A cool start to December, but I’m in my transporter early to pick up this week’s featured author. When she enters, I see she’s carrying a large sack.
“I’ve brought a variety of wine,” she says.
“Yes, lots of wine.”
Soon, we’re diving into the warm waters off Tasmania and swimming with…what the hec are these things?
Wine and platypuses. What a combination. Well, that’s fits Abell’s personality. Soon, we’re lounging on the beach enjoying the second…or third? bottle of wine. I think there’s an interview I’m supposed to be conducting.
1. Who are you and what makes you the most fascinating person in your city?
I have quite the interesting life here in San Diego. Besides being a writer, I own a marketing company, am a 41–year-old BodyCombat instructor, I regularly attend MUFON (Mutual UFO Network) meetings and UFO conferences, and spend my spare time studying ancient Sumerian cuneiform tablets hoping to uncover the true origins of the human race. I am also obsessed with insects and small animals around my property and can often be found posting pictures of them.
2. Without revealing a deep dark secret (unless you want to), what one thing would people be surprised to learn about you?
I can’t handle any food that has tentacles. When I go out to eat, no one is allowed to order calamari because I will freak out. If it is an awkward situation where I am at a business dinner and can’t disclose this fact, and someone orders calamari, I break out in a cold sweat and usually have to get up to go to the “restroom” until there is ample time for the appetizer to be eaten.
3. What interested you to become a writer rather than something else such as rock star?
Are you kidding? I would totally give this all up to become a rock star. The problem is, I am tone deaf, so it never worked out in reality. But now that they have auto-tune, I could give it another go. I can still be a rock star at 41, right?
In all seriousness, I need to write. I have all these stories playing in my head and I need to get them out. I have always had this crazy imagination, and that is reflected in my writing.
4. Writers are readers. With which author(s) would you enjoy sharing dinner? Why?
If he were still single, it would be Hugh Howey because, well, Hugh Howey shirtless and on his boat. He would provide dinner and dessert.
If I could bring someone back from the dead, it would be Zecharia Sitchin, the granddaddy of the Ancient Astronaut theory and author of The Twelfth Planet. He had discovered something in his research he was too frightened to share, and I want to find out what that is.
As far as someone alive, it would be J.K. Rowling. I want to talk to her about her process of creating an entire world like she did with the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
5. If I were stranded on a deserted island or suffering from a four hour layover at the airport, why would your book(s) be great company?
If you were on a deserted island, you could paint a face on my book with your blood and name it Wilson.
The airport is different. You might get thrown in TSA jail if you cut your hand and go all Castaway in the terminal and start talking to my book. So in that case, it would provide some pure escapist fun. It is weird, funny, and educational. I would just be careful when you get to the steamy sex scenes. I wouldn’t want anyone staring at you funny because you’re fanning yourself in the fully air-conditioned terminal.
6. Share your process of writing in regards to: plot and character development, story outline, research (do you Google or visit places/people, or make it up on the spot), writing schedule, editing and number of rewrites.
There is over twenty years of research that went into this book. It incorporates all the research I have done into the Ancient Astronaut Theory and the Sumerian culture—specifically their creation of man. All the Anunnaki in my book are based on the “real” Anunnaki found in the ancient texts. With all this knowledge in my head, the story I wanted to tell played out like a movie and I just wrote the story I saw. It helps that the main character is totally based on me. So the story was a “what would I do if I were thrown into this situation” type of deal.
7. “I think I have a good idea for a story, but I don’t know where or how to begin. Your process may not work for me. Any advice?”
Just write. It doesn’t matter what it is, or even if it is the story you want to tell. Get it out. Get anything out. If you are not an alcoholic, have a couple drinks. It really can help loosen your inhibitions and fears of writing and get you started. Every writer lacks confidence when they write. “Is this crap?” crosses all of our minds. You just got to go for it.
8. I saw an amusing T-shirt the other day which read, “Every great idea I have gets me in trouble.” What is your philosophy of life?
“Every bottle of wine I drink gives a fairy her wings.”
