1. How did you get
started writing?
I come from a family of storytellers and it was an every day
occurrence to hear stories about how my family came to America from Russia. Stories
were embellished and evolved into great adventures and lessons about overcoming
adversity.
As a young child, I
entertained my younger brother and cousins with stories about fairies and a
magical land that was filled with lemonade rivers and gumdrop trees. Later on,
I turned to writing stories about the dreams and longings of an adolescent.
There was a long period of time when I set aside my writing and focused on
raising my children, returning to school and becoming a practicing
psychotherapist.
I began to write again during a particularly difficult time
in my life. My relationship of sixteen years had a sad ending and I began to
write as a means of working through my grief and pain. I had many sleepless
nights and it was during one of these nights that the concept for Flowers from
Iraq was born. I spent two years writing the book and learning the craft. That personal
loss was a difficult time in my life, but it took me on a new path and I
rediscovered my passion for writing.
2. Tell us about your
book, The Girls. Open the book to any page and fill us in on what is happening.
The Girls opens in 2020, when President Julia Moorhead has
signed the Freedom to Marry Act into law. The Girls have gathered at the home
of Emily Elizabeth Scott—the protagonist—and are fixated on the TV as they
watch riots breaking out on the streets. The Girls, now in their seventies and
early eighties, decide to help the people understand and embrace equality by
revealing their lives and loves.
In the book, we meet seven incredible women who lived during
a time when women were yearning for equality and stepping out of the closet
could be a dangerous action. Each narrative becomes intertwined to become one
story...the story of The Girls.
This particular part of the book is about the
early life of one of the Girls, Iris Fields. It is how her life begins, but not
how it ends.
****
Slatterville, CA
Slatterville, California, is located one hundred miles north
of Sacramento and twenty miles east of Route 99. Once a flourishing copper and
iron mining town, the population dwindled as the mines closed one by one.
There
were no railroad tracks that went directly to Slatterville, but if there were,
Iris would have been born on the wrong side. That she was born in the charity
ward of Saint Francis Hospital, and then sent home with her sixteen-year-old
mother to an ancient aluminum trailer set up on blocks, was proof enough of her
troubled beginnings.
In
1940, the usual hospital stay for new mothers and infants was seven to ten
days, and for the next eighteen years, it would prove to be the best nine days
in Iris Fields’s life. At twenty-two inches and barely six pounds, Iris was
longer and thinner than most baby girls. The hospital sisters tried to get
Eugenia Fields to nurse Iris, but she steadfastly refused. “It’ll ruin my
figure. Take her away.”
The
Children’s Relief Society provided Eugenia with formula and the hospital
sisters of St. Francis Hospital prayed every day that Iris Fields would survive
her first year.
∞
Eugenia
told Iris that she took after her father, name unknown, who played on the
varsity basketball team. A complexion that was darker than most of the kids in
town, towering over the girls and boys in grade school, and wearing dresses
that were too baggy for her sticklike body. All these things made Iris an easy
target for bullying.
Every
day after school, Iris ran home, her long legs churning as she tried to escape
the boys chasing her. Breathing hard, she prayed that the DO NOT DISTURB sign
was not hanging on the trailer door. If the sign was off, it meant she could
seek refuge inside, and maybe there would be something to eat to fill the
emptiness in her stomach, and in her heart. She could see the trailer from a
distance, and by its telltale rocking motion knew the sign was on the door.
Thankfully,
the boys had given up the chase. She waited on the hot steps, gasping for air,
and then, as her breathing slowed, rested her head in her hands, hoping the
door would open soon and Mr. Slattery would leave. She could tell when that was
about to happen, because the rocking of the trailer slowed and then stopped.
Mr.
Slattery, descendant of the founders of Slatterville and owner of most of the
town’s property, stood on the top step, patted Iris on the head, put a dollar
bill in her hand, and thanked her for being such a good girl.
Her
mother waved goodbye, oblivious to her ten-year-old daughter, covered in dirt
and with scraped knees and elbows.
After
Mr. Slattery drove away, Iris whispered, “Momma, I got beat up again.” Iris
looked at her mother, her eyes dripping tears as she wiped her nose on the
sleeve of her dress.
“Look
at you, Iris. How you ever goin’ to get a boyfriend?” said Eugenia Fields as
she tightened the tie on her chiffon print robe—a Christmas gift from Mr.
Slattery—and went back into the trailer.
Mr.
