Author Interview: Kimberly Kinrade

I bring to you another writer that has impressed me with her kindness. I sent her this interview a while ago.  Her e-mail ate it; but when she found it she was very apologetic. Needless to say, with the holidays that are nearing, how could I, a loyal reader blame her for not answering ASAP? It took me by surprise how sincere she is. I am blessed to have such kindness from a beautiful stranger. This is my first time ever interviewing Kimberly Kinrade. I hope to get to know her better and interview her again soon. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have thinking up questions.

What has inspired you to write?

I often joke that I was born with ink in my veins and magic in my heart. I’ve never NOT written, it’s always been a part of me. It’s like breathing. I just have to write. The inspiration for my stories come from everywhere, from dreams, daydreams, random things I see or read, my kids, my muse. Inspiration is everywhere.

When did you know you made it as a writer?

Financially, when I could pay my bills with my royalty check. Emotionally, when reviews started rolling in for Forbidden Mind and I saw that people really did love my books.

What has been your happiest moment? It can be about writing or as much personal you’d like to share.

The day I married my husband, with our three kids there and my best friend officiating. Being with my family, knowing that we are a unit, makes me the happiest. It doesn’t hurt that I also get to work with my husband since he’s co-writing books with me and does cover design. We have an amazing relationship and wonderful kids and all the best parts of my life are reflected in this.

While writing how often do you take breaks?

It depends on if my kids are home or not. I can write for hours without break, or I might have to stop every ten minutes. I don’t have a regular system in place for breaks. I do find, though, that I take less breaks when I block the internet while writing. Turns out I can go more than 30 minutes without checking email or Facebook and the world doesn’t end!

When not writing what can your readers find you doing?

I love to read and to spend time with my family. I also enjoy working with the Drama Club at my daughter’s school, and speaking to kids about the writing process.

Of your own series do you have a favorite character? Could you tell us about them?

Lucy and Hunter are my two favorite characters in the Forbidden Trilogy. I love that Lucy is strong and spunky, she can tell when people are lying and she’s a hacker who’s also a martial arts expert. Hunter is sexy, strong, skilled and is an IPI Agent. He’s also funny. The two of them together were so fun to write in Forbidden Life.

How do you deal with reviews on your books that you may not agree with?

It doesn’t phase me much. I don’t love getting negative reviews, obviously, but I recognize that not everyone is going to love my books (sad as that may be). If it’s an intelligent review with valid points, I’ll see if there’s anything I can use to strengthen future books. If not, I just move on.

What books do you read?

I read everything from YA paranormal to epic fantasy to thrillers to romance to horror. I like it all.

For those that want to become a writer could you tell them a pro and con of the adventures in getting your name into the world as well as your books?

These days, writing the book is not enough. You have to market yourself, regardless of who you’re published with. It’s a lot of work. First thing is to make sure you have a quality product on the market. That means pro editing, pro cover art, pro formatting, etc. Then, you need to have a long term marketing plan in place and really brand yourself for the long haul. This isn’t a business of overnight success. Even the authors who seem to have risen to the top overnight will tell you it wasn’t that way. The public just wasn’t privy to the time and work it took to get to that level. So be prepared for the long haul and settle in for the marathon.

If you had one place to go in the entire world to write, where would it be?

My mind. There’s enough in there to keep me entertained and writing for several lifetimes. The outside location isn’t too relevant when I’m writing, as long as it’s not too loud or crowded. But I wouldn’t mind doing some world travelling to Venice, Italy and Europe for my next book!

Where can the readers, new and old reach you?

They can find my books at:

And for social media

Website     Twitter     Facebook     IPI Twitter     IPI Facebook   IPI Website Three Lost Kids Website   Daring Books Design & Marketing Website


Thankful for YA books

I wanted to write a blog that gives me much thanks for the month of November. My first thing of being thankful for is Young Adult books. I’m not a young adult anymore but I can say that it has saved me literally when I was a kid. I was the only 12 year old reading Stephen King books while everyone else did whatever 12 year old kids did. I was in love with Hanson which I’m still a fan of since 1997. I was teased and made fun of for supposedly being a lesbian because Hanson looked like girls. I always remember a memory of having an ice ball thrown at my face around my 8th grade year. The laughter and pointing created a whole inside my heart and a loneliness no child should feel. My mother would take me to go to the library and check books out. My usual collection was of course consisted of Stephen King and a lot of books about the planet and solar system.

I don’t remember the first young adult book that I had read but reading has always been apart of my life. I remember reading V.C. Andrews and Dean Knootz. It wasn’t until I started writing (seriously as a pre-teen) that I was introduced to the world of YA writing and reading. The books took me to another world-although temporary-it was a relief to be ‘away’ from the teasing and the feeling of being hurt all the time.

