Monday, July 7, 2025

INTERVIEW WITH C.R. REARDON (ELECTRIC TITAN)

 


 Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview


1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.

 My main character, Rosa Viviani, is a high school senior and is one of the only people on Saturn's moon, Titan, who uses a hoverchair. I came up with the idea for her because I have watched movies where the character is a white man in a wheelchair, but I have never seen a brown girl. Culture has made a lot of progress in promoting minorities, but for the handicapped, it always seems to go back to the default of a white man. I was inspired to create her mystical side when I read a short story by Damon Foster Wallace. In the short story, he talks about how if you had a silk rope to tie your tarot cards and you had a very expensive bag to put them in, and if you took that religion more seriously than anything, how is that different from Christianity or Islam or Judaism? And the third thing about the character, I wanted to make her more three-dimensional, so I gave her a hobby. I was inspired by reading The Bell Jar by my favorite poet, Sylvia Plath, and writing an article about disability fashion. After that, I paid close attention to the colors and styles that people happen to wear. Fashion is how they happen to the world and how the world happens to them. So I decided to make her a fashionista.

2. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?

I'm an atheist who believes most things can be explained away, but having survived a brain tumor and my oxygen levels dropping to 14, I would say I'm much more open to the possibility of something paranormal than most atheists--and even most people, for that matter. There are coincidences that you hear on TV or on the internet that really make you think, though, so I don't know. I just believe religious institutions are bad, but faith is a good thing for people to have. Besides my health experiences, I have had no encounters with the paranormal. Maybe it's because I didn't open myself up to it. I was born on a June, FRIDAY the 13th, though.

3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?

Oh gosh, I've been working on this book since I saw the movie Alita: Battle Angel. So it's been a while, lol. I think I’m going to take a little bit of a break. But I already have a prequel of linked short stories. And I might try to get that out relatively quickly. I also have an idea for a sequel to this book. And then I started researching a book about a family from Vietnam. And another one about a disabled man who has to move from his home and is tricked by an online scam.  So, I don't know. We'll see what happens. 



Electric Titan
C.R. Reardon

Genre: Science Fiction, Young Adult, Disability
Publisher: C.R.  Reardon
Date of Publication: 6/13/1986
ISBN: 979-8-9920346-0-8
ASIN: B0F44JVWL9
Number of pages: 225
Word Count: 64,117 
Cover Artist: Sofia Sanz

Tagline: 17-year-old Rosa Viviani grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.

Book Description:

Rosa Viviani, a seventeen-year-old girl living in the utopian colony of Civigem on Saturn’s moon Titan, faces a series of life-altering events. In a society where disability has been eradicated through genetic engineering, Rosa becomes one of the few individuals who must navigate life with a hoverchair. As she grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.

Amidst the chaos, Rosa's connection to an ancient Earth religion awakens within her a mystical power that could save Civigem from the impending catastrophe. Guided by the wisdom of goddesses and unwavering support from her parents and girlfriend, Rosa embarks on a journey of self-discovery, confronting her fears and insecurities while learning to harness her newfound abilities. As the meteor's impact looms closer, Rosa must confront the limitations of her powers, the fragility of life, and the complexities of love in a society that has long forgotten the meaning of community.

In a race against time, Rosa's journey becomes a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the power of love, and the importance of embracing life's uncertainties. As she confronts the impending apocalypse, Rosa's story challenges the utopian ideals of Civigem, exposing the deep-seated prejudices and the hidden costs of a society that has long suppressed the natural diversity of human existence.

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Excerpt: Day 1

When I first used my hoverchair, nobody told me about the unexpectedness. I didn’t know I’d be the only young woman on Titan using one. When I’d run my last Convalor, climb my last staircase to a house. Traverse a ravine’s rocks. I wish I could have readied myself for things like my last walk with my dad along the lakeshore, but life doesn’t always give us time to prepare.

Dark brown clouds slit the dusky morning sky. I lay in bed reading Village Sisters on my tabicus, trying to learn what life would be like for me in a hoverchair. The Village Sisters was written on Earth about the bond between an African-Japanese beauty queen and her best friend, who broke her spine in a tsunami.

An empty frame hung in front of my bed next to the window. I didn’t want to see me standing with my friends at Lucky’s Tavern. The obligatory smiles and people I barely knew now felt like a past life. The picture was only a year old, but still.

I always kept sunflowers on the table beside my bed to brighten my mood. Next to the sunflowers, my elegant ballerina motivated me to strive for grace and good posture. The best thing I ever got from the Keller Aviary was a fluffy, stuffed butterfly that I named Ms. Monarch and rested on my bed. Like many times since the incident, I embraced her and squeezed tight.

