21 Dec 2012

My publisher has been masquerading as a rabbit of late and this is an interview he did of me recently.....

The BunsyDawg Diary

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

The BunsyDawg Christmas interviews: Teresa Geering

It was late Sunday afternoon, and I was reclining on a buttercup supping mead from an acorn cup. My best friend, the lovely elf Tizzlewen, had popped by to tell me that there was a massive rabbit outside the faery grotto called BunsyDawg and he wanted to interview me.
Now Tizzlewen is a very naughty elf, which means we go together like red wine and a glass. I didn’t believe him at first but I couldn’t deny that there were at least two big rabbits off to the left of where I was reclining. Mind you, the fact that there were two was a bit worrying but I put that down to the excess of mead I had consumed. So a decision had to be made: I could either spend an hour or two in the company of Tizzlewen doing what elves and faeries usually do, or chat to a rabbit (or two) which by all accounts had large flopsy ears and was named DunsyBwag or something similar.
Well I rarely get the chance to talk to rabbits (singular or plural) these days, so it was obvious that he would win out. I would make it up to Tizzlewen later.
My next problem being, do I change into a rabbit so as to be on an even footing? After all, he would have the four rabbit’s feet for good luck compared to my two.

Also could I do any rabbit jokes like …?
What do you get if you cross rabbits and termites?    
Bugs bunnies.

Why is a bunny the luckiest animal in the world?    
Because it has four rabbits' feet.

What do you call 20 rabbits moving backwards?    
A receding hare line.

What do rabbits use to keep their fur in place?    
I decided to change into human form but a smaller version. I changed into my newest (well, my only other) dress which fitted me quite well and went back out to meet this rabbit fella.

I introduced myself and shook his foot hoping that some luck would rub off on me. Actually I stroked his furry back as well because his fur was so soft and he seemed to enjoy it.  I then offered him some clover to chew (I know my manners), which he loved.

He retrieved a note book and pencil from a pocket somewhere in his fur. Then he popped on a pair of owl-shaped glasses which rested on his flopsy ears and proceeded to interview me.

[Good intro, Tee. I think you managed to describe our setup in real time - BunsyDawg]

Tee, you are renowned for being quite the nicest living author (I hope these questions get to you in time). Is this natural, or do you have a particularly gifted media coach whose name you would be willing to share with some of the other authors (I could provide you with a list in order of priority).
Aw shucks, Bunsy. Is it ok if I call you Bunsy? You say the loveliest things and your little nose twitches up and down when you talk. Or is it called a snout, I wonder?

[No, a human nose is called a 'snout', at least one some people, Tee. We have noses - BunsyDawg]

Yes, I’m still in the land of the living and I really enjoy living in the faerie kingdom. Of course I’m so lovely and yes I do have a media agent down here. His name is Keth, which means 'wind' but we won’t go into that [Not downwind of him, we won't - BunsyDawg]. When I started to write books, he was assigned to me by the faery queen but sadly I have corrupted him and he’s a naughty elf now. I never know what sort of tabloid or magazine he will put me in. So maybe I really shouldn’t share him with your authors.

I know you like your garden and staring at a Shasta Lilly there gave you the idea for your series, but what about the fairies in your books? Have you seen them in your garden too or are they only in your head?
Well now, Bunsy old chap, I do have a garden down here which I tend on a regular basis. Quite often the other faeries come to visit me and some even help with the gardening. This means I can put my tiny little feet up and rest my wings. It’s very tiring flapping one’s wings all the time to keep us hovering.

If I have the odd tipple of mead or wine I do wonder if I’m seeing the real thing or if they are in fact a figment of my imagination. It depends if I drink more than my quota of acorn cups. 

[Nods and winks knowingly].

[Oh Gawd - BunsyDawg]

Your series is based around a character called Erasmus who is a bad-tempered, time-warped, sex pest. Why did you do that? Why does he do that?
Well now, between you and me, there are many different types of elves and goblins. Some are good elves who do the policing of the kingdom and then there are the bad elves who could probably give the goblins a run for their money. One of the elves, who should remain nameless, is called Hobso. He’s constantly bad tempered. One minute he’s in front of you nattering thirteen to the dozen and then he’ll see a pretty faerie and disappear before your eyes. I can usually track him down though by the giggling faeries. Hobso is not only bad tempered he’s also absolutely sex mad. Consequently I decided to base my main character on him and turn him into a time traveller.

The next book is to be called ''Merlin', which eponymously (now that is a big word for a rabbit) refers to a character who is turned into a cat every time he crosses Erasmus. Why a cat? Worse, why a talking cat? Don't we have enough problems with cats without their becoming lippy?
It’s like this my furry little friend. 

[Adjusts Bunsy’s glasses for him, which have slipped down onto his nose] 
Down here in the faerie grotto we love cats see…

[Looks aggressive and glares at BunsyDawg]
Most of them have the power of speech if they want to use it. In the new book, called 'Merlin', yes he gets far lippier and did I say that I love cats? 
[Purrs happily]
[Not me - BunsyDawg]
That Erasmus upsets everyone. Is it any wonder that cats find the need to talk? Will it be to his advantage? Well, we shall see ...

You are also famous for your love of red wine. When you have had your first couple of gulps, do you regard your wine glass as being a quarter full or three-quarters empty?
I didn’t realise that my reputation had spread from the world of Fae, Bunsy Dawg. I suppose I should be flattered.