As an adult I find pride that I was that odd kid that read a lot and wrote short stories that I had been complimented on. It branched me out to the person I am today. Without such great writers like, Judy Blume to take my mind off of the harsh reality around me I don’t know where I’d be today. I surely wouldn’t be a book reviewer for Yam Mag and meeting fantastic people. I wouldn’t find the joy in reading Patti Larsen’s Clone series (as well as other novels). I wouldn’t have had the guts to go by myself to book signings and meeting, Becca Fitzpatrick, Libba Bray, Meg Cabot and many other fantastic writers who still continue to impress me and motivate me in many ways. My life wouldn’t have been enriched by talking with a fantastic writer Rhonda Helms and bonding over Spartacus.

YA has opened a lot of doors for me. They might not be the biggest doors but I could be a single mother of 3 children right now. Or I could have been stuck in Chicago, poor with some health problems that a lot of people I knew as a kid are suffering from. Its an unfortunate fate for us to be teased but we made it. I want to be that author that sparked life back into a reader even if I never knew it. YA is a fantastic piece of my life. I’ll always read it remembering my first crush or how I felt being rejected by someone but having the courage to go on with my life. Young Adult has taught me a lot of things and it continues to do it till this day. I believe we always learn from children and those who write about them are living their life again and perhaps we’ll learn from that at any stage of our life.

In November, I’m thankful for the countless trips to the library picking out YA novels and standing out when the world wanted me to step back in line and be a quite little girl. I’m far from being a young girl now and I’m way off in being quite. I’m grateful for the hardships that created this sweet reward.

Hosting a 50 book give away, Beth Revis is celebrating. Why? Because she loves books! And so do I of course. Come check it

 out and enter to win all month. Happy Reading!


A scratch at the window woke me. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and looked out into the darkness. There was only the empty field that stretched out for miles and miles in front of my house. I shrugged my shoulders and buried myself deep under the covers. There it was again. Frustrated, I walked over to the window to inspect the noise further. Still, nothing. Pressing my face against the cool glass, straining to see further into the dark abyss that encompassed my house, I saw something. A flicker of warm light. A cascading shadow. In the distance, just beyond where my eyes could take me I saw the slightest of movements. There were figures moving around. The moon was hiding behind clouds as it peaked but once again quickly was hidden.

For a moment I stared squinting past the darkness. The figures were hunched over almost dragging themselves towards my direction. I blinked rapidly trying to make an excuse to what I was seeing. The light came back again I saw it coming from the first floor of the old house. I was living with my grandmother, she was getting up in age sometimes forgetting what she was doing or how she ended up in a part of the room. Being a nurse I decided to live with my grandmother. The doctors had said she was suffering from dementia but I hadn’t believed it…or I just didn’t want to believe the last of my living relatives may die.

I pushed myself from the window turning to grab my robe. I slipped my arm through the holes tightening the belt around my waist. I took the stairs two at a time seeing the flickering of the old kitchen light turn on and off. I could see from the staircase my grandmother standing in front of the open door. I knew I had locked the screen door in case she had ever wandered around managing to ease this old door open. It didn’t take much, perhaps a simple breeze to force the door open. It didn’t have a lock. Her old wrinkled hand was on the light switch next to the door up and down her fingers went matching the tempo of the lights switching on and off. I saw her face pressed against the screen staring out into the darkness.

I approached her slowly as I entered the small yellow and white kitchen. Pots and pans were on the floor from the cabinets. The refrigerator door was wide open with food spilled out onto the floor. I looked around with my mouth hanging open. What had she done? I had just went shopping for her yesterday. I took a deep breath calling from my grandmother.

“Fiona.” I called for her when she didn’t respond to me calling her Nan.

She made a sound as if she recognized me calling for her. The lights kept flickering on and off. I reached for her putting my hands softly on her shoulders. I leaned in pressing my head against her and closing my eyes.

Click. Click. Click.

“How did you manage to make such a mess without me waking?” I asked her.


“I’m going to help you get back to bed.” I told her pulling on her. Surprisingly she was solid.

“No.” She told me resisting. She was strong.

I sighed feeling the air of the country pass through the screen. I looked out squinting at the figures moving in the distance. Ignoring the annoyance of the light turning on and off I began to see colors out in the fields.

“They’ve been out there for a long time. Do you think they see us now.” My grandmother asked looking at me finally.

“Who are they?” I asked watching dark figures shuffling closer.

I squinted again stilling my grandmother’s hand as the light flickered off. She tried wrestling me to turn the lights back on.

The wind carried soft clicking sounds from the field. My eyes finally adjusted to the night and without the moon I could see about a dozen beings moving around. There was a round object sitting in my grandparents field. It was humming as I listened, hushing my grandmother each time she tried tearing my hands away from the light switch. At the moment they weren’t paying the house any attention as the clicking sounds and shuffling bodies continued.

I heard the scratching again.

“Stay here.” I told my grandmother hoping she’d understand.