Then, just before the announcement, a tingling shot down my right arm. Was I numb from squeezing Ms. Monarch too hard? Was it a side effect of the surgery? It felt like hot wax on my skin–but somehow empowering?

My body jerked upright. My arm swung like a directional arrow. I had no control of it.

My hand and arm lined up with a Faberge egg on my dresser. It was a family heirloom passed down to my dad’s disabled relative. This, in part, is why I believe our lives are echoes of our ancestors. We’re the same stars, just moving through different galaxies.

The heirloom navigated our solar system aboard the U.S.S. Freedom. The maroon and gold Faberge egg rattled out of its four pure white supports, fell to the floor, and shattered.

I thought someone might’ve bumped into my dresser the night before. Maybe they nudged it off its axis, and that’s why it toppled over this morning.

The pneumonia rains started, and I was content watching them splatter the bubble and cascade down, but we all know what happens now.

The Urgent News banner appeared on my tabicus. I turned the volume up. Remember that image? The mayor drooped like a geranium.

“Fellow citizens, I come to you today with the heaviest of hearts. I sincerely hope that every individual heed this news with the understanding that the best course of action for every life was attempted.” Her shoulders rose and fell like the Magic Islands. “Several weeks ago, a volcano on Jupiter’s moon Io dispelled lava that somehow escaped its gravitational pull and froze, hurtling it into space. This is the meteor I’m sure many of you have heard about on the news. The meteor is one point-six kilometers in diameter and travels at a speed of thirty-six kilometers per second. I regret to inform you that it is headed directly for Titan, and it’s too late to stop it.

“The meteor will make an impact with Titan in six days and destroy everything, including our beloved–” I felt so bad for her when her voice cracked, and she began to tear up. “Civigem.”

 

About the Author:

A brain tumor survivor since the age of 8, and handicapped since the age of 10, C.R. Reardon is now 39 years old. He fell in love with creative writing after writing a poem about these hardships in the 7th grade. Since then, he has self-published four books of poetry: DisablĂ©  (2025), Born on Friday the 13th (2018), Torghatten (2016), and Hard Polish (2013). After 2 years at The University of Arizona, C.R. graduated from Stonehill College in 2009 and earned his Master's degree in English from Salem State University in 2011.

His screenplay Lagom (the Swedish word for 'just the right amount') was a finalist for best screenplay at the 2017 Massachusetts Independent Film Festival, as well as the 2015 Catalina Film Festival.  In 2016 my screenplay Spawning Neon was a semi-finalist at the 16th annual Awareness Film Festival.









INTERVIEW with CHRISTINE AMSDEN ( KNOT OF SOULS)


Today we welcome Christine Amsden to the page to answer our three favourite questions:

Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview


1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.


There are two main characters in this book, Joy and Shade. 

Strangely, I was reading a writing how-to book called  Story Genius as I drafted this novel, and Story Genius is of the opinion that stories have one main character. They said that even if a story seems to have more than one, if you think about it, there’s a main main character. They provided examples. It seemed somewhat compelling, but … What if both characters are sharing the same body?

Joy is a 23-year-old human woman from the Kansas City area (that’s the skyline on the cover). She’s incredibly kind, a real nurturer, spending her free time serving at a homeless shelter or just baking sweets for a coworker who’s feeling down. She’s also … at least at the beginning … not very assertive. Which is maybe why, when Shade first possesses her, she hides instead of fighting. 

Shade is an incorporeal being who has recently been accused of murdering his own maker (Queen of the Fae). Which doesn’t make him the main main character, but it does make him the inciting character. He’s the one fleeing judgment. He goes to Kansas City where he once lived as a human and had a human child. He sees one of his own descendants (Joy), dying, her soul leaving her body. And there he chooses to hide, not because it’s convenient (in some ways it isn’t), but because he’s always cared about family. 

At first, Shade and Joy seem to be opposites, but actually, they’re complements. Both are defined by past trauma, one powerful but in need of learning to trust, the other trusting but in need of claiming power. 

Together, they work magic. Literally and figuratively. I hope you enjoy their story!

2. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?

Like Shade and Joy (and a lot of people, really), I’ve had to deal with trauma. In my case, I’ve found fantasy to be an empowering escape into a world where I can be anything and do anything. What I didn’t expect, as I grew up, was that believing in a fantasy, even in a suspension-of-disbelief sort of way, has power in the real world. I used to be unassertive, but now I work in politics of all things, advocating for others. When I think back to the me of my childhood, that does seem a little like magic. 

3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?

Full disclosure: I’m only working on short stories right now. I’ve learned from long experience that writing a novel while I’m actively promoting a novel is a bad idea … it all gets in my head in a bad way. In a few months,, though, I hope to return to writing my first ever young adult novel which will, in part, share my personal experience with vision loss. 