9. Please tell me you’re not going to stop writing? What’s next for you?
Okay, you said please, so I will tell you I am not going to stop writing. I am finishing up a draft of book three of the trilogy. I hope to have book two out mid next year. Then I want to publish more of my research. I have discovered some mind blowing things in the cuneiform writings, and really want to publish it and open up a discussion on the origins of the human race. I think there is more to our story that could change our entire thinking on life and our place in it.
10. Where can people find more information on you and your projects?
My super fancy website. And if you really want some excitement in your life, you can sign up for my newsletter on there. http://writtenbyanna.com/
Holy Crap! The World is Ending!
How a Trip to the Bookstore Led to
Sex with an Alien and the Destruction of Earth
The Anunnaki Chronicles
Genre: Humorous Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Alien Abduction Press
Date of Publication: September 21, 2017
Number of pages: 349
Word Count: Just under 114,000
Tagline: End times are here! Now you can eat whatever you want and not care if you gain weight.
The president has announced that Earth is going to collide with a rogue moon, and in the process, our entire planet is going to be smashed to bits. As one would expect, upon hearing this news, humans went ballistic. It was as if every sports team in the world lost their championship game at the same time. No car was left unrolled—but oddly enough, Taco Bell remained open and made unfathomable profits in the last days. Apparently, Doritos Locos® Tacos were a popular last meal.
Autumn (who for the purpose of this retelling asked to be portrayed as drool-inducing hot with kick-ass ninja skills) has just been handed the task of saving all of humanity. With the help of her unbelievably sexy alien boyfriend and her kleptomaniac friend with fire-retardant hair, Autumn takes a spaceship and races to save her fellow humans by using the Ark of the Covenant. Along the way, she discovers how sheltered people are from the truth of extraterrestrials and their power to either protect us or destroy us.
Grab a bottle of wine, a shipload of snacks, and prepare to take a ride on this humorous chick lit romantic sci-fi paranormal adventure. If you’re into Ancient Aliens, conspiracy theories, UFOs, crave a little sexy time in your reading, are curious if we were genetically engineered (like the Sumerian cuneiform texts claim), and are dying to find out the meaning of life, then this book is for you.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/62OF9buIr-c
What Reviewers Have to Say
“An unexpected story that promises to be one of the most creative fictional discoveries of the year…a fun approach to the entire save-the-Earth-from-alien-invasion scenario which successfully turns traditional approaches upside down.”- D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
“A rollicking seat of your pants fun ride through the universe!”- Joan Silvestro, Booktrader of Hamilton
“An awesome read! Warm, witty–and thought provoking–a beach read that stays with you throughout the year!”- Aionios Books
“This book starts with a lot of humour, but quickly gets a very rich storyline with great characters and seriously… this ending? If you like to be blown away, you should read this!” – Esther, BiteIntoBooks
“Anna-Marie Abell has succeeded in weaving her years of study into in the ancient Sumerian culture and their gods with common conspiracy theories, pop culture and random human quirkiness into an out of this world end times romp that will have you laughing out loud at the most inappropriate times and possibly even shedding a tear or two before it’s all said and done.” – Jennifer, JennlyReads
Ever since I was a kid I’ve been fascinated by the unimaginable. I used to gaze at the night sky and contemplate a series of what ifs. But I’m not talking about the boring typical what ifs such as:
What if I won the lotto?
What if I quit my job and moved to Tanzania?
I’m talking about those outlandish ones:
What if I ran across a herd of three-inch pigmy cows capable of producing solid gold milk, but each ounce I extracted took a month off my life? Would I still do it?
What if we could suddenly have intellectual conversations with all animals? Would we continue to eat them?
What if the whole world went blind and deaf all at the same time? Would we survive as a species?
Another favorite childhood pastime of mine was observing ants clambering atop one another to locate food or gather leaves, like inhabitants of a metropolis bustling to work. Ants are innately oblivious to the threat of a gargantuan foot looming over them. I’ve often wondered if humans would behave the same way if the tables were turned.
What if a jumbo foot came down on us and squashed a city block on a regular basis? After a while, would we just shrug it off and alter course to go around it like ants do?
Some people go out of their way to squish any and all bugs that come across their path. Not me. I have a strict “no kill” policy with every type of animal.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I have an exception for animals I buy in a grocery store. I know: this is incredibly hypocritical. But dammit, I love me some cow. Perhaps I should define my “no kill” policy as “not slaying a creature simply because it annoys you—or simply because you can.”