I unlocked the screen door feeling the warm breeze on my bare legs as I made my way across the wooden porch. I could feel the dogs food beneath my feet, the bowl was tipped over. The leash where my dog was usually kept tided to the banister had been chewed off. I felt the tip of the leash feeling the moisture. The door opened and my grandmother stood smiling at the field. I knew she was going to come out.
“Had you seen Minnie when you came downstairs?” I asked her.

She nodded. I waited for an answer.

“Well?” I asked as the humming started again.

I looked back out into the field once more, the people were coming closer. I could see their features a bit more as the clouds thinned in the patchy sky. They were hunched over their eyes reflected like an animals.

“They took her.” Fiona said leaning against the porch.

I gasped before asking, “What? Why?”

I saw the thin smile spread across her old face. “They were hungry.”

My stomach dropped as the figures came closer. I backed away dragging Fiona back into the house. I locked the screen door then dragging the kitchen table in front of the door hopefully blocking them from coming in.

“Why are they here?” I asked shutting off the light and looking out the kitchen window.

Fiona hadn’t say anything. I saw her standing next to the closed refrigerator. She stood silent her night gown too big for her shrinking body. Did she know something? I opened my mouth again when the scratching came again, I jumped.

“They want to come in.” She said in a small voice.

I crossed the small space separating us and took her hands into mine.

“Fiona, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

She stayed silent until I heard banging coming from the front door. I turned and saw nothing. Taking the kitchen phone I began dialed 9-1-1. The rings never came. Replacing the rings was a high pitched wailing. Instinctively I threw the phone to separate the sound from my sensitive ears. Once again I asked my grandmother to stay she nodded this time which put me at much ease. I climbed the stairs towards my room. My purse was sitting on a chair next to the window. I searched around the content of the purse coming across my cell phone. I opened it up dialing the same three numbers. There wasn’t a wailing in my ear the phone simply wouldn’t dial.

I looked up towards the window the curtains were drawn from where I had looked out before. I saw something looking at me its eyes reflecting with no need of light. Its skin tone was a dark gray its smile stretched across its long face. Its mouth was darker then the rest of its gray complexion. Being this close I could see bits of hair decorating its angular jaw. I controlled my urge to vomit where I stood.

It started tapping on the window, at first while I backed up clenching the phone towards my chest, my heart hammering loudly. The tapping then turned into scratching, it wanted to come in.

I turned from it heading downstairs where my grandmother was standing in front of the door. It stood wide open, people were on the porch. I could count six figures standing hunched and silent. My grandmother was talking to them asking them where they came from and if they knew who she was.

They looked past her and directly towards me.

“Fiona, please close the door.” I called to her feeling tears sting my eyes.

She turned around at me and smiled. “Hello there.” She said. She never smiled that wide unless we had guests over.

I didn’t want to turn around hearing the soft breathing and the scratching behind me. I wanted to scream. Why was it always tapping? Why were they here? What was out there creating all those colors?

“I can make some tea.” Fiona said walking towards the cupboard for the tea kettle.

What sounded like a rough ‘no’ came behind me. The voice was deep the sound was as if English wasn’t its first language. My grandmother froze looking over at me. I swallowed squeezing my eyes shut feeling the first tears falling from my eyes and down my cheeks.

I felt something on my shoulder squeezing it painfully. I looked at the hands, the fingers were long and rounded at the tip. I felt its head come close to mine its tongue running along my neck. Quickly as I stood I was on the floor, it hovered above me. I still held onto my phone as if it was life line. The screen door burst open. I could hear my grandmother screaming. I saw them take her, their long fingers penetrating her mouth and eyes. I saw the blood in the darkness as the moon finally escaped its prison.

They were eating her.

I turned over and threw up my meal from that evening. I coughed and gag trying to get rid of the image of my now dead grandmother.

I was picked up roughly. I kicked out to my assailant. My foot connected with something but they never made a sound. The only sounds were their scratching. They pulled me out of the house, my arms and legs burning from my efforts to get away. My throat was rough from my screams. I knew no one would hear me. We were out in the country. As a little girl I had always loved visiting my grandparents with my older brothers. Running through the tall stalks of the corn field playing hide and go seek. As a teenager it was a great place to bring the boys from other houses from miles away to make out in the dark feeling invincible.

Since my grandfather died, the corn died and so did the business, slowly following was the house. I was miles away from any other living creature. It seemed the insects didn’t dare come out. Would the silence of this night be my last farewell?

I neared the object that slowly seemed to breath. Each breath it sent out colors of yellows and oranges. They tossed me nearby. The reaction of the sphere pulsated blinding me with each beat.

“Welcome to the Scratchers.” I heard inside my head before the light overcame me.

Its like a dream to go to chosen victims windows using my foreign fingers to wake them up. To scare them is a thrill. I’m not quite myself anymore. To be human was a memory. But now feeling the life in my hands as I drag men and women out of their homes to use them for questionable experiments. My organs were harvested, my blood replaced. Its okay now to scratch during the night. If you ever hear the scratching my advice to you is to never answer.

I hope you enjoyed!