Newly from across the dirt road sat in his web lawn chair. He held his
cigarette in one hand and motioned to Iris with the other. Mr. Newly was an
unkempt-looking man in his late fifties or so, who wore a ribbed, sweat-stained
sleeveless undershirt and had a tattoo of a ship’s anchor on his right arm. Mr.
Newly had retired from the Navy and spent his days “taking it easy,” which
meant that he saw everything that went on in the Bit of Heaven Trailer Park.
Iris scuttled across the dirt road that separated her from Mr. Newly.
“Iris,
who’s beating you up?” Mr. Newly said, taking a long drag on his non-filtered
cigarette and exhaling luxuriously. With his ruddy face and short, wiry black
hair that formed a widow’s peak, he looked to Iris like a friendly devil,
wreathed in the smoke of fire and brimstone. Iris liked him and counted him as
a friend.
She
looked down at a dirt patch and kicked up the dust with the toe of her
sneakers. “Tommy…Tommy Connors beats me up.”
“That
red-headed kid with all the freckles?”
Iris
kept her head down, continuing to kick the ground and watched the dust swirl
around and land on her once-upon-a-time white sneakers. “Yeah,” she muttered.
“Is
he the head jerk?”
Iris
nodded.
“That
kid’s a cream puff. All bluff. You have to take him down. The kids still might
not like you or play with you, but they won’t beat you up.”
Mr.
Newly drew deeply on the stump of the cigarette dangling from the side of his
mouth and blew smoke rings into the air. “Have a plan and hit ’em with
surprise. Here’s what you do.”
∞
The
next morning Iris walked to school with her two schoolbooks balanced on her hip
and her lunch bag held tightly in her other hand. She thought about how hungry
she was, and if she weren’t so scared of being waylaid by bullies, would have
eaten her lunch on the way to school. She hoped there was more than a bread and
butter sandwich in the paper sack that felt so light she feared it might be
empty.
Iris
shuffled along on her usual route to school, the neighborhood gradually
changing from run-down trailer parks to houses ordered out of the Sears catalog
and assembled from kits that contained almost everything needed to build a
multi-story suburban palace or a quaint bungalow—precut lumber, drywall,
asphalt shingles—on scattered vacant lots.
The
closer Iris got to school, the more nervous she became. Sweat began to form
under her armpits, even though the temperature hadn’t quite reached seventy
degrees. The landscape changed as she got closer to town and school.
Neighborhood produce stands, Jim’s Meat Market, and clothing stores dotted the
street, but none could compete with Mr. Slattery’s General Store. Then there
was Mr. Slattery’s Legal Offices and Slattery Town’s Civic Center, an ancient
brick building that held the sheriff’s and mayor’s offices with Mr. Slattery’s
name permanently etched on the glass door.
Tommy
Connors and his friends caught up with Iris a few blocks from school and began
their daily ritual of taunting rhymes.
Iris’s
Momma, naked as a whore,
Swingin’ on the
outhouse door
While Mr. Slattery’s
yellin’, “More, More, More!”
They roared with laughter and punched each other’s arms.
Iris,
Iris, skinny as can be. Like a monkey hanging from a tree.
Iris, Iris, who your
daddy be? We don’t know and neither does she!
Guffaws rang throughout the morning air.
As
they drew closer to school the crowd of kids began to thicken and the taunting
spread like a wildfire on a dry summer day. Iris stopped dead in her tracks and
turned around to face Tommy Connors.
“Tommy
Connors, I challenge you.”
Tommy
laughed. “You what? You challenge me?”
“That’s
right, you and me right here, right now.”
That’s
what Mr. Newly told her to say, but Iris felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to
pee.
Tommy
Connors paled. Challenged by a girl, a stupid trailer-trash girl. The kids
surrounded Tommy and Iris, now chanting for blood.
Mr.
Newly’s words echoed inside her brain: “Surprise, Iris, that’s what it’s all
about.”
She
did exactly what Mr. Newly had told her to do. With a shrill yelp, she suddenly
leaped up, using the element of surprise to knock Tommy flat on his back. While
Tommy was caught off balance, she reached between his legs, grabbed, and
squeezed as hard as she could.
Tommy
screamed from the pain and the shame. Whipped by a girl, a trailer-trash girl,
who didn’t follow the rules of fair fighting. The kids broke the circle and
scattered, leaving an opening for Tommy Connors to run home, crying for his
momma.
Not
one to pass up a meal, Iris picked up Tommy’s sack lunch, felt the weight of
it, and knew she would not be hungry today.