For example, I can’t help but wonder:
What if I were reincarnated as a fly in my next life? Would I appreciate getting stuck on a glue trap?
Put yourself in the fly’s place. You’re ambling along, minding your own business, when out of nowhere the glorious aroma of In-N-Out Burger wafts in your direction. Those freshly cooked fries and juicy burgers fill your senses with food ecstasy. Just when you can’t take it anymore, a sign pops up out of thin air that reads: All You Can Eat! Free In-N-Out Burgers All Day.
Salivating, you charge toward the smell all excited. Then—BAM!—you step onto a glue pad, unable to break free. Not only are you doomed to a lengthy, torturous death of dehydration and starvation, but your last days are filled with the constant aroma of those heavenly cheeseburgers you can never have.
Not the way I’d want to kick the bucket, that’s for sure.
My fixation over these what ifs is why I was so into UFOs, ancient aliens, near-death experiences, ghosts, and really, anything paranormal. Truth be told, I’m not sure if deep down I believed in all these things, or if I just wanted them to be real, so I’d have something to hope for beyond the monotony of human life. I mean, think about it. What would be more entertaining: cleaning a toilet, or cleaning a toilet haunted by a ghost? (Well, a friendly one. It might get messy if your bowl were possessed by a demon.) Phantom commodes win hands down.
I’ll never forget the day this whole obsession got started. When I was six, I asked my mom what life was going to be like when I grew up. She was always one for blunt honesty, and she said, “Well, you’ll go to school for a really long time, marry a guy who will lose all his hair, get a job you’ll probably hate, have kids, get old, poop your pants, and then die.”
I broke down in tears.
My mom ended up regretting having told me all that, because at the age of seven, I convinced myself that those things wouldn’t happen to me, and that it was my destiny to one day rescue the planet. I am talking about a Will Smith in Independence Day style rescue (except I imagined myself with a breadstick in my mouth instead of a cigar). In one childhood fantasy, I used a butter knife and my badass Barbie Mobile to defend the residents of my neighborhood from a rampaging, genetically mutated, alien-giraffe hybrid that had escaped from a secret government lab. (Kids, if you ever want your mom to get fired as the president of the PTA so she doesn’t embarrass you in front of your class, simply splatter your shirt with ketchup and burst into the annual Teacher Appreciation Luncheon with a spork screaming about man-eating giraffes. Trust me, it works like a charm.)
This desire to be the hero had me hooked on stories where people discover they’re part of an amazing new reality—a world where the impossible becomes possible. If I waited long enough, I thought, maybe Hagrid and his flying motorcycle would come crashing into my bathroom as I sat on the toilet and proclaim, “You’re a wizard, Autumn!”
But it’s one thing to dream it, and an entirely different thing to live it. Had I been smart and heeded the advice of the Pussycat Dolls when they warned us to “Be careful what you wish for, ’cause you just might get it,” then maybe things would have played out differently.
I wished it.
I got it.
And now I’m about to die.
He tenderly swept my hair behind my ear and whispered, “I want you so bad right now.”
“Do you now?”
I bent to kiss him. The instant we connected, electricity sizzled through our bodies. Groaning, he hastily swapped our positions, so he was on top of me, and pressed one leg between my thighs. One of his hands cupped my breast as he kissed my neck; the other hand teased the skin just underneath my shirt.
“Boy, you don’t waste any time, do you?” I breathed.
His sexy half-smile lit up his face and he pressed his knee a little higher. The tingles of an orgasm arose between my legs. No way am I going to last more than a minute at this rate. Desperately needing things to progress more quickly, I clawed at my clothes, trying to remove them.
Brushing his lips against my ear, Rigel rumbled, “So impatient.” His hot breath against my skin brought on the inevitable vibrations.
“Just a bit,” I panted.
With a throaty chuckle, he trailed his tongue along my cheek until he reached my mouth. He lingered there, brushing his bottom lip against mine. One brush… then another.
“What are you waiting for?” I protested.
“Just slowing things down for you.”
“Well, stop it.” I meant that to be playful, but my need practically had me snarling at him. He was driving me insane.
