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| Tahira Iqbal |
1) What are you working on?
I'm currently working on a Steampunk BDSM Little Red Riding Hood-inspired New Adult novel, and a few speculative fiction short stories on the side. Here's a novel summary:
Scarlett vows to save her virginity for marriage. Haunted by the sexually-transmitted disease VAIN, which killed both of her parents, Scarlett studies at Sylva University with the hopes of researching for a cure. While she is determined to stay innocent throughout her academic career, one wolfishly handsome professor, Jude Tanner, sees her virginity as a prize to be won. As much as Scarlett denies his advances, he knows that she is not as innocent as she seems. When Jude catches Scarlett violating a university policy, he sees this as an opportunity to toy with her and put her virginity and future at stake. He makes a deal: she can choose to stay a virgin until marriage, or be expelled from Syla University and become his slave.
Of course Scarlett chooses the former, but the deal is not so simple. Scarlett becomes Jude’s housemate, and during their time together, he takes her to a sadomasochistic amusement park, tempts her, and slowly breaks down her innocence. Will Scarlett be able to honor her parents’ deaths by remaining a virgin and finding a cure to VAIN? Or will she succumb to her primitive desires and become Professor Tanner’s slave?2) How does your work differ from others of its genre?
Well, with a fairy tale retelling that includes mashup elements of steampunk and BDSM, would it be too presumptuous to say that it's going to stand out?
3) Why do I write what I do?
Without trying to sound too melodramatic, I'm a total junkie. A writing junkie, that is. I keep diaries, and I am constantly writing, especially when I'm working on projects. With my novel, I write and edit at least a little bit every single day. I cannot let a day go by without writing because it numbs the pain of the real world and becomes my escape.
4) How does your writing process work?
I try to write whenever I have free time during my day. With the first draft of my novel, I like to write hand-write in a notebook. Then, from the second-draft and onwards, I prefer to type in Google Docs. If there's internet access, I'm going to take as much advantage of it as I can. Listening to music helps immensely, depending on certain mood and tones in the story. I've been listening to these certain albums lately.
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| Aesthetic Perfection's 'Til Death |
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| Saving Mr. Banks Soundtrack |
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| Frozen Soundtrack |
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| Three Days Grace's One-X |
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| Three Days Grace's self-titled debut |
Standout tracks: I Hate Everything About You, Pain, Just Like You, Never Too Late, Animal I Have Become, Home
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| In This Moment's Blood |
Now I will hand on the blog tour tag to my dear friend Meg Elison!
BIO:
Ernest Hemingway shot himself in Idaho in 1961.
In 1964, Hunter S. Thompson visited the house in Ketchum to investigate the author’s death, which had been reported as an accident. Hemingway did not die by accident. He had made the decision to put an end to the pain in which he lived. Thompson knew that and admired it. When he left that house, he stole a pair of antlers that Hemingway had hanging on the wall of his writing room.
Thompson wrote under those antlers until 2005, when he decided to opt out just as Hemingway had done. Thompson shot himself in his house in Woody Creek, Colorado.
In 2005, I was living in Portland, Oregon. I loved the rain and the casual alcoholism and weirdness of the city. I shared an apartment with my monstrously selfish gay best friend, but I couldn’t stand to go home most nights. I was drinking in a bar by the airport and eavesdropping the night that it happened.
There was this tall, thin guy. He was standing with one knee up in that pose that makes a man look like he’s trying to air out his testicles, leaning over a woman who was far too young for him.
“So you know Hunter S. Thompson died?”
The girl looked at her drink, not at him. “Who?”
“The writer. The guy who wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” His grin was sliding off him.
“Like the movie?” Mild interest.
“Well, the book the movie was based on. Yeah, the movie.”
“Oh. Ok. That’s sad.”
“He wrote a lot of other- anyway. He shot himself, in Colorado. I just came in from there, from Aspen. I got some shots of his office, but I couldn’t get an interview. But I got this.”
On the table sat a canvas bag that poorly concealed a pair of elk antlers. They poked out on either side, reaching off the table. I sipped my whiskey.
“You know who these used to belong to?”
“Who?” She looked up at him, drawn in.
He lit up like a pinball machine. “Ernest Hemingway. Thompson stole them from Hemingway, and I stole them from Thompson. That means I’m next. It’s like they passed me the torch.” He lifted his drink to his lips and watched her over the rim of the glass, waiting.
“Oh.”
“But see, I knew what I was going for. I knew the story from way back, so I bought another pair of antlers at a flea market and I switched them. I dropped these out the window and picked them up on my way out. They’ll never know. Isn’t that awesome? It’s the perfect crime.”
“Who’s Herman Hemingway?”
His face fell a little bit. “You’re an undergrad, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I’m a philosophy major.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute.” He reached out and chucked her chin. He got out of his testicle pose and set down his drink. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He stalked off.
She watched him disappear around the corner. Then she found her purse, scooted out of the booth, and walked out the door without looking back.
I finished my whiskey and looked at the time. I laid a ten dollar bill on the table and walked over to where the antlers sat in their canvas bag. I looked around and made my decision.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked out at a calm and leisurely pace. I caught the MAX train back home and put the antlers into my trunk. I was already packing to leave. The trunk moved with me to California, where I hung them on my wall.
I don’t know if his story was true. I don’t know if I stole a talisman of talent, of suicide, or of bullshit.
But I believe they are good luck. And so they are.
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