Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Author Spotlight: LAURA LIBRICZ

I'm so pleased today to be hosting fellow author and Rave Reviews Book Club member Laura Libricz! Laura was born and raised in Bethlehem PA and moved to Upstate New York when she was 22. After working a few years building Steinberger guitars, she received a scholarship to go to college. She tried to ‘do the right thing’ and study something useful, but spent all her time reading German literature. She is now the author of the historical fiction novel The Master and the Maid, book one in a planned trilogy set in 17th century Germany.

 


Intrigued? I am. Here is the blurb:


She’s lost her work, her home and her freedom. Now, harboring a mysterious newborn, she could lose her life.

In 17th Century Germany on the brink of the Thirty Years War, 24-year-old Katarina is traded to the patrician Sebald Tucher by her fiancé Willi Prutt in order to pay his debts. En route to her forced relocation to the Tucher country estate, Katarina is met by a crazed archer, Hans-Wolfgang, carrying a baby under his cloak. He tells her an incredible story of how his beloved was executed by a Jesuit priest for witchcraft right after the birth and makes Katarina—at sword point—swear on her life to protect the child. But protecting the child puts Katarina at risk. She could fall in disfavor with her master. She could be hunted by the zealots who killed his beloved. She could be executed for witchcraft herself. Can Katarina's love for the baby and Sebald Tucher's desire for her keep the wrath of the zealots at bay?

Set in Franconia, The Master and the Maid is an accurate, authentic account of a young woman's life in Germany in the 1600's, her struggle for freedom and her fight for those she loves.



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In the rest of this post, you'll find out more about the author and about her process. Take it away, Laura . . .

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Welcome to Day 5 of my #RRBC “SPOTLIGHT” Author Blog Tour! I would like to thank the RRBC and my host for this wonderful opportunity! Let’s talk about writer’s block today. Now, I don’t believe in writer’s block. When I’m fed up with a project, I like to write flash fiction. It helps me focus and write short, sharp scenes. I’d like to share one of my favorites with you today.


Human

“We’re all human, even when we’re not.”

Humans are the second most dangerous beings on the planet surpassed only by mosquitos, which now spurs me on to renounce my life as it is amongst the fiends and settle in a world inhabited only by less-menacing denizens.

Professor Ott paid the cab driver, turned towards the red-brick entrance to the train station and snorted at the mongrels filing in and out like the brainless livestock they claimed to be superior to. He had lived in the city all his life but would never synchronize with the existence of these people. Their petty lives and mundane concerns left him empty and unfulfilled.

“Excuse me,” a young woman said and smiled as she disengaged the hem of her jacket caught on his rucksack.

He snorted and looked at the woman through his rimless bifocals like she was an insect under a microscope. “Satisfied with the dullest of nonimaginitive spittle, these creatures will never truly understand.”

He found his platform and a seat on the express train to the airport. The train pulled away and the dingy brick houses sped past; housing resembling rat cages that held anonymous, unsuspecting, dull-witted troops of overpopulation.

The train screeched to a stop and the herd disembarked, moving as one numb mass towards the departures court and into one holding pen, then another. He trudged through yet another holding pen and boarded his airplane. He settled in his seat and looked out the window. The only accomplishment this modern society made that somewhat excited him was flying. Speedy travel. No inch of the earth left undiscovered. The thought thrilled him and saddened him simultaneously.

He woke from an uneasy doze as the landing gear dropped onto the tarmac. The foreign characters on the signs atop the cargo hangars reassured him. He smiled as he surveyed his surroundings. Pulling the small rucksack from the overhead compartment, he snorted at the frail humans sagging under the weight of their belongings, ignored the niceties from the crew and left the plane. He wove his way through hurrying travelers towards the exit of the building.

Humidity and heat hit him and he breathed the sweet, wet, lush air. A bus waited at the designated spot. A classical piano piece played from what sounded like a cheap plastic transistor radio. He snorted and shook his head. One modern invention he insisted upon: superior sound equipment. Rather no sound than bad sound. But that had long ceased to fulfill him as well.

Now all he wanted from these people and their electrified, motorized world was the means to reach his final destination and end his journey. Then he would renounce their bustling, unimportant lives and their world forever. He needed no one. His ultimate goal? To reach a plateau of unadulterated knowledge, a pure and simple clichéd nirvana.

The bus ride was jerky, quirky, hot and muddy. The driver cursed every time mud flew onto the windshield. A child pouted and a woman sneezed. He tried to ignore them and stared out the bus window. Green, lush vegetation darkened the road and he felt enveloped in his new world. A few rays of sunshine penetrated the forest and created impressive images. He smiled wider. The world as he knew it and its cares and fears faded away.

“Dear God!” someone in front cried.

A wrenching jerk was followed by a slamming impact. A woman screamed. Silence.

Professor Ott opened his eyes. His glasses were askew on his face. The bus was on its side. He smelled smoke and diesel fuel. He adjusted his glasses and saw bodies strewn throughout the bus. A young man kicked out a window that faced upward and climbed out. Professor Ott secured his rucksack on his back and followed him out, appreciating what years of diligent physical fitness enabled him to do.

