Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Dave Adair, Author of Random Lucidity

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Today we are interviewing Dave Adair, author of Random Lucidity.
Tell us a bit about yourself.
I have been writing in one form or another for almost 30 years. I live a very normal life in Pittsburgh with a tremendous family and lots of great friends. They all have been very patient with me as I promote Random Lucidity!

Describe the plot of Random Lucidity in a few sentences.

A struggling literary agent stumbles across a troubled man writing a masterful murder mystery. As he pursues the story, the project and his real life’s aspirations crash together in a remarkable fashion.

Who do you think would most appreciate Random Lucidity?

Anyone who has a dream, once had a dream or expects to pursue a dream in the future would enjoy this book. Also, anyone who likes to try to figure out plot twists and enjoys it when they guess wrong.

Random Lucidity is unique in that it has elements of mystery/thriller as well as literary fiction. What inspired you to incorporate elements from multiple genres?
It was initially intended to be a fairly strictly literary fiction. But, to be frank, I got bored after a while with where the story was heading. And, unbeknownst to me before I tackled this project, when I get bored, I go to some dark places.

Tell us a bit about the protagonist, Reggie.
Reggie is a guy that has the ability and drive to be anything he wants to be, but lacks the self-confidence to take the big step toward his goal. He’ll take several small steps in that direction, but simply can’t get out of his own way. Like many of us, if he would just open his eyes and see what is right in front of him, he would be able to get to where he wants to be … and with the girl he wants to be with.

Who was your favorite character to write?

I enjoyed writing Johnson Rambling. He quite literally came out of left field and is the only character that I can honestly say is completely foreign to me. I had no image of anyone in my life – past or present – to model him after, which made his development a very liberal experience for me.

Are there any authors who have influenced your writing style?
To be honest, I don’t read a ton of fiction. I am far more influenced by the writing of Bruce Springsteen or the Eagles than any classic or contemporary authors. I like the visual and emotional connection you get from Springsteen songs and lyrics. They can reel you in and hang on to you for a very long time.

What do you have in mind for your next project?

I’m about half way through with my next book. I am at the point that I have to decide if it will include characters from Random Lucidity or not. Lots of my readers want a sequel, but I’m not sure those characters are quite ready for another adventure. They must be exhausted!

Is there anything else you'd like potential readers to know about your book?
Just two things: first, it has been well received by reviewers and other authors. People seem to really enjoy the story. And second, this is just the beginning for me. You can expect about one quality book per year from me from here on out.

An excerpt from Random Lucidity:

A slight breeze brushed past Reggie’s cheeks on a chilly fall afternoon as he made his way from his new office space on 18th street to his apartment on 32nd. It was noon and the breeze was cool enough to send a shiver down his spine. The first shiver of fall. The first sign that winter soon would be upon him, and along with it would come the most miserable four or five months of the year.
     Cruising along, trying desperately not to feel the cold – “Think like you’re at the beach,” he’d say to himself for the first of what would shortly be dozens of times – Reggie decided to prove that mind was tougher than matter, and he took the longer way home through Ricky Grant Park, which was named after a young boy at some point in the past that was killed during a sled-riding accident on Sycamore Hill. More accurately, he was killed at the bottom of Sycamore Hill … underneath a Ford pickup to be even more exact. Yet another reason winter sucks, Reggie thought to himself. The brisk walk and his thoughts turning back to his big project kept him warm.
     Buoyed by the progress of the remodeling taking place at his new office – the future home of Hatcher Literary Associates, Inc. – Reggie mulled the idea for signage out front. It should be classy, he figured. Using some soft colors to mark the HLA and maybe black or silver around the edges. Forget that he had no clients and about the same number of prospective clients. He knew few would-be authors, and fewer still that would be willing to give him a cut of their earnings, if, by chance, they would have any. The sign had to be right. The sign made it real. Forget the cool $2,500 he spent for the first two months’ rent, and the $5,000 he borrowed for the remodeling. And the dwindling savings to support himself while he chased this disorganized dream. None of it mattered. The sign would make it real, for sure.
     Checking out signage in the park, Reggie was particularly interested in the plaque honoring poor, pitiful Ricky Grant. According to the square blue sign, engraved and outlined in gold, young Ricky died when he was just 11 years old. The plaque was dedicated by the “Friends of Ricky,” presumably, the same kids who shoved him down that hill with nothing between him and the street.
     Admiring the worn aspects of the sign and wondering aloud about how cool a sign like that would look out front of HLA, Reggie was interrupted by a sharp but controlled voice from the bench just a few feet to his left.
     “Quiet, please. Quiet please.”
     “Oh, sorry,” Reggie replied, turning to greet this stranger. “I didn’t see you there.”
     “Quiet, please. Quiet, please.”
     “OK. Sorry.” At that Reggie, agitated and embarrassed for his willingness to back away so quickly, moved on. Glancing back, he noticed that the aggravated park patron was a man about his age, wearing a ball cap backwards and a light blue running suit, his nose buried into a spiral bound notebook. He was writing furiously, like a man in a race to complete each sentence faster than the previous one. His left arm jerked angrily forward and back from the force of his movement. If he was writing anything other than gibberish, it would be impossible to decipher, Reggie thought.
     The young man temporarily suspended his madness and looked directly into Reggie’s eyes. They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. He then went back to his excruciating work. At that, Reggie became slightly uneasy about the prospect of encountering this troubled individual again. It was time to move on toward home.
More Information
Buy Random Lucidity on Amazon

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