Knot of Souls
Christine Amsden

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Christine Amsden
Date of Publication: May 20, 2025
ISBN: 979-8283019284
ASIN: B0F7Y8YST6
Number of pages: 384
Word Count: 102,000
Cover Artist: BZN Studio Designs

Book Description:

Two souls, one body … 

When Joy wakes up in an alley, she knows three things: she was brutally murdered, she has somehow come back to life ... and she is not alone. She’s been possessed by an inhuman presence, a being that has taken over her dying body. That being is powerful, in pain, and on the run from entities more dangerous than he is.

Shade, a Fae prince on the run, didn’t mean to share the body he jumped into. Desperate and afraid, accused of a murder he didn’t commit, he only sought a place to hide—but if he leaves Joy now, he faces discovery and a fate worse than death.

Forced to work together to solve multiple murders, including her own, Joy and Shade discover hidden strengths and an unlikely friendship. Yet as their souls become increasingly intertwined, they realize their true danger might come from each other … and if they don't find a way to untangle the knot their souls have become, then even the truth won't set them free.

Knot of Souls is a stand-alone buddy love fantasy that forces two very different beings to work together … and come out stronger on the other side.

Free Through Kindle Unlimited

Amazon

Excerpt Chapter 1

Joy


The first thing I realized, after I died, was that my body could walk and talk and no longer needed my help for any of it. I was in there, able to look through my eyes and hear through my ears, but even the simple task of aiming my gaze had slipped outside my control. I was a passenger inside my own mind, an observer along for the ride.

Kristen had been right, I thought numbly as I struggled to make sense of my new reality. Had it only been lunchtime today when she’d told me I’d never get ahead if I didn’t learn to assert myself? “Take control of your life,” she’d said, “or others will take it for you.”

She couldn’t have been thinking of anything quite so literal. Whatever was happening to me, it wasn’t because I’d failed to advocate for a promotion at work or refused to ask out a coworker.

Right?

My body reached my car and slid behind the wheel. A rattled thought—not my own—cursed as it tried to understand how the contraption worked. How much can cars have changed in only a century? Visions accompanied the thoughts, memories—again not my own—of a classic car, gleaming black and elegant, its top down, my bobbed hair whipping around my face as I laughed with glee, a white-faced young man at my side gripping the door, begging me to slow down. I did not.

Which brings me to the second thing I realized, after I died: I was no longer alone inside my own mind.

Whoever was in there didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. Fine. I slid into the smallest corner of my brain I could find, ignoring the intruder as they struggled to figure out how to work an automatic transmission. Maybe they’d get frustrated and give up and go find someone else’s body to possess.

Holy shit! I’ve been possessed by the ghost of someone who died in like 1930.

But why?

I tried to remember what had happened, but the images danced just out of reach. I recalled that the night had been unseasonably cold for October, the chill biting through my inadequate jacket as I hurried to my car, parked in a garage two blocks away from the shelter where I’d been volunteering. Hugging my arms around my torso for warmth, I took a shortcut through an alley and …

There was a noise. I’d startled, my heart pounding in my throat, already on edge because of the argument.

Wait. Back up. There’d been an argument. That seemed significant, but my scattered thoughts couldn’t piece it together as yet, not when a bodily intruder fumbled at the gearshift of my two-month-old Hyundai Accent with only fifty-eight “low monthly payments” left to go.

Low is such a relative word.

My beautiful new, inexpensive (also relative) car jerked suddenly backwards out of its parking spot as the voice in my head grew angrier and more frustrated and … afraid. I saw flashes, images I didn’t understand of multi-colored ghosts who seemed to be singing. The more they sang, the more desperate I felt as fear, my own and somehow not my own, made it hard to breathe.

We streaked across the nearly empty parking lot in reverse, almost colliding with the only other vehicle in the place—a red SUV with scratched paint and a dented front bumper suggesting it regularly attracted unwanted attention from other cars. I tried to scream, but didn’t have control of my voice. I tried to hit the brakes, but instead the possessing spirit shifted from reverse to drive without stopping. The grinding of gears made me want to weep, but we came to a stop, breathing heavily, muscles tensed as if in expectation of attack.

They destroyed her. They tore her apart.

I had no time to wonder what any of that meant before the thing possessing my body channeled its anger and grief into a force I’d never experienced or even known existed. One second, the battered red SUV was parked inches from my back bumper, the next, it flew through the air, smashing against a far wall, its frame crumpling like an accordion.

I tried to make myself even smaller, a nearly impossible feat, but I couldn’t let it know I was in here. If it could do that to an SUV, I didn’t want to think about what it might be able to do to me.

Now what?

For one, panic-filled moment, I thought I’d asked the question. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one trying to figure things out.

