Welcome, Glenda.
When did your writing journey begin?
I have been a bookworm for as long as I can remember, longer actually. My dad used to tell a story of me scaring him when I was two. He walked into the living room and I was sitting in his recliner with my favorite book reading it aloud. He said he stood watching, and I was turning the pages at the correct spots. He thought he had a superbaby on his hands—until he realized I was holding the book upside down. I’ve always loved books. I think what encouraged me to write stories was a substitute teacher I had in elementary school. She read one of my assignments and wrote the most encouraging notes on it.
I recently found an old notebook that had short stories I had written when I was eleven. I had a few short stories published when I was in high school and more throughout my early adult years.
As I got older, and life got rougher, I used books to escape from a not-too-happy reality. It helped me through some rotten patches, and I want to be able to give that escape to someone else. I’ve always been drawn to thrillers and mysteries in my reading. They always say write what you know so… I write thrillers and mysteries mostly and they are a bit dark in places, but I like to give my readers the light at the end of the tunnel endings.
What was your inspiration for Broken Toys?
Okay, this may be a bit macabre but… a friend of Darlin’s owns a crematorium. The friend gave us a hip replacement implant that no one claimed. Darlin’ was examining it and one end comes to this sharp point. I had just come home from having a tire replaced on my truck. When I saw the point, I told Darlin’ that could do a ton of damage to a tire. About the same time, two calls came across his radio from dispatch—one for a missing child, the other for a complaint about Travelers scamming the elderly with roofing and driveway repairs. It just kind of clicked in my brain and Broken Toys was born.
Can he keep his past a secret or will his carefully crafted life come to a violent end?
Texas Ranger Noah Morgan has his life together—with a great job and the girl of his dreams. Too bad it's all based on a lie. A single phone call threatens to bring it all crashing down. After an irate citizen complains shoddy workmanship has left him with a booby-trapped driveway, and the local sheriff's office is too busy to respond, Noah takes the call. The investigation of local scam artists uncovers a human trafficking ring, Noah fights to avoid being swept back into the sights of his murderous family—people he escaped at the age of seventeen.
Find Broken Toys at these retailers: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, and Google.
Any new projects on the horizon?
I’m actually working on three more books right now. I keep bouncing between them depending on my mood.
The first is a complete departure from Broken Toys. Wings Over Wylder is a historical romance set in the Wyoming Territory in 1879. Everyone knows the Wright Brothers flew the first aircraft south of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina on December 17, 1903. Except they didn’t. The first coil-powered aircraft was flown in Luckenbach, Tx on September 20, 1865 by schoolteacher Jacob Brodbeck. This historic flight left a lasting impression on Greta Ann Guenther who dreams of escaping through flight while she cares for her much younger, autistic brother and alcoholic father.
The other two, Broken Dreams and Broken Minds, are stories following secondary characters from Broken Toys through their own challenges and dark secrets.
Words of advice for fellow writers in the trenches
Trust in yourself and just write the story. Don’t get too wrapped up in finding the perfect word in the first draft. As a matter of fact, I call my first draft the “vomit draft” because I just puke the words out on the page. The first draft is telling yourself the story. Don’t expect it to be perfect. Heck, don’t even expect it to be good. That’s what the next drafts are for. Just get it down on paper or on the screen. You can’t fix what you don’t write. And don't be afraid to ask for help. Find a mentor. Find a support/critique group. Writing is always portrayed as a lonely career, but it doesn't have to be. I've made some wonderful friends on my writing journey.
What was the most unusual part of the story to research/write?
Now you will know I’m crazy. I had Darlin’ close me up in the toolbox on the back of his truck and drive around for a few miles so I could see what Bree would experience when she was kidnapped. I hope that’s not too much of a spoiler.
Writing inspiration and my writing cave…
Buy links and social media links:
GlendaThompson.com
Amazon
Excerpt from Broken Toys:
“You found a what in my driveway?” The old man bellowed, staggering against his cane.
“Mr. Schmidt, would you like to sit down?” Concern tinged Noah’s voice. Please do not pass out. “Can I help you inside where it’s cooler?”
With the temps running in the low hundreds and the humidity hovering around ninety percent, Noah could count the rivulets of sweat trickling down his back causing his shirt to stick to his skin. The smell of melting tar in the driveway burned his nose. He could just imagine how the combination of the acrid odor of asphalt, the stifling heat, and the shocking news must affect the elderly man. He grasped Mr. Schmidt by the elbow to lead him into the house.
He jerked his arm from Noah’s grasp. “Mein Gott in Heaven. I don’t need your mollycoddling. I’m old, not stupid. I need you to tell me one more time exactly what you found and what it means. What happens next?”
Noah removed his hat and ran his sleeve across his forehead and down his face before returning the hat to his head. Why do I work for a department that demands a cowboy hat be worn as part of our uniform any time we are outdoors, regardless of weather? Noah brushed his dress code thought aside. “Mr. Schmidt, are you sure you don’t want to go inside? Maybe sit down? Cool off?”
Mr. Schmidt waved the suggestion aside, irritation clear in the motion. “Just spit it out.”
“Okay. Mr. Schmidt, the piece of metal we pried from your driveway appears to be a hip implant device, the kind used in artificial hip replacement surgery. We suspect some of the ‘rocks’ we found may be pieces of bone, teeth even. We’ve called in the necessary people to take care of things.
“While we wait for the mobile crime scene lab from the Texas Department of Public Safety to arrive from Austin, I need you to sign this consent to search form. Next, Ranger Trammell and I will photograph the scene to preserve it in situ—as it is.”
“Now you wait one cotton-picking minute. How long will all that take? What if I don’t want to sign your verdammt form? I need my car. The old lady has several doctors’ appointments in San Antonio this afternoon.”
Noah lifted his hat again and brushed sweat off his forehead before it could roll into his eyes. “Mr. Schmidt, I tell you what. Sign this piece of paper giving us permission to search your driveway and as soon as we finish the photography, Ranger Trammell and I will change your flat tire. Then you can pull your car out of the driveway. If you don’t sign it, we will have to find a judge and get a warrant. Going the warrant route will delay things considerably.” Noah shrugged. “Choice is yours. Unfortunately, either way it goes, you won’t be able to pull back in for some time. We’re going to have to tape off your driveway and process it as a crime scene. Is there maybe somewhere you could stay for a few days?”
“Crime scene?” Mr. Schmidt sagged as if kicked in the solar plexus. Bewilderment flooded his eyes. For the first time since the Rangers arrived, the man looked old. “My driveway is a crime scene?”
“I’m afraid so. Hip implants are not normally used in road base. Someone may have disposed of a body in your driveway.”