That
was the last time anyone teased or tried to beat up Iris Fields. Mr. Newly was
right, though. It didn’t mean that anyone would want to be her friend, and
nobody did.
****
3. What is your
favorite type of character to write about?
I am a bit of a philosopher and I see that I have developed a
character with a philosophic bent in Flowers from Iraq and The Girls. I’ve
never really thought, before, about how that shows through in my writing, so
your question has really stimulated my thinking.
4. Do you like
erotica or general fiction better?
I have read and enjoyed both genres. I do prefer a novel
with a deep storyline. For me, it is about the story more than whether it is
erotica or general fiction.
5. What are some of
your hobbies when you are not writing?
I enjoy gardening and puttering around the house. I spend a
lot of time reading, everything.
I love the beach and my favorite kite hangs on my office
wall. There is something about the sea that is soothing and restoring.
6. Plotter or
panster?
Panster...I have tried to outline, but it doesn’t work for
me. I am never sure where the story will
take me and that is because the characters lead the way. This is how it works:
I talked about Iris earlier in this interview, so I will continue with how Iris
came to life.
I take long walks every day, and it is during these times
that characters will begin to come to life. One day, a name popped up. Iris.
That was it. I then began to see a hazy outline of the trailer park where Iris
lived. Then the details began to fill in and I began to write the scene.
7. What advice would
you give for anyone just starting out as a writer?
Writing is no different from any other craft. It takes a lot
of work and tenacity. Just keep the faith: you can and will improve over-time.
Join a writer’s group; get people to read your work and ask them to be honest
in their feedback.
Don’t rush to publish. Remember, your book represents you as
an author.
Top advice: don’t give up. We are in a new world of
publishing options. I chose to self-publish and created my own publishing
company, The Storyteller and the Healer. If you are self-publishing don’t skimp
on the nuts and bolts of editing, formatting and cover. Too expensive? Look
around. There are good editors out there that work for a reasonable fee. I gave
up Starbucks...discovered my coffee wasn’t all that bad and found I saved
enough to hire an editor.
8. What is one thing
you want people to get from your books?
I want to develop characters that are real and that the
reader can identify with. I want my books to show that even though life is, at
times, difficult and painful, there is always hope. And I do believe in a happy ending.
9. Sushi or
cheeseburgers?
Veggie sushi and veggie burgers. No, I am not a vegetarian,
but I gave up beef years ago. And raw fish...nope...I eat some chicken and
salmon, but more as a condiment than as a large part of my meal.
10. Favorite ice
cream flavor?
Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Their coffee ice cream is mixed in with
chopped Heath Bar toffee.
Yummy!
11. What is next on
your writer horizon?
I am currently writing the sequel to Flowers from Iraq: God
Laughs.
I have two more books that I am thinking about.
One is a children’s book about a little girl who thinks of
herself as a prince(ss) and is struggling with gender identity.
The second is a novel that takes place in the post-holocaust
era. This will be about a group of survivors who hide their experience from
their families and the world. I want to show how denial impacts their lives and
the lives of others.
Biography and Links
Sunny Alexander writes character-driven novels that focus on
social issues pertinent to the LGBT community—and to those who support them.
Her background as a psychotherapist allows her to weave stories around the full
range of the human experience: from adversity to humor to a final resolution.
Her debut novel, Flowers
from Iraq: The Storyteller and The Healer follows Kathleen Moore, a
closeted Army physician who is injured while serving in Iraq. Faced with a life
altering wound and suffering from PTSD, she is forced to confront her past and
come to terms with her sexuality.
Flowers from Iraq
was on Amazon’s Best Seller Lesbian Fiction list for twenty-six consecutive
weeks.
The Girls,
released in May 2013, follows a group of gay women from the 1970s to 2020, a
hypothetical future when the United States Senate passes the Freedom to Marry
Act.
Sunny Alexander holds a Ph.D. in psychoanalysis and has been
a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist for more than 25 years. She lives in Southern
California where she maintains a private practice, enjoys her family and spends
time at the beach flying kites.
Alexander is currently writing the sequel to Flowers from Iraq—God Laughs: The
Storyteller and The Healer.
Learn more about
Sunny Alexander through the following links:
Facebook Author’s Page: https://www.facebook.com/sunnyalexanderauthor
Twitter: http://twitter.com/1sunnywriter
Thank you Sunny for joining me on the blog today! Stay tuned for an upcoming review of The Girls!
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