[Tinkling of faerie laughter emits from Tee]
Well now, I would suggest that it’s three-quarters empty and in need of a refill. Wouldn’t you? Or maybe you just lap at a saucer of water. I don’t know.
[A vertical, suction-operated feeding device, actually - BunsyDawg]

In a socially awkward moment, you mentioned on FB that you had been fantasizing about your books being published by a rabbit. Is this what is known as  'Alice through the looking glass syndrome' or are we back to the earlier question about the fairies?
Oh my! That sounds like I must have had too much mead. It’s one of the reasons that I don’t drink it very often. It goes straight to the curls on my head and makes my coes turl up…
[Speech gets slurred at the thought of it and hiccups loudly due to alcohol withdrawal symptoms]
I have fallen through many ‘Alice type’ holes and also fallen in the ponds in the grotto as well. So, technically, I suppose I have an 'Alice through the looking glas' syndrome.
[Laughs and burbs while nodding head]

I do enjoy being in my fuzzy world, though.

Finally, you volunteer part-time for the Kent police force, handling incoming phone calls. Shouldn't you be writing a murder mystery?
Well now Dunsy Bwag … I have!  Sort of. Kinda.

It’s a short story entitled 'A Russian gift of Love' about a female DCI from Special Branch whose alias was a published writer.

A Russian dissident/sleeper whose alias is a Fire Fighter is given the mission to kill her for something she did in the past. However they fall in love and he has difficulty carrying out the mission ...
A brief excerpt from one of the chapters in the book:
… Nickoli Morozov (Nick to his friends) was not on this occasion going to work; instead he walked into an unobtrusive building and took the lift up to the top floor. He had been summoned urgently by his superior. At least six years had passed since the last time he had been here. He had been well and truly hauled over the coals. Siberia had been threatened if he slipped up again. 

Sweating at the mere thought, he took out his pass card and swiped it, allowing him entrance into the sealed office. The room was like any other run-of-the-mill office, with filing cabinets, a desk, and seating for visitors. Behind the desk at the far end of the room sat his boss, Grigori Karpenco. He lived up to his name - ever watchful. Uneasy in his presence, Nickoli tried to show an outer calm.

“So you have made contact with this woman, Victoria Houseman?” Karpenco asked before he was even halfway to the desk.

“Yes, Comrade, I have moved into the cottage next door, and made contact. My established cover has always been as a fire fighter, and there is no reason for her to think anything different,” he said, hoping to sound convincing. 

“Our research shows that she is extremely shrewd and is highly respected by her team. Do not under estimate her, Nickoli, and remember this: we are watching you also. You have been here ten years establishing your identity while under deep cover. Your mission has not changed. You will establish a relationship with this woman. Make love to her if necessary but do whatever it takes and then you will eliminate her. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Comrade. Completely understood.”

“You will not report back here until the job is done. Now go …. and, Nickoli, remember: you have been a sleeper in this country for a long time. I wouldn’t want to hear of any mixed loyalties.”

“Comrade, I have not forgotten what this woman has done. The mission will be completed as directed.”

Leaving the office he was glad to be on the other side of the door and he realised he was now sweating profusely. He hoped it hadn’t been too obvious. Grigori Karpenco had a reputation of ruthlessness and Nickoli was going to play this one by the book. 

The next step was to get closer to Victoria Houseman. Well, Christmas was coming up, and he knew she was single. He had made it his job to find out. Luckily for him, the cottage next to her had come up for rent.

Pressing an intercom button, Grigori Karpenco summoned his secretary, a thin looking man with a permanent scared look on his face. Grigori’s preference was for male staff; he had no interest in women now. His former wife had done her duty by him and produced a son. These days his lovers were men of his choosing.

“Here is the folder. Return it and ensure he is watched closely from now on.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Oh, and Yegor …”

“Yes Comrade General”

With a lecherous smile, “Tonight and don’t be late!”

“Yes, Comrade General” He said quietly, as he left the room.

Yegor’s shoulders seemed to shrink as he made for the door. The only sound was the hideous laughter he left behind. Yegor hated the man but if he didn’t perform to the General’s liking, Siberia was apparently his other choice. What was it with this man and Siberia? Well, he had no intention of facing the cold Siberian front now, or at any other time in the future, so he set the wheels in motion for Nickoli to be watched day and night….

Now what was he going to wear tonight to please the General. He mentally went through his secret wardrobe of dressing up apparel and smiled. Yes, just the thing he thought …

'Revenge is Double Edged' is another short story about a police chief on secondment to the Caribbean. While there, he marries his long term girlfriend in a romantic wedding on the beach. During the reception he feels restless. Was it anything to do with the drugs baron from the next island that he’d arrested? (He has promised his revenge).
When his beautiful new wife gets shot, how will the police chief take his revenge? Who will be the target? Who will pull the trigger? Will revenge be a double-edged sword?
There are several other short stories that I have written while lounging on my buttercup, including a vampire one and some fantasy.  They are secreted away in my toadstool.
[Replacing his notebook, pencil and glasses in his fur pocket, BunsyDawg hops off after thanking Tee for the interview. Tee slowly wanders back to her toadstool with thoughts of settling down with a nice acorn cup of mead]

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