I am so excited to introduce you to K. Baskett, on tour with Black Lion Tours! I just love the sound of this book and can't wait to delve into K.'s brain a bit.
Welcome K.! So glad you could join us today.
BK:
Please tell us a little about yourself...
I
work full time as an analyst and part-time teaching college level
classes. My true love is writing though, and I have been thinking
about finishing a novel since the age of 12. No Greater Illusion
is my debut novel, 3 years in the making.
BK:
Please tell us a little about your book....
NO
GREATER ILLUSION
Authored
by K. Baskett
A
number of unacquainted adults, from various walks of life, routinely
enjoy the benefits of residing in a nation where liberty and justice
are among its chief luxuries. Having different statuses of education,
income, and ethnicity, all are suddenly forced to cope firsthand with
the "domino effect" of America's vitriolic reaction to the
assassination of an auspicious female presidential nominee, Gov.
Ceinwen Jarvis. In a day and time where the advancement of technology
allows one's voting status, banking information, and even medical
history to be accessed by microchip scan, they quickly realize that
America - as well as their own lives - will never be the same.
BK:
What inspired you to pen this particular novel?
The
core concept of No Greater Illusion is an idea that I have
toyed with for many years. I remember in college, I used to always
start debates by asking hypothetical questions to other people,
presenting them with various scenarios and trying to learn more about
them and their viewpoints based on their responses. It always
interested me how people could be so sure about something that they
have absolutely no control over. Consider this: Are you sure the sun
will rise tomorrow morning? If you are, think about why. Just because
the sun has always risen each day, doesn’t mean it always will. And
what would you do if it doesn’t?
Without
giving the story away, the events that take place in No Greater
Illusion are situations that really are not far-fetched. I wanted
people to see precisely how their worlds could be turned upside down,
despite any comfort and assurance they are fortunate enough to have
presently.
BK:
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I
have always had an affinity for the written word. My love of books
started while I was still in the womb, and my parents tell me that I
began to read on my own at an astonishingly early age. ;-) I started
writing poetry and short stories in elementary school and attempted
to pen my first novel at the age of 12. It’s funny though -- I am
still getting used to people calling me an “author” or a
“novelist.” It’s like when something you have dreamed of for so
long finally comes true, you still wonder if perhaps you are not
awake. I pinch myself from time to time just to make sure.
BK:
How do you keep your story flowing?
Having
an outline is crucial for me. Before I start to write the book, I
have a framework of every major event that will take place in the
story. This way, I never get snagged on what to write about,
and it helps with the overall cohesion of the story.
BK:
Do you ever run into writer's block, and if so, what do you do to get
past it?
When
I get writer’s block, I just embrace it. Rather than try to force
anything, I walk away from the project entirely until I feel inspired
again, whether that takes hours or weeks. I believe that making
myself write when I am struggling to come up with something means
that I would probably be putting out substandard work. This is why if
something just doesn’t feel right with the flow, I quit and come
back to it another day.
BK:
What is your writing process like? Do you have any quirks, or
must-haves to write?
My
schedule is extremely busy and my calendar is packed to the brim with
appointments and obligations. The only time I can make to write is
very early in the morning, before my typical work day starts. So my
writing process begins with a jangling alarm clock and a question to
myself that pretty much assesses my sanity (i.e., Are you crazy?! Hit
the snooze....). I do not have any quirks, but at the ungodly hour I
rise to begin my writing, I am required to have a steaming cup of
coffee nearby.
BK:
Where do you hope your books/writing will be in the future?
It
would be nice if, in the the future, hordes of people have read No
Greater Illusion, loved it, and told others about it as well. I
also hope that the novel is deemed worthy to snag some awards along
the way. As for my writing, I will do that until the day I die.
Ideally, it will continue to improve and refine over time.
BK:
What do you hope readers will take away from your books?
I
want readers to examine the things they take for granted in this
life, and ask themselves if anything is guaranteed.
BK:
What is one piece of advice you received that you carry with you in
your writing?
One
of the hardest things I have ever done was actually offer No
Greater Illusion to the world. Releasing it was gut-wrenching
because the story is unique and controversial; and I wasn’t sure
how it would be received by the general public. Additionally, I have
put so much of myself into the effort of writing the novel, that I
was worried I might be crushed by any negative feedback. I wasn’t
coping with that too well. Someone very close to me said, “Some
people will absolutely love your novel, some will hate it, and
everything in between. You have to know that you can’t please
everyone.” That was exactly what I needed to hear and I know it to
be absolutely true. I think about that whenever I start to worry
about negative responses. As long as I know I put my best work out
there, I can be alright with whatever people may think. And I have
certainly done that. Whether you love it or hate it, I respect your
opinion, knowing that I have given you my very best.
BK:
What is one piece of advice you would give to new and aspiring
writers?
It
is so simple and definitely cliche: Never Give Up. At times it will
seem like you will never make it to your 80.000 or 100.000
word goal - but you will, as long as you never stop writing. Even if
you have put it down for weeks, or maybe months at a time, that is
nothing to beat yourself up about. Just pick it up again when
inspiration hits and don’t allow the pause to trip you up. One word
at a time will eventually add up to an entire novel. So don’t stop.
BK:
Are you currently working on any new projects? What can we expect
from you in the future?