With another chuckle, he bit my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. The building pressure in my core made me moan.
He grinned at me. “If that set you off, you’d better get prepared for what I’m going to do next.”
My heart pounded. Oh, god. “You aren’t playing fair.”
Placing his arms on either side of me, he brought his knee up, parting my legs until his thigh pressed firmly against me.
I moaned again.
“Who said this was going to be fair?” he said.
He rocked his leg once. Another moan.
“Oh, so we’re playing dirty?” Feeling gutsy from the lust, I used my fingernails to stoke the growing bulge in his pants. I felt it twitch. I can’t believe I just did that!
He let out a long breath and dove in for a kiss. Our lips parted, and he thoroughly claimed my mouth. Any shyness I had melted away once his skilled tongue explored mine. I gave back with the same intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck, fingers lacing in his hair. He tasted like wine and honey. Our breathing became heavy, moving in and out in sync.
The next thing I knew, my shirt was off and flung on top of the lampshade. He carried me to his bed and set me on the down comforter. The duvet was cool against my feverish skin. Towering above me, Rigel stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad chest. His muscles were taut, his skin smooth, abs rippling down to show a faint trail of golden hair leading into his jeans.
“See something you like?” he said.
Blushing, I returned my greedy gaze to his face. Too much eye candy for a mere mortal to handle. His hair was messy, partially falling into his face and artistically shaping his features. That damn hair is such a turn-on.
I couldn’t wait. I was as crazed as an impulse shopper on Black Friday, and Rigel was my ten-dollar toaster oven. Pulling myself to my knees using his jean loops for support, I gave his chest soft kisses. He still smelled of lavender, but now it was mixed with a sweeter smell I couldn’t identify. It made me want to lick him all over. Clutching the loops tighter, I began to explore.
As I moved lower and lower with each kiss, his form danced and shone along the edges. I had to rest my forehead against his abs and catch my breath. If I wasn’t careful, I might pass out. When I went to unbutton his jeans, this untamed lust that possessed me had my muscles contracting in anticipation, and I lost all ability to use my hands. I couldn’t get the blasted button open.
With a playful growl, Rigel thrust me back on the bed and finished undressing me… slowly. Way too slowly. I didn’t know if it was because I was all revved up and ready to go, or if he did it on purpose to drive me nuts, but either way it whipped me into a frenzy. He slid one bra strap down, then the other. Reaching behind me, he stroked my spine, and I arched my back to let him undo the fastener. As he flung the bra across the room, his eyes blazed with anticipation of the feast he was about to devour.
I was so distracted by his firm pectoral muscles that it didn’t even register with me that I was completely naked—until I saw he was twirling my panties around on his pinky finger, one corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.
“How did you do that?”
With a smirk he answered, “One of my gifts.”
The bastard knew I was about to burst with anticipation, so he taunted me further by slowly undressing himself. First he undid the button on his jeans, then his fingers moved to open the zipper. Inch by inch he unzipped it.
“You are pure evil,” I breathed.
He pulled back one side, then the other. No underwear. I gasped. The jeans slid to the ground.
Oh… my… god. He was getting a five-star rating on Yelp first thing in the morning.
Unable to take my eyes from it, I said, “That can’t be street legal.”
“No, but it makes for a hell of a ride.”
Even though I’m a huge fan and would never give up my membership, I don’t think Costco is the bargain others tout it to be. Usually you can get cheaper prices at Target, if you compare pound for pound and factor in waste. Unless, of course, you need a silo of soda or one thousand packets of gravy—then Costco can come in handy. I’ve heard a number of people spout on that the gas prices are worth the membership fees alone. I call BS on that. Gas runs about ten cents per gallon cheaper at Costco—if you’re lucky—so on average you’re saving a buck per fill-up. I suppose this would be cool, except for the forty-five minutes you spend in line waiting to get it. You forfeit the stupid dollar you saved idling to get the gas in the first place. Once you add the membership fee into the mix, I could argue that you’re losing money unless you fill your tank every day of the week.
That said, there is one thing about Costco that’s worth the price of membership alone: the free samples. It’s virtually a complimentary tapas bar, providing a multitude of scrumptious morsels.
