Pull up a chair Mar, have some coffee, and let me quiz you a bit.
Where do you hail from? Tell us a little about you.
Leona, I’ve lived in Merida, Yucatan, Mexico for more than 15 years. Before that, I lived in a number of places in the U.S. and abroad. The world traveler is now staying home.
How long have you been writing, Mar?
Can I say, all my life? I began to seriously write short stories about 20 years ago.
When did you start working on Georgia’s Hope?
I began it as a short story, some six or seven years ago.
Did you ever think of giving up?
I despaired, occasionally, but never gave up.
Do you see a sequel in the near future?
I can see a place for a sequel, but I think Georgia’s Hope is my one and only.
What other published works do you have to your credit?
I’ve published about a dozen short stories in online magazines.
Give me a one word answer:
A) Coffee or tea? coffee
B) Dogs or cats? animals
C) Winter or summer? summer
D) Romance books: tame or steamy? no
E) Henry or Jerome? Jerome!
Do you have a favorite author or two?
My favorites are Somerset Maugham and Jean Auel, with James Michener coming in a close third.
Do you feel overwhelmed by the promo/marketing aspect of publishing?
Yes, I do, but I have to grit my teeth and start. Thank you for helping me with that, Leona.
Could we see a short excerpt from Georgia’s Hope?
This quote sets the beginning scene of the novel:
During the night, a rare ice storm had blanketed Dallas, changing our back yard into a crystalline garden. Dull browns of winter turned into bright rainbows under the light of the rising sun. More than half-an-inch of ice covered everything exposed to the weather—every building, every street, every tree limb and blade of grass had turned to crystal.
“Oh my God, it’s like a fairyland.” Mom pulled the drapes open a little more.
“If you’re caught in it, it’s a monster land. Mom, Mr. and Mrs. Gomez froze to death. I can’t imagine that happening in Dallas. The children are in the hospital. Will you go with me to see them?”
“How awful! Yes, right away. We’ll let Dad sleep—he’s had a hard week.”
We pulled on slacks, sweaters and parkas and wrote a quick note to let Dad know where we’d gone. I drove the Lincoln, hoping the car’s weight would help us negotiate the icy streets. Mom wrung her hands as I slid along, skidding several times.
A half hour later, I maneuvered the Lincoln into the lot at Parkland Hospital, usually a five-minute drive from our home in Highland Park. We slipped and slid over the walkway into the emergency entrance. While my mother explained to the attending nurse that she met the Gomez family at the Episcopal Church shelter, I studied the typical hospital waiting room. Here, they brought John Kennedy, dead or dying, just a little over two years ago. That thought, and the ice outside, made me shiver.
I heard the nurse’s voice. “The Negro family? In intensive care, right down that hall. What a tragedy—those poor babies!”
We hurried through sterile halls which smelled of disinfectant and something that I could only think might be fear. Uniformed medical personnel walked purposefully, and anxious relatives simply milled around. We soon came to the room where the youngest children lay, hooked up to oxygen and intravenous tubes.
Mom and I clung to each other and wept, as we stood and watched the pitiful small bodies. The two little girls were no longer black, but an unhealthy shade of gray. In a few minutes, one of the nurses slipped in and told us that two of the other children had died. An older boy was barely alive in the next cubicle.
Thank you very much, Maryetta. I hope you’ll come back to visit again.
Thank you, Leona, for lending me your time and space to talk about my book. I’ll stop by often.
You can find out more and grab a copy Georgia's Hope on Amazon.
Author Bio: Originally from Oklahoma, Marryetta traveled with her family to more than a dozen different places before she was 15. Travel suited her, so she joined the U.S. Foreign Service, spending time in Africa, Asia, France, and Mexico. Retirement brought her to Merida, Yucatan, Mexico more than 15 years ago. There, she teaches basic English to a small group, writes and enjoys the symphony and the cuisine as well as the warm climate and the equally warm people.