Interview with R. E. Hargrave

Thank you so much for answering my questions Rachel, you
have been a great influence in my writing and your constant support and
nurturing of my gift has been priceless.

  


1.Satin or Silk (sheets).
 
Neither, give me high thread count
cotton!!


 

2.What media is your motivation when
writing...music/photography/poetry? 


  Yes. You never know what will inspire and motivate; I’ve
had plot bunnies pop up out of nowhere because of a song, a picture, a random
thought.


  3.Do you have a genre of story you haven’t yet
attempted?

Zombies!


  4.Greatest achievement to
date?

 Three of them
actually: my kids.


  5.Three characteristics you like about
yourself?


 Honest, loyal,
and forgiving.


  6.Three characteristics you do not like about
yourself?

 Impatient, too
worried what other people think, and not active enough.


  7.Priority in a new home…Library or
Pool?

 Library hands
down… do you know how much work a pool is?!


  8.First piece you ever wrote (any age)?
 

In middle school my best friend
and I did a collaboration about a dragon named Rufus. We would take turns adding
to the story, passing it back and forth. I think I still have it somewhere . .
.


  _________________________________________________


 

Unedited excerpt from my latest manuscript,
Haunted Raine:


 


The view out of the WINDOW was blurred by the haziness of a
pre-sunrise fog that I knew would burn off as the day warmed up. Despite the
limited visibility I still found my gaze being drawn to a clump of trees off to
the left – and a structure. There had been no mention of any outbuildings when
we’d bought the property. I became DIZZY, and for the briefest moment thought I
heard whispering.


 


Curious, I hurried back to the bedroom to get my SHOES on,
and then made my way outside, grabbing my purse as an afterthought while I
rushed out the front door. Plotting a course toward the back of the lot, my feet
carried me forward as my hand dipped into my purse to find my smokes. I came
back empty-handed.


 


Coming to a standstill I dug deeper in my purse, but to no
avail. Just as I began to worry that either Rick had found them or they’d
somehow fallen out when we were out the night before, a loon cried out in the
distance and my head snapped up. Through the haze I could just make out a worn,
yellow shack.


 


Cigarettes forgotten I resumed walking, but the shack never
got closer. By the time I reached the area where I could’ve sworn I’d seen it, I
was standing in front of a charred foundation. A breeze picked up and the ends
of my short ponytail blew across my neck. Wrapping my arms around my middle I
shivered, and then gasped when my eyes landed on a red box poking up from
between some bricks.


 


With a shaky hand I leaned over and tugged on it.
Marlboros. At the sound of a cackling laugh I turned and ran back toward the
house, and the car. There had to be an explanation. Something along the lines of
prankster teenagers were using the spot to sneak smokes, and the laugh, well, it
was a bird or some other wildlife. My mind was just conjuring craziness because
I hadn’t slept well, it was early, and I needed coffee. Lots of
coffee.


 


Hitting the edge of the house, I chanced a glance back over
my shoulder and could make out the faint yellowed edges of the shack once again
– this time a dark-skinned figure shrouded in white stood off to the side of it.
Pain pierced my head.


 


Once, twice I blinked, and they were
gone.


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