My car rolled forward again, its speed uneven, first too fast and then—I slammed on the brakes. Well, maybe I didn’t do it, maybe the thing inside me had the same idea as me, but the car skidded to a halt so it just kissed a large concrete pillar. At least it’s just the paint, I tried to tell myself, but rage welled up within me and my fist slammed into the center of the steering wheel, eliciting an angry honk.

An ominous crack formed in the concrete pillar, more evidence, in case I needed it, that the thing invading my body had powers beyond belief. Then came more rattled thoughts that were definitely not my own:

Who thought it was a good idea to build obstacle courses in the sky? Is there not enough room on the ground? Too damn many humans …

Once again, I drew away from the voice in my head. If I hadn’t lost all connection to my body, I’d be trembling, but even so, I felt the sort of cold that seeps through to the soul.

The third thing I realized, after I died, was that the thing possessing me wasn’t a ghost. Or at least, not the ghost of a human.

My car backed away from the concrete column and maneuvered around it to continue the winding path down … down … down to the exit.

Where was my body going and why? More importantly, what would happen if I made myself known and asked?

I reeled at the thought, mentally slinking all the way back to the homeless shelter where I’d been volunteering in the hours before my death. I’d had a crappy day and needed to channel that into a sharp reminder that plenty of people had it much, much worse. Their circumstances, their personalities, their trials and tribulations didn’t fit neatly in the lock box some tried to label and forget, but all of them struggled in some way. They needed help, and sometimes I needed to be needed; it helped me feel less alone.

Tonight, though … tonight there’d been a problem. I remembered having a nice chat with one of the regulars, Roger, big-hearted and with a certain excited energy about him. He’d found a job and was working hard to get back on his feet, but he still couldn’t find a place to rent after being evicted from his old apartment. Now, he lived in his car except when the nights grew too cold, and he was always there to lend a helping hand or just to listen. He had a way of getting people to open up, even me.

He’s the one who jumped in when Thomas started getting belligerent, ranting and raving about false witnesses and evil spirits. The whole thing was so sudden and confusing, I’m not even sure how it happened. One second I’m chatting with Roger about the crappy end to a crappy day—accidentally seeing porn on a coworker’s computer—the next Thomas is in my face, grabbing a fistful of my shirt as he accused me of being a liar, of being in league with the demon spirits, demanding I admit that I could see them too. I was off balance;, I don’t know what I said, I only know what I felt. There was a moment when I looked into his eyes and saw fear and desperation reflected back at me. Then he was being dragged away, thrown out of the shelter …

But he hadn’t been the one to sneak up behind me and kill me. I thought he was, at first. When I heard the noise in the alley, I jumped and looked around, sure it would be Thomas. But it was someone else.

No, not someone else, something else. The thing possessing me wasn’t the first nonhuman I’d encountered tonight. That honor belonged to a blur, a shadow, a … the only way I could think to describe it was as if a small child had found a gray crayon and colored over an otherwise human shape.

I knew I’d died. The bright light I’d only heard about—never believed in—had beckoned and I’d known it was over. Dead in a cold alley; would anyone notice before morning? Who would even mourn me? I had few friends and fewer attachments. No husband or kids, not even a boyfriend. My cat would probably find someone else to feed her. Some might say that was a blessing, not to leave anyone behind, but all I saw was lost potential. If only … the words that would follow me into my lonely grave.

Where had the light gone? I’d seen it, I’d hesitated, I’d wondered if there really was a god after all, and then …

… my body was walking and talking and thinking and acting and I was along for the ride.

My beautiful blue car, none the worse for wear, exited the garage without running into anything else and turned onto the empty city street. Fewer cars might mean lower odds of getting into another accident, although it was clear the thing in my body had little experience driving. It swerved left and right, unable to center itself in the lane, and braked suddenly at a flashing yellow stoplight, which bent backwards in reaction.

That’s when I reached the final—and belated—realization of the most bizarre night of my life. (Afterlife?) If I didn’t take over the driving of this vehicle, I’d die. Again. 


About the Author:

Christine Amsden is the author of nine award-winning fantasy and science fiction novels, including the Cassie Scot Series.

Speculative fiction is fun, magical, and imaginative but Christine believes great speculative fiction is about real people defining themselves through extraordinary situations. She writes primarily about people, and it is in this way that she strives to make science fiction and fantasy meaningful for everyone.

In addition to writing, Christine is a freelance editor and political activist. Disability advocacy is of particular interest to her; she has a rare genetic eye condition called Stargardt Macular Degeneration and has been legally blind since the age of eighteen. In her free time, she enjoys role playing, board games, and a good cup of tea. She lives in the Kansas City area with her husband and two kids.







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