From Dormouse to Santa Ynez Valley Star

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As a kid, I was terribly shy. So my mom–showing sensitivity and understanding for my inherent shyness–threw me head first into a summer drama program.

I started out on a large stage in the small role of the Dormouse in Alice in Wonderland at the Solvang Theaterfest.  I moved on to play a street urchin in Oliver!  Despite my height as a youth, I even had a role as a dwarf in The Hobbit before eventually getting a lead role as Gerda in The Snow Queen.  In other words, I had the shy beaten out of me, one play at a time. 

I’m now an extroverted introvert who begins conversations with others, can network and even speak in public, though my stomach still gets all tied up in knots every darned time I step on a stage.

The good thing is, I actually like talking to people now. I even like talking to reporters, most of the time.  So I guess, after all of these years, I am thankful to mom, to the drama teacher Maria Bland and her opera singing brother Jo, who taught me to use my voice. I’m also thankful to that motley crew of fellow youth actors who bolstered my confidence in those early years in the Santa Ynez Valley.

You need a voice in life after all, especially if you want to be a known author.

Right now I’m a known author to a small but growing circle of  readers, family and friends. I wouldn’t mind being a star. Or at least mentioned in the Santa Ynez Valley Star. 

Mission accomplished! (SEE BELOW)

Thank you home town paper! Question is, after reading this interview, do you feel like continuing the reading experience by ordering my novel? That would be the true test. 

Chapter One

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17311457_10154268386862213_983549551_oSo you’ve happened upon my blog. Welcome and I’m glad you found me! In a nutshell, I’m an indie author and I write contemporary romance with an eco-conscience. Today I have decided to share Chapter 1 of The Things We Said in Venice, my second novel that just came out this spring. Consider it a long teaser.

Because I’ve been influenced by Dutch directness, I’ll be direct; if you like what you read, you can order a new copy of The Things We Said in Venice here, now, as in today, in both Kindle or Paperback by clicking this link. Why the directness? Because stories are written to be . . . well. . . read. Of course if you live in Great Britain the Amazon UK site is best and if you live anywhere else in Europe the Amazon Germany site is best (cheaper shipping). You can also read reviews on the Amazon US site, see press on the press link of my blog, or Google it. Here’s that teaser . . .

The Things We Said in Venice
Chapter 1
Sarah

While the locals shuffle carefully over the snow-slicked sidewalks, Sarah runs like a mad woman toward the Belluno station. I will not miss this one, she chants in time to the distant, yet steady clickety-clack of the train’s metal wheels gliding over tracks. She picks up her pace, the icy air burning her nostrils, the straps of her pack chafing her shoulders despite her thick winter layers.

She cuts through the abandoned village park, her laborious movements at odds with the utter stillness as Belluno train station finally pops into view. As she slows her pace, her body relays physical complaints to her mind: the surprising weight of her backpack cutting into her shoulders, the ache of ice-cold air in her lungs, the burning sensation of snowflakes on her cheeks.

When she comes to a standstill, a rush of heat explodes through her body. Moments later, perspiration builds beneath her thick winter layers, cooling her down. Damp curls form a blanket of cold around her neck. She shakes her head involuntarily as the first shiver crawls up her spine.

As means of distraction, Sarah people watches, though the pickings are slim—a thickly built woman holding the hand of a stout, large-eared boy, presumably her son, and an older, clean-shaven man in military uniform. All three sport dry hair.

By the time the train pulls into the station and Sarah hears the familiar hiss of the doors opening, her teeth are chattering. She finds a free place in the third railcar and finally unstraps the cumbersome backpack, setting it in the seat beside her. The whistle sounds and the train is about to take off, but it doesn’t. There is some sort of commotion. The doors open and close again. She can hear two men talking, perhaps the conductor and a male passenger. Although she can’t make out the words, one voice is laced with tension and a bit too loud. The other voice, which she assumes belongs to the conductor, remains calm.

Back home, she would need to know why the doors had to open once more and what these men are discussing. But in the past four weeks of free-wheeling through western Europe on her own, she has adjusted her way of responding to things beyond her control. She has learned to let go. It is so different from how she acts at home that she has given her newfound skill a name: European Style Detachment.

