Not sure how I came
about finding Nadja’s webpage but I had gone by there a couple of times to see
what she was all about. I don’t read romance novels, and at first glance I was
a bit turned off (hahaha) By the fact that that was the genre that she wrote in…I
figured that the horrible books I had started to read (I read way too much, so
when I run out of things to read I pick up whatever is handy) were what she wrote,
and what her blog would look like. Oh how I was wrong! I read two or three postings
of hers and was surprised by the humor and sharp wit that I read. Again my own
preconceptions almost got in the way of what has turned out to be a good
friendship.
One day Nadja posed
a question on her blog and rather than answering (I’m a peach aren’t IJ)
I asked one in turn...I think it went something like this “Nadja why don’t you
ask your readers what brought them to your blog, and what keeps them coming back…”
I guess this sparked a curiosity in her so she came over to visit my blog. Then
she did something that still amazes me; Nadja asked me if I would be willing to
be interviewed on her blog. I was shoked and still am to this day that she
thought to do that .
I would like to
thank Nadja for agreeing to come over today, and for being a friend.
۩ Nadja
Notariani 'Wanders' By ...۩
Thank
you, Wander, for having me over today!
It's great to be here.
What
kind of student were you? The kind that
acted all sweet but would secretly take the rubber bands from your teacher?
Oh! (smiles impishly) I'll have to out myself right away!
As
a student I was well behaved and generally liked by all my teachers. However, I was always a daydreamer and an
incessant talker. I began my love affair
with words at a young age. Ha! High school and college days ...well, let's
say I embraced the adventure of adolescence and young adulthood with a certain
devil-may-care attitude. I always loved
learning, still do, but I'd rather lock myself away and self-teach or listen to
lectures.
As
for acting sweet... I'm not sure what
people might say about that! I was ever
trying to gain a laugh – and my quirky sense of humor didn't always translate
well. (ahem...I thought I was
hilarious...that should explain much.)
What
is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?
I
have seen five very beautiful things. No
matter who or where you are, when you see your own child, you proudly puff up,
admire, and tend to become quite impressed with your genetic prowess. It doesn't matter that many, many others have
their own. They're not like the one(s)
you've made.
Have
you traveled much?
Traveled
much? I suppose that's relative. I have been all over Pennsylvania, New
Jersey, New York, Ohio, Maryland, and Virginia.
I've lived in a few of them, too.
I've traveled to Indiana, Illinois, Florida, North and South Carolina,
and California. My adventures out of the
States are limited to Canada, Mexico, and Jamaica. I have not seen nearly enough.
Who
is/are your favorite authors?
Mark
Twain (Samuel L Clemons) is one of my all-time favorite writers.
His humor and wit captured me from the first! Extracts From Adam's Diary, Advice
To Young People, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court are
entirely entertaining and wholly hysterical.
My
all-time favorite author is Jane Austen.
Hands down. Pride and
Prejudice remains the absolute best romance I've ever read. (I sort of have
a thing for romances...) Other romance
authors I recommend are Danielle Steel, (Wanderlust, Zoya), Kathleen
Woodiwiss (The Flame And The Flower), Francine Rivers (Redeeming Love,
Tamar, and Bathsheba), and Lucia St. Clair Robson (Ride The
Wind).
C.S.
Lewis is another writer whose works I highly enjoy reading. The Great Divorce is my favorite of
his works. The Screwtape Letters
was also very good.
You
are a romance writer...what is it about romance that you are drawn to?
Ahh…Romance…The
idea of love intrigues me. Some people
find love in an instant. I've read
accounts of WWII G.I.’s coming home, marrying after a week and enjoying
fifty-or-more happy years of affection.
Others take years to find love.
There are those who dive headfirst into love and those who hesitantly
dip their toes into the murky waters with great trepidation. What constitutes love? How and when and why does it happen? What sparks it?
And
since you are a romance author I have to ask this...was it Fabio?
Good
Grief, No! Ha! (No offense to those who admire that
person/face/body type...but not for me!)
For this writer, all-things-romantic stem from a state of mind. I've known perfectly attractive people who
were also perfectly obnoxious.
Attractiveness does not necessarily lead to good romance, or thoughts of
romance, or much anything having to do with romance. More, it is the way of a person. So, no...not Fabio, nor any other singular
face or persona drew me in. Too
funny!
How
did you finally realize that writing was what you wanted to do as a grown-up,
and how did you get there?
Hmm. Grown-Up?
Another state of mind thing...
Writing
a novel had been on my 'list' for many years.
I read constantly, and have hundreds of books. Somewhere in my twenties, the thought
occurred to me that I would write a novel.
But it wasn't until I was thirty-nine years old that I begin my first
novel. Once I set out, it felt natural
to write, and two years later, here I am.