He turned and glanced at the bus. Tiny, white, floating parachutes surrounded the bus and sailed on the breeze towards the sun. It looked like the breeze had blown through a field of overripe dandelions setting the seeds adrift.

As he walked away, he unpacked a pouch filled with hydration gel of his own creation which would bridge him at least a few days before he needed to find water. The glen he had spent the summer before would be a four-hour trek from here, he reckoned. No matter, he had endured worse and this last stage could be mastered. He tried to clear his mind of thought and concentrate on his march.

Tiny, white parachutes crossed his path and floated up towards the sun. There must be a plant going to seed to create such a thing. He thought about his mother. She’d been dead for twenty years. He could smell her lilac perfume and a tinge of vanilla, butter and melting chocolate. He could see her face. Suddenly he missed her terribly. The more he tried to banish the thoughts and her memory, the more insistent the sensations became.

A path opened onto the road on his right. He peered through a gateway in the trees and climbed a small incline towards what seemed to be a sunny patch amidst the forest. The same seed play filled this path. Memories of a girl he had once loved, years ago, flooded his mind. He was never able to express just how deeply he loved her. He felt at the time that such love was indulgent and weak; an uneducated lack of discipline. He struggled for breath.

A bird of prey squawked behind his shoulder and he fell to his knees. A festival of songbirds answered and reminded him of sitting on his grandmother’s balcony, back in Germany. The blackbirds would congregate on the rooftops in the evening. A consuming loneliness like he’d never felt threatened to crush him. He bowed his head and allowed it to come.

Professor Ott got to his feet and started walking back to the bus to see if he could be of any service.


So, now it’s your turn! Tell me, how do you feel about writer’s block? Do you write or read short stories?


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AUTHOR BIO and CONTACT INFO:

Laura Libricz was born and raised in Bethlehem PA and moved to Upstate New York when she was 22. After working a few years building Steinberger guitars, she received a scholarship to go to college. She tried to ‘do the right thing’ and study something useful, but spent all her time reading German literature.

She earned a BA in German at The College of New Paltz, NY in 1991 and moved to Germany, where she resides today. When she isn’t writing, she can be found sifting through city archives, picking through castle ruins or aiding the steady flood of musical instruments into the world market.

Her first novel, The Master and the Maid, is the first book of the Heaven's Pond Trilogy. The Soldier’s Return and Ash and Rubble are the second and third books in the series.

Twitter - @lauralibricz

Facebook - @LauraLibriczAuthoress

Website - http://www.lauralibricz.com



18 comments:

  1. Hi Anne! Thanks so much for having me today. And thank you for allowing me to share this story with you and your readers.

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    1. You're most welcome! So glad to have you!

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  2. Hi Laura, this is a book I really want to read. Your synopsis was tantalizing!!Enjoy the rest of your tour!! When I get writer's block, I. too. switch to short fiction and slice of lie non-fiction.

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    1. I's great, isn't it? I love historical fiction. Thanks for stopping by, Micki!

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  3. Hi Micki! Sometimes we need to get out of our own heads. I love flash fiction.

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  4. Thanks Anne! Laura has done it again with this short excerpt so beautifully written - very intriguing to say the least. I have writers' block at the moment - so I've been spending long hours in my garden, hacking away at shrubs which have grown into trees, freeing two exquisite apple trees. I also do research when I'm too tired to cut down anything more. At present I'm finding some wonderful titbits on Peregrine Falcons who feature in book 5 and if all else fails, I bake - all the time mulling the plot in my mind. I must just mention that I "inherited" this extremely unkempt garden last year when we moved here in May. 🤗


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    1. Hi Mareth. Thanks for stopping by! Yes, anything physical is a great balance to writing. I'm finishing up a draft for the editor and spend so much time sitting. This weekend we're in London on business and we walk everywhere. It's wonderful!

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    2. Gardening and writing kind of have a lot in common, it seems. Thanks for stopping by!

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    1. Thanks for stopping in, Michelle!

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    2. Hi Michelle, thanks for stopping by!

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  6. Congratulations Laura on your Spotlight Tour. A.M. you have an interesting blog. And I love the title.

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    1. Hi Shirley, thanks so much for your support!

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  7. Writing is a little like homeopathy, I think. Treat like with a little bit of like! ;-)
    Thanks for hosting today A.M. :-D

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  8. Another intriguing glimpse into your book! I can't wait to read your book, Laura. It's on my short list, and I'm anxious to dive in. Thank you, A.M., for hosting. Your site is extraordinarily beautiful.

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  9. I don't believe in writer's block. I think it is writer's excuse for not moving forward. Writing can be painful and I think the so called block was to give writers an excuse to avoid the pain. I too write short stories and enjoyed yours. Thank you Anne Margaret fro hosting

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  10. Fascinating glimpse into your work, Laura! I'm a little late but glad I didn't miss this stop on your tour!
    Thanks very much, A.M., for hosting and for the warm welcome, as always.

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