Interview with Gary Starta
When did you first realize you wanted to be an Author?
About 2004 when it was requested (and/or demanded) I begin writing again. After doing non-fiction in the past, I was excited and anxious to take the plunge into fiction.
What would you say is your interesting quirk that only happens when you are writing?
I would prefer complete quiet. Although when I’m in that fuzzy zone I probably don’t even know where I am at the moment.
What was one of the most surprising things you learned in writing your books?
There may really be parallel universes according to physicists like Michio Kaku.
Where did you get ideas for your books?
I like to keep an eye on the latest science theories and incorporate them into my fiction, blending paranormal and fantasy into the puree.
Out of all the books you have written which is your favorite and why?
Well, how about Demon Inhibitions. It is my attempt at putting a narrative voice to my character Caitlin Diggs. Even stranger, I’m a man writing as a woman.
What do you think makes a good story?
Connection. The reader must connect with the characters, their thoughts and possibly predicaments.
Who are some of your favorite Authors?
Dean Koontz, Jim Butcher, Laurell K. Hamilton.
If you could pick one actor to play a character in your book in the movie version, who would it be?
I think Carla Gugino would be a good fit as Diggs.
Who are some of the people that influenced your love of writing?
Wow, that’s a tough question. I would say authors like Dean Koontz, Isaac Asimov and Stephen King started the ball rolling. But I never knew anybody else that wrote until I started.
What kind of TV shows do you like and do you find that as a Paranormal Writer that you gravitate toward True Blood, Vampire Diaries, Lost Girl and others that center around Preternatural or Supernatural Creatures?
I am old school with The X-Files for certain. Also Buffy, Angel and Grimm are certainly in the top faves.
How are your Supernaturals different from the traditional mythology?
I actually do take some mythology but twist it of course. Caitlin will learn she has a connection to Isis, the Egyptian goddess, via an artifact.
What is your view on the Paranormal “Craze” that’s going on, do you feel that it is a fad that people will look back on and laugh or a lasting interest that will birth classics to come?
Not at all. It will take its place as a credible genre if it hasn’t already. I think blended genres or what I call fiction on the fringe of the genre will actually become a category. As I understand, the genre was pioneered in the 90’s by Laurell K. Hamilton. It’s still in its infancy with a lot of room to grow.
What other genres do you write?
Mystery and crime often mixed into science fiction, paranormal.
If you had one piece of advice for an aspiring Author what would it be?
Persistence is the key. Don’t give up!
What would you like to say to friends and family of Authors (not just your own)?
If they are not the authors themselves I would say it’s okay, relax. Don’t worry about their obsession to write, their middle of the night plotting and distant gazings. It’s all part of the author process. Lol. In other words, for authors, they’re normal!
Is there anything else you want to share with your readers?
I would like to thank all readers! I have been a reader for a longer time than a writer. I always think about what a reader might like to see happen rather than concerning myself with formula.
Grant’s ruggedness gave me strength. The notion that I would be flying in single engine plane brought back the wave of nausea I had experienced when I first experienced my cold symptoms. Only the cold symptoms were gone, along with any dizziness one might feel when imbibing a cup of murky green cold medicine. I couldn’t explain this. I couldn’t explain a lot of things. Yet an eyeful of Grant gave me courage, even inspiration. Robust and bright eyed, Grant possessed a pair of broad shoulders and a six-foot three- inch frame, nicely packaged in a gray pinstriped designer suit. Sea green eyes peered at me, hungry, curious for answers. Carter must have laid it on thick concerning my psychic skills. Did this man have every confidence in my clairvoyant abilities, or did he just want to jump my bones? Hard to tell, I thought,
Staring out a window at the murky brownish colored sea below us that was nothing as effervescent or alluring as Charles Grant’s eyes. Yes. It had been a long time since I dated. And my horizontal dance with incubus boy didn’t count. Youth is nice but this man could be a walking definition of the “whole” package. Charming as well, he comforted me straight away as we lifted off. “Don’t worry Ms. Diggs, the Cessna 400 is the most reliable single engine piston powered-plane on the market.” I smiled with the alacrity of a mental patient when he accentuated the words “piston powered.” Yes, much too long without the company of a man. I unconsciously began to fan myself although the cabin temperature had been cool enough, in fact quite a welcome relief to the ninety degree plus weather outside. So he could immediately pick up on my worries and needs. Maybe just a coincidence, I told myself, still foolishly fanning myself with a Chinese takeout flier I had dug out of my purse. And merely coincidental I found him irresistibly attractive. No, this isn’t about falling in love at first sight. Nooo… Then he put his hand on my knee, and I felt my heart thump. “You know ,” he began, “if you need privacy to conjure up your vision or dream state, I can go sit with the pilot.” “Oh, no.” I nearly screamed it. His eyes told me he either realized my phobia of flying in small aircraft had been a ploy to garner his attention or perhaps a real deep seated fear, one which might invite a panic attack. “Okay, then,” he said. His voice became gentle and lilting in reaction to my squawk. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s just that it’s imperative we get a lead, any kind of lead to stop Mollini.” “Yes,” I said staring into his sea green eyes. “I know what it means to be desperate… I… uh, mean, desperate for a break on a case.” “Now do you?” I wondered how Grant could not recognize me. Surely, he must have at least heard my name. I had had the best arrest/conviction rate in the Bureau. But I realized it would be best if he continued to think of me as a civilian—w which I now was. The Bureau hadn’t been kind to me lately. And I had left in large part because I believed they would never accept my gift; or how I had come to acquire it. “Oh, I just watch a lot detective shows,” I said. He laughed, hopefully swallowing my lame-assed explanation. So he possessed an open mind, at least when it came to crunch time. That point in a case where you would rub a bald man’s head for luck if it brought you any closer to apprehending the perp. “Then we probably realize we’ve got to make a stand.” I could tell by the way he said it that even he didn’t give it much chance of success. And his gaze fell away, distant, probably counting the number of colleagues who would be fitted for body bags. “Have you thought about an alternative?” I blurted out. “I’m open to suggestion.” His eyes rejoined mine. Again, I could literally hear my heart beat. “I suppose following protocol would be best,” I said half heartedly, my eyes fighting to
disengage from his. “I don’t want to pressure you. But do you have any inkling? Any hint where Mollini might be ultimately headed?” Shit, I thought. I sure as hell did. And now I couldn’t share with this man, something my physical self desperately desired. And as I wallowed in guilt, I began to question my sudden attraction to this man, the irresistible urge to bare all with this man-damn it—the near uncontrollable urge to unfasten the waist ties on my halter and bare more than just the truth. What was happening to me? I thought about it for a few seconds. Perhaps Grant believed I had fallen into a psychic trance. If so, that would buy some time. I stared, pensive, eyes trained on the floor, playing the stereotyped crystal gazing psychic to the hilt. And I realized that along with my vision, came my ability to read people. My empathic gift had come back as well. Possibly this power seemed so overwhelming to me because I had spent the last few weeks living as a shut-in. As if black clouds suddenly rolled away exposing a radiant, blinding golden blast of sunshine, I could read the goodness of this man, not only see his aura but also feel it. Intoxicated, I realized the reconnection to my feelings and emotions had caused sensory overload. Maybe that’s why I had nearly succumbed to infatuation when I should have been plotting how to stop Mollini. But first things first, I had to misdirect Grant. It would be for his good. And mine as well, from a selfish standpoint. Whether my lust had been organically or paranormally stimulated, I genuinely perceived Grant to be an honest and caring man. I could not lead him to his slaughter. And with that realization, came baggage. I also could honestly say that one part of me really didn’t care if a butt load of FBI agents went down fighting. That part of me, the self-righteous, self-absorbed portion, would say they had it coming, foolishly attempting to combat a supernatural power with conventional weapons, and in the process only making the perpetrator stronger. I only cared about Grant’s safety—his sea green eyes, melt-me-in his- mouth kind of safety… Shut up, I told myself, trying to disconnect the imagery. I had to quell that voice. That would be the voice of pride speaking—and possibly the voice of lust as well. And while I was in the full self diagnostic mode, it was a voice that needed to feel justified for leaving my FBI career. A voice that said they would regret allowing me to resign. Shut up, I said again, more forcefully. Who am I kidding? I am replaceable. Even this wonderful agent doesn’t recognize me. Time to get a grip, Caitlin, it’s time to do your job. You didn’t join the Bureau for glory, I told myself. It’s because you had no other choice; the job was already part of you—it never needed to become part of you. You and the job were already symbiotic. Okay, so now it’s time to do the job. Despite the fact I was no longer FBI, I would think like I was. Unconventional, that’s how I solved the lion’s share of my cases. I would use my paranormal abilities to combat Mollini’s. It all sounded so simple, in theory. I would stick to the plan. I let my eyelids flutter as if the vision were ending. And I spoke. “I think I have a lead. I see where Mollini will make his stand.” As Grant’s eyes bore into me for detail, I glanced away for a second, to catch the time. “Where are we now ?” I asked. “Somewhere at the end of New England, and the beginning of the Tristate area.” “That’s good. You’ll continue on—w without me—to this address.” I rummaged through my cluttered purse, amazingly pulling both a pad of paper and pen in my first attempt. I wrote the address down, tore off the sheet from the pad and handed it to Grant. “That’s where you can get Mollini. He’ll need to replenish himself there.” Grant stared at me. “Yes, with souls from living bodies,”
I said in reply to his polemic gesturing. “He’ll need a mass killing. But he’ll be vulnerable for a window of time. You and an attack team might be able to take him down, even without firing a weapon, possibly in hand-to-hand combat. Although,” I quickly added, “I wouldn’t recommend that.” And even though I knew this encounter would most likely never happen, I couldn’t bear to see Agent Grant get caught in Mollini’s demonic grip.