I researched for about a year before I decided to Indie-publish. It was the right choice for me. Now I've four published titles, and I hope to
continue writing and publishing. My
writing has already changed in the last two years. I learn by doing, and taking on the adventure
of writing, marketing, publishing, and everything that goes along with that has
been real on-the-job training. I hope to
see two years from now further growth and more knowledge of the publishing
world.
Tell
us a bit about the glamorous life of Nadja...
Well...I
wake up whenever I like. My house-boy
makes me breakfast – eggs, toast, bacon, and hash-browns. I devour it all – and a banana – but never
gain an ounce. My workouts are easy and
I can knock out 25 pull-ups without breaking a sweat. I sell a million books a year and travel to
exotic places, whiling away my hours on white sand beaches with nary a care in
the world....
Oh...wait. You wanted the truth? Glamorous schlamorous. Ha! I have three sons
still at home. I wake up, get them off
to school and begin my day. I clean,
cook, write, blog, check homework, say prayers, repeat. I always manage to squeeze in coffee with my
best friend. I flop on the floor in
equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction after a workout, and am still using a
band to help my pull-ups. I sometimes
tip over when holding a yoga pose. I
have a chronic case of what looks like recently-slept-on hair – really, it's a
wild, unruly, and barely contained entity.
My sons often attempt to throttle one another. I wrench them apart and explain for the
hundred-thousandth time why we do not beat our brother senseless. Then...I tuck them in and indulge in a
fantastic novel.
Quick
Facts About Nadja Notariani
Left
handed.
Currently
studying German to be able to converse easily with my daughter and my brother,
who are fluent. (Daughter spent a year in Germany for studies.) Struggling to 'think' in German.
Huge
Rush fan.
Loves
to pieces her giant, oaf of a German Shepherd, Zutchka.
Thoroughly
enjoys MMA. Er...watching it, that
is. Ha!
Loves: new adventures, words, coffee, and the
feeling after a good workout.
Hates: being cold, scary movies, and the actual
working out part.
Chris,
thank you again for inviting me to share on your blog. You have a gift with words, something I
admire a great deal.
Nadja Notariani
9-6-12
Here are two short pieces of Nadja's
Scene 1 ~ Atiya, The Gift
“Our brother, Baqir, thinks only of
increasing his wealth,” Atiya answered, passing the water skin to Asim.
“Atiya, what can we do? Baqir is the eldest; his word is law. Besides, Abd-Al-Aziz will make a fine
husband. You will want for nothing, and
your days of tending goats will be over forever,” her twin brother replied,
shrugging his shoulders as he poked his staff under a rock to check for snakes
or scorpions.
A welcome surprise after seven sons,
Atiya's name meant gift. A frown tugged
at the corners of her mouth at the irony, for Baqir was offering her to
Abd-Al-Aziz - as a gift.
“Let's cut over the old mines; we can
arrive home a day early if we cross at Heriot's Pass instead of skirting the
edges of the Gauche Foothills,” Asim tempted.
Atiya stopped in shock, the dry, still
heat of the rocky desert pressing on her from all sides.
“Baqir warned us to stay away from the
mines!”
Ignoring her protests, Asim began his
ascent up the abandoned quarry. Glancing
over his shoulder, dark eyes alive with mischief, Asim's rich laughter echoed
off the surrounding outcrops.
“You're as sure footed as a mountain goat,
Atiya. Come on, or I'll tell Baqir what
a disobedient sister you are!”
“It'll be your skin if Baqir finds out,”
she grinned, following behind.
“I'm afraid! This isn't right. We're lost!”
“Asim!” she screamed, her entreaty finding
no ear.
Her brother's body tumbled, battered by
huge stones in the sliding rock. Silence
settled, Asim's body now far below.
Heedless of the bruising as she scrambled down the shifting precipice,
Atiya gained her brother, his eyes unseeing, lifeless. Her sobs, keening and mournful, poured into
the empty sky, her tears absorbed into the arid earth without a trace. Huddled beside her brother, delusional with
dehydration, Atiya mustered the last of her waning strength and attempted to
free the buried water skin, failing again.
I
will lie down and die beside my brother.
The morbid thought no longer frightened
her. Throat burning with thirst, face
swelling under the searing glare of sun, Atiya succumbed to the pounding in her
head and closed her eyes. Vague awareness
of gentle swaying and a shadowy form swirled on the edges of her
consciousness.
“Drink,” a voice commanded.
Coolness kissed her tongue as water
trickled down her parched throat.
Protected under a warm blanket through the cold night, Atiya roused
again and again as the voice urged her to drink.
The first rays of morning sunshine
illuminated the tall, white-robed figure as she slowly wakened.
