I’d like to welcome the
multi-talented Marti Melville to Book Blather. First, a bit about her
background. A former emergency room nurse who’s raised five children on her
own, Marti is now a novelist and screenwriter known for her debut novel series,
The Déjà vu Chronicles. Her first screenplay, Midnight Omen, was a winner at
the Life Fest Film Festival, 2015. She is currently co-writing a medical
thriller due to be released in 2016. As if that weren’t enough, Marti also has
a background in dance, music and acting. Whew!
I’m so glad you could join us today, Marti. Visit her website here:
www.martimelville.com
Writing was never my intended
career. Like most creative people who work hard to support themselves and their
families, I focused on my job – working as an emergency room nurse. The hours
were long and demanding but the paycheck came regularly (provided I clocked-in
and out on time) and food was kept on the table. People around me have
frequently asked, “When did you know in your heart that you wanted to be a
nurse?” The answer hit my gut with the impact of a cannon ball shot from an
18th century frigate: “Never.”
I’ve always wanted to be in
the entertainment industry.
Writing was a part of that
desire and began for me in elementary school with homespun scripts written for
my fourth grade teacher (she actually allowed us to practice and present them
to our school). Sadly, I did not recognize the significance of my need to
create stories until the year my sons had been deployed to separate wars. Those
were long, sleepless nights that led to the creation of a pirate story and The
Déjà vu Chronicles.
Since then, I have been asked
many questions about my personal writing process – how I gain inspiration, what
my writing process is, what advice I would give to aspiring authors, etc. The
question that haunts me most is the one asked to describe the “wrong” process
to take when writing a book or screenplay. It’s an interesting approach to
gaining information and one that has a simplistic answer, in my mind anyway.
That answer is – the most destructive step is to not write.
My creative ideas come at
random, without provocation, and many times without meaning even to me – but
they come and are valid, demanding to be recorded. I’ve learned that when I
honor that demand, a story is soon born.
The same holds true for
screenwriting. My initiation into the Hollywood screenwriting scene was
exciting and a mistake. Through a set of serendipitous circumstances, I bounced
from one professed producer to another until the day I crossed paths with my
writing partner almost three years later. Fortunately, I stayed open to the
possibility of creating a well-written screenplay based on my stories, which
included connecting with the right (aka: honest) people. That day came very
unexpectedly and I am blessed to continue on its course presently.
In the meantime, I write.
Laptop, notebooks, stacks of papers, phone – anything handy serves as a tool to
record the ideas as they come. These ideas are wonderful (I think) but my
writing isn’t always presentable. Working closely with my publisher and
magnificent editor has made all of the difference in the finished product –
thank Heavens for their expertise! Good editing is something I cannot emphasize
enough as a very important step required to creating a finished novel that is
acceptable in the public’s eye (and saleable in the bookstores). Another word
to the wise - don’t skimp on an editor!
And so, even with all of my
writing imperfections – I write. The characters tell their stories and I am
simply the tool to do it. I believe this with all my heart -- truly a blessing
for a retired RN who, all the while she cared for her patients, loved to dream
and tell stories.
Logline for Midnight Omen
(screenplay):
Besieged by the
supernatural, modern day teens are haunted by 18th Century marauders, but when
faced with life on board an ancient ship, they learn their survival depends on
haunting events lived long ago as Caribbean pirates.
Midnight Omen Déjà vu –
Excerpt
“Ye be wishin’ ye be dead,
jest like the ol’e witch, after I be finished with ye.”
He had reached across his
body with his only free hand and pulled the chisel from his fleshy shoulder.
Blood oozed from the gaping hole and dripped the length of the spike, running
in streams down his brawny arm. Kathryn felt her own skin grow hot and sticky
as the dark crimson blood pooled where his grasp remained firmly planted onto
her forearm.
“Never!” she cried out. Tears
blinded her eyes as she thrashed and still tried to break free from his steel
grip. A warm sensation pulsed on her chest, its glowing pale crimson to match
the pirate’s bloody hold. The Scarlet Seren had awakened.
With a flick of his wrist,
the brute pitched the chisel across the room and sent it clattering loudly
against the ground. Mariel lay still with Winne bent over her. A wiry pirate
crouched low with his cutlass raised and ready to land the final blow, as
Mariel lay motionless.
“We should finish this an’
take the other too,” he said and looked at Slade for approval. “Two for th’
cost o’ one, aye?” Slade said and leered at Winne.
Just as the first raised his
blade to strike, Kathryn shrieked.
“HOLD! Stop! I’ll go with ye an’ ye can do
with me as ye please.” She glanced at
Winne. “Only let the others
alone,” she choked out the last words in between sobs.
“An’ why would we do
that?” The pirate said with his cutlass still overhead.
“Because killing a
witch brings death,” she said. Although she didn’t believe the fable
herself, she’d hoped that the
pirate would. Apparently the ruse worked because the cutlass was dropped and
the pirate stepped away from Mariel and Winne.
Just then, Kathryn felt the
Seren awaken against her chest and prayed it would truly protect her. She
reached up and took hold of the warm stone hanging about her neck. The
bloodthirsty pirates froze and took in the meaning of her words. Slowly, lusty
grins crept over their faces and Kathryn knew her ruse was not enough to scare
them away.
“What more do ye want? Ye
have me and there’s nothing of value in the cottage – nothing except spell
books and witch’s amulets.” She had their attention. “If ye’d prefer to dabble
with dark things ye know nothing of, well I can arrange for it.”
The pirate glanced around the
room but did not move. “What would we want with dried sticks and old books?
We’re in search of gold and finery of sorts,” he said and chortled -- but his
eyes betrayed fear.
“Well then, ye’d best leave
us in peace and be on your way in search of your treasure,” she said and
attempted to move. A sharp steel tip caught her under the chin.
“We’re not leaving
empty-handed,” he said then turned to face his mates. “It seems as if there be
sommat we agreed upon – sommat we made an accord over, aye?” The sarcasm
permeated his voice and the crew behind him chuckled. He turned back to face
Kathryn.
“Me,” she said and felt her
stomach wretch. There would be no escape for her if she wanted her family to
survive. “ ... in exchange for their lives.”
“Aye, that be a good trade
indeed, Missy,” a dusty baritone spoke.
The sound of rattling steel
sword blades entering well-worn scabbards filled the tiny space they occupied.
In the center of the room,
her father moaned in agony that only comes from deep within the heart. Head
held high, she marched willingly into the crowd of waiting pirates. They parted
slightly to let her through. A subtle fear of the trinkets she carried with her
and the power carried
inside her kept grimy
wandering hands away from the stunning brunette as she passed. Stepping across
the protective salt line scattered down the length of the threshold, she heard
her father call out to her once more. One by one, the dirty pirates followed
her out through the arched doorway and into the misty night. Kathryn moved
ahead of the pack, feeling only contempt for the men she now led down the
cobblestone path and away from her home. Her tears lessened and heartache faded
as hate took its place.
Her cheeks were wet but she
refused to wipe them dry, her last act of defiance. Nothing mattered anymore
and she had felt certain she would soon join her mother in the afterlife. Fog
crept over the ground and licked at her feet making it difficult to see where
to place the next step. She looked up through the misty night air at the moon,
still encircled by its ominous ring of hazy light -- the radiant ring which
glowed an omen’s warning for her. Suddenly, the eerily still night was pierced
by the sobbing anguish of her grandmother’s cries coming from the cottage.
Kathryn paused and intense
heartache pierced her for only a moment before she stepped off the path toward
the waiting ship below.
