Please welcome, Kirsten!
Kirsten: Hm… Tough question. It’s a bit different from the other books I’ve read in the genre, with young witches or wizards finding their way. Riga is in her early forties, so she’s a bit world weary, and doesn’t take any garbage. This makes her really fun to write.
Mina: What age range would you suggest to read this book or the series?
Kirsten: Probably twenty and up. There’s some violence, but it’s not gratuitous. And I’m fairly coy with the sex scenes. I’d probably give the series a PG-13 rating.
Mina: What is the one thing about yourself that you want your readers to know?
Kirsten: I spent over twelve years living and working in developing countries, where I saw some really crazy situations. They tend to find their way into my book, details changed to protect the guilty!
Kirsten: Carolyn Keene, who doesn’t really exist, but she’s the name of the collective that wrote the original Nancy Drew series. I was reading them when I was five, and they made a big impact on me. Initially, I wanted to be a girl detective, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that wasn’t feasible and I quickly landed on being a mystery writer.
Mina: LOL. That's cute. What other novels are you writing?
Kirsten: I’m working on Book five of the Riga Hayworth series, as well as a new paranormal mystery series featuring Rocky Bridges, a female security consultant. I’m also working on a steampunk YA.
Kirsten: My youngest sister invented an amazing coconut and cinnamon-chip scone recipe. I think it’s the only recipe she’s ever invented, but it is fantastic. Hm… Maybe I’ll make some this weekend!
Mina: Tell us the last book you read.
Kirsten: Plague Nation by Dana Fredsti. It’s the sequel to the zombie thriller, Plague Town. Dana is in my Sisters in Crime writing group and she’s a great writer and a remarkable person.
Mina: Do you have any advice to other authors?
Kirsten: Keep writing, and recognize that what you write will never be perfect and this provides you an opportunity, if you’ll allow it, to learn and grow.
Mina: Excellent advice! And now take a look at a snippet & a sample chapter of The Infernal Detective?
Riga checked her watch.
It was thirteen o’clock, and her feet hurt.
She’d never liked high heels, shouldn’t have worn the over-priced, strappy black pumps. Riga had been almost relieved when one of the heels snapped, relieved for the excuse to slip upstairs, relieved to escape.
A roar of laughter, punctuated by shattering glass. On the stairway, Riga winced, the relief evaporating. A week to the wedding and she’d already begun to feel proprietary about his things, their new lake house. But the crash was likely only a wine glass, and Donovan – they – could afford it…
Frowning, she looked again at her watch.
Nine forty-seven.
Riga rubbed her eyes. She had imagined the thirteen o’clock. It wasn’t an omen, a portent.
She limped up the steps, dangling the broken pump from one hand, the other hand grasping the hem of her gown, a sweep of formfitting black lace. She looked damn good in it, but the dress was a fraction too long for her five-foot-six form, and she’d been stumbling over the hem all night.
At the top of the steps, she walked down the wood-plank hallway to a tall door swagged with holly. She pressed her forehead against the wood, and released her hold on the dress. Riga shut her eyes. Inhaled the scent of Christmas garlands and wood polish.
Thirteen o’clock.
It had been a trick of the light, a trick of her brain.
It wasn’t magic. Not here. Not so close to her wedding.
You can find The Infernal Detective for via Amazon here. Kirsten can be found via her website and on twitter @RigaHayworth.
Mina B.
A roar of laughter, punctuated by shattering glass. On the stairway, Riga winced, the relief evaporating. A week to the wedding and she’d already begun to feel proprietary about his things, their new lake house. But the crash was likely only a wine glass, and Donovan – they – could afford it…
Frowning, she looked again at her watch.
Nine forty-seven.
Riga rubbed her eyes. She had imagined the thirteen o’clock. It wasn’t an omen, a portent.
She limped up the steps, dangling the broken pump from one hand, the other hand grasping the hem of her gown, a sweep of formfitting black lace. She looked damn good in it, but the dress was a fraction too long for her five-foot-six form, and she’d been stumbling over the hem all night.
At the top of the steps, she walked down the wood-plank hallway to a tall door swagged with holly. She pressed her forehead against the wood, and released her hold on the dress. Riga shut her eyes. Inhaled the scent of Christmas garlands and wood polish.
Thirteen o’clock.
It had been a trick of the light, a trick of her brain.
It wasn’t magic. Not here. Not so close to her wedding.
Mina B.
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