The voice's deep timbre drew her eyes to
full lips on the tanned face and startling golden eyes as she nodded.
Had
an angel carried her to the third heaven?
Strong arms aided, robe sleeves falling
back to reveal tattooed writing upon bronzed forearms.
“What is that?” she rasped hoarsely.
“An ancient promise that the gift I seek
is in the desert,” he stated offhandedly.
“But enough of me. What is your
name, daughter of the desert?”
Atiya shivered at the coincidence.
“I am called Atiya,” her voice trembled.
The stranger's amber eyes grew
luminescent, his response a recitation of foreign verse.
“For ages have I sought you, Habiba, beloved,” he murmured.
Atiya stared, captivated in the glow of
his golden gaze.
Asrar Amelle ~ Secret Hope
Filigree
crystals frosted the square panes, winter's final protest before spring's
uprising. Perched before the window,
staring out to glimpse the Roundeli Mountains nestled around her home, she
seemed young and fragile, vulnerable.
Abd-Al-Aziz
almost pitied her.
“Excellent!”
Aziz lavished her with praise. “You have
harnessed the power well. This is your
greatest weapon; you must never forget.
Above all else, the sons of Adam are ruled by their emotions. Guide and direct their feelings, and gain
mastery over whom you will.”
“Yes,
Uncle,” she answered dutifully. “When am
I to face my adversary?”
“Soon,
niece, very soon,” Aziz assured. “Guard
yourself diligently. Prince Sevdalja may
wield great power - as does his father,
Suleiman the Magnificent. As you seek
influence over him, Almirah, princess,
beware! Prince Sevdalja is cunning as
the wolf! And what does the wolf do, my
niece?”
“He
circles stealthily, flanking his opponent and ambushing unsuspecting prey,
Uncle.”
“You
have spoken well. Now heed my warnings,
child, and fulfill your destiny.”
He
softened, holding his arms open to embrace her.
“I
love you as my own child, Amelle. Never
forget that.”
Abd-Al-Aziz
kissed the top of her head.
“Now
go and oversee your packing. We descend
the mountain, entering this new Renaissance when the weather breaks.”
Carrying
herself with a stately bearing worthy of the princess she was, Asrar Amelle
paused, turning almost imperceptibly.
“Uncle,”
she addressed quietly, “What of my eyes?”
Renaissance
was steeped in pageantry, not its usual state, but with Prince Sevdalja's
arrival, the settlers sought to impress the man likely to become their
ruler. Rumor abounded that his father,
Suleiman, neared the end of this life's journey.
Abd-Al-Aziz
inspected the rented apartments.
“These
will suffice,” he consented, signaling one servant to remit the necessary coin,
and the others to begin hauling in the trunks.
Aziz
wandered into the walled courtyard, alive with spring's blossoms so far below
the mountains. Images of Atiya and Sayid
rose in his mind, the assaulting memories haunting him.
Sayid
and Atiya had willingly given themselves into Suleiman's power to save their
daughter.
The
reception line dragged on, each province's minister eager to enamor the Prince
and gain favor. Abd-Al-Aziz readied to
play the piece his lord's sacrifice had saved those many years ago.
Gain the Prince's heart and by doing so, the
Persian Empire, loosing the seventy Djinn Suleiman imprisoned unjustly.
It
was by wielding the power of the Djinn that Suleiman had forged his vast
empire; with a child of the Djinn on the throne, perhaps the tribes would at
last unite, ending centuries of civil war.
But
all rested on his student. And her eyes.
Half-human,
Amelle was more sensitive, and when inundated with emotion, her eyes took on
the otherworldly glow, proclaiming her origins.
Here,
it would seal her doom.
Prince
Sevdalja bowed politely.
“Noble
prince,” Abd-Al-Aziz greeted formally.
“Allow me to present Princess Asrar Amelle.” The breath left his body in a rush, terror
and defeat threatening his sanity in an instant.
Amelle
lifted her gaze to meet Prince Sevdalja's mahogany stare, a strange energy
thrumming through the air, unnoticed by the humans surrounding them. Aziz, however, was not human.
“Welcome,
Daughter of the Djinn,” Prince Sevdalja whispered near her ear, bending to kiss
her cheek in custom. “I've been
expecting you.”
Asrar
Amelle's amber eyes flashed in awareness, a rare golden display before she
buried her emotions.
Both the short story's are copyrighted by
Nadja Notariani
Please do not copy without the written consent of the author!
Here are some links to Nadja's work...She Is a author trying to live off of her writing so feel free to purchase one or all of her works for sale below
Link here
http://nadjanotariani.blogspot.com/
The Third Fate
Her Dark Baron
Claiming The Prize
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