I
am currently starting rough outlines of my next novel, about an
engaging, likable young man who is facing some large obstacles in his
life and chooses an unconventional way to solve his problems. During
his journey, he will be forced to make tough decisions while his
integrity and moral code is tried at every turn. What he ends up
doing may surprise you, but as the reader you will be with him from
the start.
I
also write short stories. Do What Must Be Done is the first
one, and can be found on Smashwords. It explores what happens when
mild curiosity about someone else turns dangerous. Additionally, I am
working on a second short story called The Golden Visit -
still in the very early stages; but I can tell you it is about a man
who is willing to do anything for his wife. All of my short stories,
will always be offered as free downloads.
BK:
Where can readers find you?
I
am on several Social Media sites, and I very much enjoy connecting
with readers:
Thank
you so much for taking time to chat with me today. It's been a
pleasure having you and I wish you much success in the future.
THAT NIGHT, I BECAME an eye witness to murder. The cop who pulled the trigger might have claimed it was “self-defense” or “protection from an imminent threat,” but all I saw was a 90-pound woman brandishing a lug wrench that was almost too heavy for her to lift.
“Conspiracy!” she yelled at the top of her lungs and used all of her might to swing the weapon at a nearby car, shattering the driver’s side window.
“Stand down,” ordered the nearest police officer in a booming voice, as he and countless others surveyed the entire riot scene unfolding before us.
“Never. We want justice,” the lady screamed, successfully breaking out the rear passenger’s side window this time. The officer made a move toward the woman and she turned to him, struggling for purchase as she raised the lug wrench over her head. A crazed expression morphed her face into a vacant wasteland, so that she appeared to be gazing at and through the officer at the same time, eyes and mouth sloping downward, gaping. She looked to be coming straight from the office, dressed conservatively in a pencil skirt and high heels, which I noticed because they were so inappropriate. Skinny as the tool in her hands, she posed little to no physical threat and could have easily been subdued by some other method, so I was surprised when the police officer drew his gun.
“I’m warning you. Stand down,” the officer growled, his eyes two hard pebbles of flint, sparking as he aimed the gun squarely at the woman’s heart.
She moved with no forewarning and surprising quickness. Like a lioness, she pounced, and got close enough to the officer to be able to see the color of his eyes before he fired his weapon. It was nothing like in the movies. His gun made more of a popping sound rather than a loud bang. In all the noise it could have been mistaken for something else, like a car backfiring or a tire exploding. She collapsed instantly, freefalling, slamming to the pavement with so much force her body seemed to bounce once before landing in a final thud, facedown, her fist still clutching a tool used for changing flat tires. Her entire back was a mass of gore from the exit wound, blood so dark it looked black in the low light, soaking her smart silk blouse and pooling around her body in an ever expanding puddle.
Even in the midst of the mayhem, there seemed to be an almost pure silence that descended over the immediate circle of people surrounding the woman’s corpse. Their stillness attracted even more attention than the gunshot and the crowd around the fallen woman grew. The officer began to slowly back up, a look of dread on his face. He spoke into his shoulder radio, “Two-forty-eight requesting backup at Sixth and Watson. Code thirty. I repeat: I need units at Sixth and Watson, immediately.”
The officer’s call for backup shifted the crowd’s focus from the dead woman to him.
“He did it,” someone spoke clearly from the group. “The cop.”
The officer continued to step backward, gingerly almost.
Another yell came from my right. “Ol’ racist ass cop!”
The crowd closed in and began to slowly advance toward the officer. I stood on the perimeter, not sure if I wanted to get involved.
“Fall back,” the officer ordered, pointing his gun into the crowd now, aiming in the general direction from where the slur came.
Various shouts rang out in response, more people getting agitated now and too many of them yelling at once to clearly decipher any one phrase.
“I will not hesitate to discharge my weapon,” he warned.
We see that, I thought. Obviously he was ready to pull the trigger yet again.
The closer the crowd got, the more the officer seemed to be losing his aura of authority, his confidence getting smothered by fear, his eyes now showing uncertainty where before there was boldness. Not a soul had responded to his call for backup. The city’s police force was sorely understaffed and everyone knew that in this chaos there weren’t nearly enough officers to go around. The gun trembled slightly in his hand as he pointed it at the closest target, a young black man in his early twenties advancing to the front of the crowd. He was shirtless, wearing nothing above the waist but several large black tattoos, his athletic body coiled with intent.
“Crooked cops,” the young man stated passionately, as a matter of fact. “I fucking hate the police.” He glanced back at the others and raised his voice with that last statement.
They thundered their hearty agreement.
“So what we gonna do about this racist motha fucka?” the young man snarled, having assumed leadership of the crowd by their earlier assent.
“Don’t try me,” the officer shrieked. He made another useless call for backup, panicked and on edge. The crowd had backed him into a wall and like any cornered animal he was ready to attack.
“Grab him!” The suggestion came in the form of a growl.
The young man sprang forward, all that tension uncoiling from his chiseled muscles in a single smooth leap. With a wild look in his eye, the officer pulled the trigger. In his agitation, he actually missed the young leader and instead his bullet found someone else who screamed out in agony as their flesh was torn. This indiscriminate shooting incited the crowd even more, and in the time it took the cop to fire another shot into the group, he was completely buried under a pile of angry bodies, swarming around him like bees to the hive.
