Meet Guest Author PI Barrington

SOME LIKE IT HOT (& CO-WRITTEN)!

PI BarringtonIt’s funny. Some authors write with co-authors and some don’t. In fact most don’t. I do. I write with my sister Loni and at one point, we wrote an entire novel in four days. Yes there was screaming and hair pulling and earring-ripping but we did it. That’s nothing new for us. At one point when we both worked in the music industry we were actually working on the same recording project, Power Station, which was a musical collaboration between (the late great) Robert Palmer (Island Records) and band members of Duran Duran (Capitol Records)! You might remember the mega-hit song off that CD, “Some Like It Hot.” There were times we’d call each other and share information while that CD was being recorded & produced! Talk about dream jobs!

It’s the same thing now that we both write novels. Years ago when we wrote that first book together, someone asked us if there was any competition between us as writers. Truthfully, that never crossed mine or my sister’s minds. Not even friendly competition. We’re supportive of each other. But that doesn’t mean coffee and commiseration. No, I’m talking deep support; the kind of support that requires you to love that person enough to be honest with them. Brutally honest. Painfully honest at times.

Yes, it hurts. But real support means that you want the best for whomever and whatever you’re partnering with and on and to both realize that you’re not doing it to hurt, but to help; to make them be the absolute best they can be and do the absolute best they can do.

It’s always been that way for us. Whether it was the music industry (actually all of the entertainment industry) or the publishing industry, we’ve always deeply believed that anything is a possible if you put out enough effort. And we proved it: not only to the world but to ourselves. And once we did that, we knew we could do anything.

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Shifting gears a little here: there was a discussion on one of my online groups recently about how the arts affect writing. I told the other groups members that while you can specialize in one type of creative area, they truly can’t be separated. They pretty much all influence each other and many writers, myself included, dabble or deeply work with other facets of the arts: painting, sculpting, music, poetry. My sister and I came from a musical family and that has always been our first love, even to working on the business side of it. I paint on occasion and work on sketching, watercolors, mixed media. I studied poetry and literature as did my sister. One of my prized possessions is a six-foot tall wooden easel that my family bought me decades ago for Christmas! And of course, books are just part of our blood. As I said, many writers also work in other forms of art. In my mind, the greatest form of art is songwriting. If I could have one major talent it would be that: the beautiful melding of music and words. It is what affects me most. Mine and Loni’s idols include the prolific and stunning Elton John and Bernie Taupin; a poet and a musician. They are some of the premier songwriters of the 20th Century along with the earlier giants, George and Ira Gershwin, Duke Ellington, Lieber & Stoller, Burt Bacharach, Carol King and the now late Gerry Goffin, and Joni Mitchell and Prince. All of these artists wrote/write lyrics and music. Joni is also an artist and created nearly all the covers of her albums and CDs. So writing and the arts are basically all one in the same.

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Shifting gears again back to my sister and co-author and I. We run everything by each other, critique each other and suggest plots, characters, and various ways of dealing with situations or themes in our books. Not everyone does this and not everyone should. Not everyone can either. Most writers like to work alone and do and produce something worthwhile and entertaining for our readers. Some of mine and Loni’s books are dark and more than a little edgy. Some of them are humorous. Some of them are just one big joyride! But we’re proof; living proof that if you’re willing to work incessantly and most importantly make sacrifices—big sacrifices—you can accomplish pretty much anything. You just have to decide if what you want is worth that sacrifice and if it is, go for it.

Brede

Brede Chronicles Back Cover Blurb

Half-human Alekzander Brede is a law unto himself…or so he thinks. Elektra Tate, the street orphan who loves him has other ideas. When she betrays him for no apparent reason, he vows to punish her one way or another. Taking the one thing she treasures most—their son—begins a cat and mouse relationship spanning two planets and costing possibly his life. Elektra will stop at nothing to save her son but can she overcome Brede’s twisted idea of vengeance?

EXCERPT:

Elektra landed on her knees on the ancient stone cobbled sidewalks and used the wall of Narita’s edifice to help herself stand. The pain, now near unbearable, shrieked when she touched the blackened and bruised flesh to anything including cloth and she struggled against the throbbing crowds to make her way toward the only place she thought to go for help.

“Please Mahmud I don’t want to lose my arm. You have to help me,” she stood before the self-appointed doctor of the proscribed citizens. He inspected it and then shook his head.

“I can do nothing for you,” he said. “It is already too far gone by now. Even should you sit in the sun for five days it would be no help.”

“I’ll get you money. Whatever you want, I’ll get it. Please, save my hand, please?”

He shook his head again sorrowfully.

“I can do nothing. This does not need my type of medicine. You must ask the mechanical doctors, those with science and not nature. I am sorry I cannot help you Elektra.”

Crying she stood against the wall of the crooked street, thinking what she might pay to those who if they could build space machines, could build anything. She slid down the wall and sat on her haunches against it sobbing.

A shadow fell across her, changing the scorching temperature a degree. She opened her eyes and a man knelt before her. He took her arm and gently inspected it.

“I can give you a new arm and hand,” he said. “But you must pay what I ask.” He stared directly into her eyes. “You will have a new arm—a new hand—better than before. But you must pay the price.”

“What is it you want?” Elektra asked, still gasping in pain.

Alekzander Brede.”

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