Her feet and hands begin to return to body temperature as the train finally leaves the station. She leans into her large backpack and closes her eyes. She feels a slight pulsing in her subconscious, like an alarm clock going off in the neighboring hotel room; something you hear, but can choose to ignore. Except that she can’t. Something’s not right. It could be that slightly angry conversation she overheard, or it could be that the bag she is leaning into doesn’t smell like her bag. It has the faint scent of cinnamon and musk tinged with sweat; the scent of a man.

Sarah straightens in her seat, scrutinizing the travel backpack as one might scrutinize a naked stranger you have unwittingly brought into your bed—curiosity tempered with fear. It is black like hers. It has the white North Face logo of her bag and the same rainbow strap she put on it to differentiate her black bag from all the other black bags of the world. But isn’t the strap in a different place? And come to think of it, it felt heavier than her bag when she was sprinting to the train station.

Maybe it smells so manly from being in the pile of luggage where she stashed it while she grabbed a brioche at the café. Or, it could have been shuffled around in the compartment beneath the shuttle bus from Cortina to Belluno; cologne from a man’s bag spilling on hers.

I’m being ridiculous, she tells herself. But she unbuckles the exterior straps anyway and peers into the top compartment.

“Oh my God!” Sarah exclaims as she shuffles through the doppelganger of her bag. Several passengers turn toward her momentarily and then look away, exemplifying European Style Detachment. At the top of the backpack is a photography magazine written in what she thinks must be German. She pushes aside the magazine, revealing an impressive stash of Cote d’Or chocolate bars in their distinctive red and gold cardboard wrappers, cloth handkerchiefs in a Ziploc bag, a leather-bound journal, water, men’s plaid underwear size XL, slacks, long sleeve shirts, pants and thick woolen socks. On the inside tag of the top compartment is a name written in black permanent marker: Fokke van der Veld. She stops her search and pushes the bag away in shock. How the hell did this happen?

It has stopped snowing outside and sun reflects off the whitened fields, punching into the window. Sarah reaches automatically into the side pocket for her sunglasses, but of course they’re not there. Her mother is in a thick pea coat, wearing Sarah’s missing sunglasses and deathly blue lipstick that promises to make her forthcoming tirade all the graver:

What are you going to do now Sarah? You should have taken your time in Cortina d’Ampezzo to make sure you had your own bag! Your passport, your money, your iPad. Everything is in that bag! You could be mistaken for a terrorist and thrown in prison for traveling without identification.

The locals say Cortina, not Cortina d’Ampezzo, Sarah counters. As a school counselor, she is well aware it’s abnormal to be seeing visions of her mother in her head, not to mention silently conversing with her. But as usual, mom’s got a point. Sarah thinks about Italian corruption, envisions a musty 17th century prison cell with a mangy rat family in one corner and instruments of torture in the other. She stands suddenly, wanting to take action; wanting her mom to shut up. She has thirty euros in her jacket pocket along with the train ticket and the address of the hotel in Treviso where she will be staying. That’s at least something. But how on earth is she going to get her bag back? And who the hell is Fokke van der Veld?

END CHAPTER ONE

Did you enjoy this teaser? You can continue reading by ordering a copy of The Things We Said in Venice in Kindle or Paperback by clicking this link. Please help support this author by purchasing a new copy. Authors get no royalties from second hand books. Royalties help support authors and encourage them to keep writing.

THANK YOU FOR READING.

Yours truly,

Kristin Anderson

 

 

 

What a Book Launch Looks Like

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Weekend before last, it was finally here; my book launch of The Things We Said in Venice at the American Book Center in The Hague.  Thank you friends, book lovers and friendly strangers who filled the room with energy, listened to the Q&A, asked questions, purchased my novel and supported me as an author. In case you missed the launch, here are a few photos.

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Bo Rodenhuis, local teacher and speaker does a Q&A with the author (me!) Photo: Mischa van den Brandhof

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Taking questions from the audience (Photo: Mischa van den Brandhof)

 

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Signing a copy of The Things We Said in Venice for Dr. Ute Limacher

 

 

Based on my face, Ms. Rodenhuis must have just asked a surprising question!

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Kristin Anderson reading from her novel The Things We Said in Venice

Author Kristin Anderson and Q&A leader Bo Rodenhuis relaxing after the event

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From left to right: Author Kristin Anderson, pianist Guy Livingston, author NJ Simmonds (her book signing for her novel The Path Keeper is June 1st at the American Book Center!) and baby masseuse Floor Tuinstra.