And as if management subconsciously knew the world was ending, they presented us with quite the smorgasbord that day: Hot Pockets, deli sandwiches, sushi, curry chicken, turkey meatloaf, potato salad, chili, Spanish rice, jelly beans, energy bars, chocolate-covered nuts, and fruit juice. Normally, I make it a rule not to be the butthead that goes for seconds, but under the circumstances, I didn’t care. On my third trip to the Hot Pocket stand, the lady gave me a dirty look, and I almost didn’t snatch another. But the gooey artificial cheese oozing from the slice made it impossible for me to resist snagging an additional helping.
In the refrigerated section, we found a hidden sample station that had jalapeño soft pretzel nuggets with nacho cheese dipping sauce. Score! When we went to grab a box out of the freezer to take home, we discovered a plethora of new products we hadn’t yet stimulated our taste buds with. In particular, there were these delectable double-fried pork and shrimp egg rolls. Yes, double-fried, with a bonus layer of tempura coating.
“Those look so flippin’ yummy,” Emma said.
“Should we get them?”
“I kinda want them now.”
Feeling reckless from the knowledge of our imminent demise, I evaluated our options. An empty sampling station with a toaster oven teased me at the end of the aisle. I nudged Emma and pointed at it. She smiled in agreement. Opening the freezer, I snagged a package of rolls, and we took it over to the station.
“Shouldn’t we put on some kind of disguise?” Emma asked.
She had a point. We definitely were not dressed for the part. Thinking on my feet, I rummaged inside the station’s cabinet and pulled a pack of hairnets from the depths. We snapped a couple on.
“Perfect!” I said, appraising Emma’s netted noggin.
Not wasting any more time, we tore open the box of rolls and threw them in the toaster oven. Within seconds, a crowd buzzed on all sides of us, like a swarm of flies after a warm pile of poo, waiting to get their mitts on our precious haul.
I leaned in toward Emma and whispered, “I hadn’t planned on sharing.”
“Me either. What should we do?”
A ding alerted us that the rolls were ready, and the sound was like a dinner bell for the drooling throng. We withdrew the crispy deliciousness; the smell was intoxicating. The mob gathered closer, a pack of rabid dogs moving in for the kill.
“We do apologize, everyone,” I announced. “It appears that these egg rolls might be defective. We need to submit them to quality control.”
The crowd moaned in disappointment.
Emma and I each wrapped a roll in a napkin and made a break for it, tossing our hairnets in a passing cart as we went. Behaving like junior high kids who had gotten away with skipping class, we giggled with pride and sprinted into an empty aisle. Hidden behind the wastelands of the toilet paper section, we chowed down at bionic speed, blowing out the heat and fluttering our hands wildly at our tongues because they had been scorched by the nuclear inferno of minced shrimp and cabbage.
Keeping my eyes peeled for any security on their way to nab us, I said, “Can you imagine having to spend our last few days on Earth in jail for looting egg rolls?”
About the Author:
Anna-Marie Abell grew up in a trailer park. Well, several actually. Her trailer was on wheels so she got to experience the Pacific Northwest’s vast array of mobile home parks as her parents moved her from one to the other. Somewhere along the way, she got totally into UFOs. Probably because she was hoping extraterrestrials would come and abduct her. But they never did. Luckily for her she was smart, because her only hope of escaping trailer life was college and a full scholarship. Moving to sunny California on her almost full ride to Chapman University, she was well on her way to her new life. Two bachelor degrees later (Film and Television Production and Media Performance), and several honors and awards for her accomplishments, she managed to start working in an almost completely unrelated industry from her majors: infomercials.
It was in college that she got bit by the “ancient alien” bug after listening to Zecharia Sitchin on Coast to Coast AM. In her pursuit to uncover the truth, she has spent the last twenty years researching the ancient Sumerian culture—in particular their “gods” called the Anunnaki—and their connection to the creation of the human race. What she found changed her life, her beliefs, and her understanding of the universe and everything beyond. Her humorous science fiction trilogy, The Anunnaki Chronicles, is a culmination of all her research, her borderline obsession for all things paranormal, and approximately 2,300 bottles of wine.
Newsletter Signup: http://writtenbyanna.com/prepare-for-contact/
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