Tag: fiction

Meet the Author: Krista Tibbs

Author Photo - Krista Tibbs
Author Krista Tibbs

Krista Tibbs grew up in northern Maine and migrated south to Tennessee. Her former career in the Boston biotechnology industry and stint at the Executive Office of the President in Washington, DC provided the basis for her first novel, The Neurology of Angels.

She has studied people and the fun side of life while playing piano for theater groups, swing dancing, tutoring, and debating politics with family, and enjoys taking up odd projects that make her father sigh and shake his head. She is currently working with an artist on an illustrated book of animal stories for grown-ups, to be released by summer 2012. It will include an ode to sheep. Continue reading “Meet the Author: Krista Tibbs”

The IU Crew

A classy posseWho is in your crew? Who’s in your corner? I’m about to share with you one of the most important things I have ever learned about writing. You need a gang. You need a crew. You need people you can bounce ideas off of. You need people you can vent to. You need to have a group of people who’ve got your six. Why? There are lots of reasons, but the biggest one is that riffing with creative people makes you more creative.

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What’s a writer for?

What’s a writer for? What good do we do? Do we just march forward, puking our subconscious clutter onto the page – molding it and trying to make it mean something? Some people read it. OK. I always wanted to be a writer. Now, that I am, I sometimes find myself wondering what I want to be now. What’s next?

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The Dark Side

The majority of my writing is pretty dark. My short stories are psychologically dark, not so much violent. Joe Café, my first novel, is probably the darkest thing I’ve written and it is violent. I’ve been thinking about this lately because I get, ‘dear GOD!, how do you think those horrible things?’ responses from people on occasion. I’ve probably talked about this before. I don’t care. I’ve been writing freelance marketing stuff all morning and I have ceased to care about anything except training my stupid, hateful, ignorant, ugly freaking fingers to insert only one space after a period. This goes against 18 years of writing habit. But that’s the way it’s gotta be. Even here, Hise won’t let me out of the box if I don’t do it. But I suppress, I want to talk about the sick, vicious, blood-drenched, soul-crushing things that exist in my mind.

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