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Kristin with Hague dentist Renu Sani

Didn’t get a chance to make it to the book release? That’s okay. There are more events planned, like participation in Parelroute in Bezuidenhout, where I will talk about how living in The Hague influenced the context of my novel. Parelroute is Saturday, June 24th, 2017.

Just want a live link for an instant gratification purchase? Here you go.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end!

 

 

 

An Author Without Readers is Like a . . .

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An author without readers is like a Thanksgiving dinner without anyone to join in the feast. If you have prepared such an extravagant meal, you know all that goes into it. You get out all those cherished recipes and introduce new ones, develop the menu, do the shopping, invite the guests–all that before you even start cooking. I haven’t even mentioned cleaning the house or decorating the table.

Imagine a book as a meal that was two years in the making. Some of the dishes–cranberry sauce, turkey or ham (or vegan option), stuffing, pecan pie–remain the same. In my genre of contemporary romance the core ingredients translate to two people who we hope will fall in love, obstacles and suspense along the way and eventually a happily ever after or some version thereof. But all of the dishes are reinvented each time.

I created a world for my two main characters as well as a host of sub characters and took them on a journey throughout Europe. A core group of readers experienced the story and provided feedback. I re-wrote and revised. Finally, the story was complete and I invited guests to the table.

And you showed up! Not only did you show up, but just like a Thanksgiving dinner, you devoured my years of hard work in a matter of days. Some of you took the time to write reviews of your experience, with the hope of encouraging others to read my novel. And I can’t thank you enough!

Just like a restaurant needs new customers to stay open, an author not only needs their core readers, but also needs to reach new readers outside of their circle. This can help them establish enough of a readership for them to step more fully into the role of author. In other words: Enjoy a book? Don’t forget to tell your friends.

On that note, I have selected two customer reviews of The Things We Said in Venice listed on Amazon.com to share with you. One from author Francis Guenette and one from a male reader. You can see all of the current reviews by clicking on this link.

HERE ARE TWO CUSTOMER REVIEWS

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Real people involved in real life struggles against the backdrop of some wonderful tourist locales – The Things We Said in Venice – is not your typical bodice-ripping romance, though there are some steamy spots to keep things interesting! Not to mention language mishaps that will have most readers in stitches.

Sarah – betrayed in a marriage that wasn’t all that great to begin with; Fokke – similarly betrayed but also denied his dream of fatherhood – the author manages to make these two characters refreshingly unique while at the same time, making them real people that many readers will relate to. Sarah’s penchant for fuzzy pink clothing and Fokke’s chair collection, quirky traits but ultimately endearing and memorable.

Things to love about this book: enough suspense to keep the reader going, authentic relationships and issues, travel adventures, an exploration of an unlikely pair of people meeting in a serendipitous way and maybe having a shot at being more than a traveller’s fling. You’ll have to read Kristen Anderson’s book to find out!

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Yes, I admit it. I am a man and I read romance novels. Sometimes of the trashy variety and sometimes more sub genre specific, but I loved “Green” by Kristin Anderson, so I couldn’t wait to read “The Things We Said in Venice”.

The story is captivating and full of great tidbits for those of us who enjoy traveling the world, but my favorite things about the book are the depth of the characters and how the subtle message of social responsibility with respect to living in harmony with our planet is woven into the narrative.

Most of all, I think that the author really “gets” men. So often in romance stories men are portrayed as emotionally unreadable billionaire types or controlling jerks who want to dominate their women. The male lead character, Fokke, is none of these things, but a real man that the gender can identify with. Our heroine, Sarah, has been through so much yet she is strong, determined, independent and burns with inner beauty. This is what real men are drawn to.

And so, Kristin Anderson has done it again: Drawn me into a world of characters that I came to love and care about in the span of two days; all while subliminally weaving ideas into my mind that small changes in my lifestyle with respect to my effect on the planet can make a tangible difference in how we all live well in this world.

I can’t wait for the next story…


17311457_10154268386862213_983549551_oU.S. readers can order a copy of the The Things We Said in Venice here. If you live in the UK, click here to order. Anywhere else in Europe, it makes the most sense to order the print copy from Amazon Germany. Kindle version is available in all Amazon stores.

Book release is Saturday, May 20th, 2017
American Book Center in The Hague
Lange Poten 23
from 15.00-17.00