relax?
Sleep. I love sleep. My character Darian gets that trait from me! I also write to relax. Writing is my favourite thing in the whole world!
Where can we find you on the web?
Wade's Bio: Wade Kelly lives and writes in conservative, small-town America where it is not easy to live free and open in one's beliefs. Wade writes passionately about the controversial issues witnessed in real life and strives to make a difference by making people think. Wade does not have a background in writing or philosophy but still draws from personal experience to ponder contentious subjects on paper. When not writing, Wade is thinking about writing and more than likely scribbling notes on old napkins in the car.
Blurb: A six-year downward spiral into a world of lies and deception leads to the end of one man’s life when self-discovery crosses the line between being the perfect son or following his heart.
Jimmy Miller never intended to lead a double life starting the day he fell in love with Darian, but his parents’ divorce, fighting in school, and constantly keeping secrets for his closeted best friend and protector, Matt, force his hand. Jimmy finds the demands too great to withstand and ends it all prematurely, leaving behind an angry best friend and a shattered lover.
Matt and Darian cling to one another in the aftermath of their loss, forging a new friendship immediately tested by the truths of their relationships with Jimmy that are hidden in the pages of Jimmy’s journals. Will Matt and Darian discover what truly happened to their friend? And will this tragedy birth something beautiful between them as they learn the balance between life, family, and friendship when love is simply not enough?
September 25, 2010
I NEVER thought life could fuck me in the ass this hard. What a shitty week!
I never expected to feel so much pain. Not at the age of twenty-one.
I wanted to shove my fist through the wall…
I was frozen to the spot as every muscle went limp…
… when I heard the words “he’s dead,” but as I clenched my fists I discovered all my strength was draining right out of my fingers.
… and the strength drained out of me.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe. The glass of water I was holding slipped from my fingers seconds before I hurled all over my mother’s pink carpet.
Harsh reality seized all logical thinking, pushing my mind beyond its capacity to grasp the truth. I sank to my knees and stared at the wooden floorboards, wondering why the fuck there was a small piece of blue shag carpet still sticking out from the shoe molding. My dad tore that carpet out years ago when he refinished the hardwood. Nothing made sense. My hands shook— my hands never shake—and I tried in vain to block the images flashing before my eyes: images of Jamie.
My hands shook as I swatted the images in front of my face…
I know Darian must have been feeling the same horror and disbelief I was.
… trying desperately to rid my mind of what I saw before me: images of Jamie, dead. Somehow, I know Matt shared what I was feeling right then.
It had to be.
It had to be.
Of course, I didn’t know about Darian then.
I’d never met Matt before, not before the viewing.
It’s so fucking odd, sitting in Jamie’s room. The air’s stale, and the bed’s made up like a hotel suite. Darian should be here with me, but he lacks the balls. I don’t blame him. His pain is worse than mine, in so many ways. I feel like he knew a different person than I did, and in a sense that was true. Darian knew a side of Jamie I will never know.
I can’t bear being away from Matt, but I can’t face Jamie’s empty room. I have to trust Matt knows what he’s doing by going in there. I have to trust he’ll find the answers we’re all looking for.
EVERYONE stared at me before the funeral. Whether they were conscious of the fact or not, their eyes darted in my direction with a certain loathing. As if I’d known he was going to do this and I had the power to stop him. How could I know? I’d known him my entire life, but I never knew Jamie was contemplating suicide.
The wake, if you call it that, was at my mom’s after the “mourners” visited the gravesite. Everyone sat around gossiping about how shocking it was to hear the news. They whispered things like, “How could Jimmy Miller possibly have been so depressed? He was such a nice boy. He was such a pleasant boy. It must have been the strange friends he had. It must have been the music he listened to. It must have been the pressure he was under to succeed where his father failed in life.” It must have been blah, blah, blah….
No one really knew the answer. Not even me.
I stood in his sterilized room, poking around, wondering where to begin my search for clues. All his things were tidied. I know who did it. Why his mother thought his death would be made easier by straightening up the piles of papers and CDs and photographs that cluttered his dresser and desk is beyond me. Jamie had just died; couldn’t she leave his fucking stuff the way it was for more than six fucking days?
I looked in a few drawers before my brain clicked. Behind Jamie’s bed! I snapped my fingers when I remembered the hole I put into the drywall the time we moved the furniture around and used his room as a mock battlefield. We stole two swords from his stepfather’s collection of Elizabethan broadswords, and I swung mine too wide, missing Jamie’s midsection. Lucky for Jamie. Jamie then added to the faux pas by slicing a neat square around the hole. He added hinges and a handle and everything, creating a door to stash his private things inside the wall.
If there were answers related to his death, they’d be in there!
I shoved the bed aside, removed the soccer poster from the wall, and opened up his secret compartment. In there I found his journals. Six in total, one for each school year, starting with 2004-2005 when our school’s counselor came up with the idea he write instead of fight. He started at the end of sophomore year 2004, around March or April, I think. He never let me read them, but one time he told me he’d read me parts of the entries if I were “a good little boy.” Comedian! He never did, though.
“I wonder if Darian read these?” I mumbled as I sat cross-legged on the floor and hurriedly flipped through each one until I found 2010. I needed to read the end. What was his last thought? Who did he write about? Did he think about slitting his wrists and OD’ing ahead of time? I had to know.
As my leafing neared the last few pages, an envelope fell out. It had my name on it. I couldn’t blink as the curves of Jamie’s handwriting held my eyelids open, my eyes fixated on the last piece of mail I would ever receive from him. I tore it open.
Don’t let Darian read this book. Burn it. Burn all of them. Take my secrets to the grave and let my pain end here. I couldn’t be the person I wanted to be, the person you would want. I’m sorry. Know that I loved you more than the stars have power to kiss the night sky.
He loved me? Of course I knew he did, but he’d never stated it openly in all these years. I dropped the note and frantically found the last entry. What I saw was nothing like I expected to read. I’m not sure what I was looking to find, but this wasn’t it!
I started crying, like my little sister had when our dog died, as I thought back on the moments he and I shared. I knew he had a lot going on. I knew he was under pressure and how much he tried to please everyone. No matter how hateful the words were, why would one comment push him over the edge? Knowing the end wasn’t enough. I had to know what was going on in his head from the beginning.
I picked up 2004 and thought to myself, “Who the hell was Jamie Miller?”