Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I’m Bea, and I’m Italian. My favorite color is teal. Hence, my pen name. When I’m not writing, I’m teaching Italian as a Second Language, reading, or traveling. The inspiration for Painting Stars, my first book in English, came from the time I spent in Michigan as an exchange student. I live on the shores of Lake Maggiore in northern Italy with my husband.
How do you make time to write?
“Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” Václav Havel
With a lot of hope and willpower.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
“Nobody said it was easy” the Scientist, Coldplay.
I write in my second language. Yes, I do believe in writer’s block, and I have a language barrier on top of that.
Tell us a bit about the genre you write and why you love it.
Love in all its forms. Found family. HEA. I love the connection between reader and character. I love stories that are warm, witty, and uplifting.
How are you publishing your recent book and why?
Indie. Traditional feels like a pipe dream at the moment.
Are you an Introvert or an Extrovert? How does this affect your work?
Introvert. I struggle with self-promotion.
What is your favorite motivational phrase?
If somebody tells you “you can’t”, they’re showing you their limits. Not yours.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
“Don’t be discouraged if people don’t see your vision, your harvest. All they see from their perspective is that you’re watering a whole lot of dirt. They don’t SEE what seeds you’ve been planting with blood, sweat, tears and lack of sleep. Make sure you don’t abandon or neglect it because “they” don’t see it. You have to KNOW and believe for yourself. They don’t see the roots and what’s budding under the dirt. But it’s okay, because it’s NOT meant for them to see it. While you wait, MASTER it. You continue to do YOUR work and have unwavering faith! Remember why you started planting in the first place. Your harvest WILL come!” ― Yvonne Pierre, The Day My Soul Cried: A Memoir.
Don’t be discouraged if some of your friends and family members are unsupportive. They don’t share your passion. Find someone who does.
Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web?
I’m happy to hear from readers, and you can write me at: firstname.lastname@example.org, but please consider that English isn’t my first language! 😉
Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share with us?
Our evening together begins with a romantic stroll.
Too bad I’m wearing impossibly high heels. The ones that look like a dream and feel like a nightmare. To upgrade my legs to first class, I squeezed my feet into the non-reclining middle seat in the last row of economy. These shoes were shaped on elves’ ears, not women’s toes.
The sunset on Lake Michigan is beautiful, but I’m too busy trying not to twist an ankle on the gravel, get a heel stuck in the drain grate, or sink into soft ground to fully appreciate it. Noah valiantly offers his arm in support, but he looks more like my keeper than my beau.
Once we get to the restaurant, things don’t improve.
There’s been a mix-up with the reservation, and our table isn’t ready, but they offer us a drink at the bar while we wait.
“Our stools are called waves,” the hostess explains. “The sleek, delicate curves are designed to evoke a visually fluid concept.”
Translation: there’s no backrest, no handles, no footrest, and man, do they swivel. I’m getting seasick. I’m on a slippery slope, pun intended.
When our table is finally ready, I’m glad to see the imaginary back of them.
“Fox, they brought us a plate with a dirty spoon in it,” Noah tells me.
“I think the course is what’s in the spoon.”
“I’m afraid I left my magnifying glass at home. What’s in the spoon, exactly?”
“It’s an amuse-bouche. A velouté.”
“I’m far from amused. It reminds me of the baby food Levi would spit in my face when he was a toddler. What’s the next one called?”
“Tiny temptations. A garden of Eden to share.”
“That’s just an excuse to throw a bunch of fruit and veggies together, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Then how do you explain this green mush with horns?”
“That’s an artichoke.”
“And this shaving cream gone sour?”
“That’s the cloud of heaven, aka goat cheese mousse, and stop making me laugh!”
“Why should I stop? I love your laugh.”
“‘Cause my belt is so tight from sitting I’m electrocuted every time I move.”
“Take it off, then.”
“I can’t. It’s holding my top and skirt together.”
“Why did I let you order the appetizer again?” Noah asks, taking a bite of the red apple.
“Because I let you order tenderloin à la Wellington wrapped in Parma ham as the main dish.”
And he was right, it was totally delicious, I think as the last nibble of puff pastry melts in my mouth.
“Since dessert is deconstructed tiramisù, how about taking it to go, Fox?” he lowers his voice and leans forward, “We can put it back together at home.”
“I like the way you think.”