Author Spotlight Martin Shoemaker

Several years ago, the Portage District Library approached me about facilitating a workshop for writers. The concept was to bring together anyone interested in writing, with the hope that we would attract some published authors as well as people on their journey to publication. In addition to discussing any relevant topics, participants were encouraged to share a scene or section of their current work in progress. This provides a great opportunity to get feed back.

That's where I met Martin Shoemaker. His reactions and comments to others work is always supportive and encouraging. Whenever Martin shares a bit from one of his projects, he immediately draws the audience in. And leaves everyone wanting to hear more.

Time to learn a bit more about Martin Shoemaker.

Everyone takes a different path to becoming a published author. What was your journey like?

Long. Way too long…

I’ve been telling stories all my life. My mom told of me making up adventures for my imaginary friends. When my older brother got a typewriter for college, I was fascinated. You could make real books with that! I was too short to reach it on the table, so I learned to type with it in my lap. I still type that way.

In my teens, I submitted my first story. It got rejected, and I gave up.

In college, I submitted my second story. It got rejected, and I gave up.

Early in my programming career, I submitted another story. It got rejected, and I gave up.

And so on. And so on. I wanted to write, but I lacked persistence.

Finally, when I was 47, I got a rejection… and I didn’t give up. I sent it to the next market, and the next. I studied. I wrote and submitted more stories. This time I kept at it for six whole months!

But I was getting nowhere. My stories weren’t selling. So I gave up… but this time with a plan. On January 1, I would put away my writing tools and start writing computer games. I could pretend to be a writer until then. And as a writer, I had a rule that every Saturday I had to submit every story that wasn’t submitted yet.

I had written a story I really liked and sent it off to Asimov’s Science Fiction. It came back rejected… on December 31… which was a Saturday. My rules said it had to be submitted.  I searched for a market, and I found Writers of the Future. I didn’t know much about it, but I knew it was some sort of contest. I knew that some of the writers I followed were judges, including two of my favorites, Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. And the contest has a quarterly deadline. December 31 was the deadline. And I like serendipity. So, I sent the story in.

And the next day, I put away my writing tools. I was done. I would write Windows Phone games. I’m an excellent programmer. I would stick to what I knew. And by March, I had made $50 from my games. That was where I belonged.

And then I got a call from Writers of the Future. I had literally forgotten I had sent them a story, so imagine my surprise when contest coordinator Joni Labaqui told me my story was a Finalist. That meant it was in the top 8 among thousands of entries. The top 3 would be published in the annual anthology, and the writers would attend a workshop in Hollywood taught by the bestselling judges.

Suddenly I was back in the writing business, learning more about Writers of the Future. The more I learned, the more I wanted to win.

But I didn’t. A month later I got another call from Joni. My story hadn’t won; but contest judge Jerry Pournelle thought it should have. He loved that story.

Jerry Pournelle… whom I’d been reading for 30 years.

Jerry Pournelle loved my story.

And that’s when I realized that maybe my biggest mistake was giving up. That’s when I gave up giving up. And sales followed.

So, my message to new writers, young writers especially, is: Be smarter than me. Keep trying!

(Told you it was long…)

Let’s get wild. Your latest book has been selected by a streaming service to be made into a movie (or series).  The producers have asked for your thoughts on casting the top three characters.  Who would you choose?

This isn’t something I normally think about. Hmmm… My latest book (coming in July) is A Fine and Dangerous Season, a book about storytellers and the stories that bind them together in a battle against ancient spirits. It’s an ensemble cast, so picking out the top three characters is a challenge. But I’ll try…

Carol Scott is a science fiction/fantasy writer whose career is just beginning to take off. She comes to Michigan in search of her lost friend, Hugh O’Connor; and she gets drawn into arson, mysterious stalkers, and murderous spirits. I could see Marisa Tomei in that role.

Kevin Fenton has become the lead editor of Un/Revealed science fiction and fantasy magazine after the death of his mentor. He has all the struggle he can handle just keeping the magazine afloat. Then the stories start stalking him… He needs to be avuncular but with a manic edge as the world goes crazy around him. Tony Shalhoub, one of the most versatile character actors out there, might do well for Kevin. Wayne Hudson is a mathematician who starts the book in a coma and must reason his way out of it. But even after he escapes from the coma, his nightmares follow, stalking him in reflection. I would like to see Sam Rockwell in this role just because he’s an amazing actor. If you haven’t seen Moon, you’re missing out!

Do you prepare an outline before you start writing a story?

Almost never. I am mostly a discovery writer, or what we sometimes call a pantser (because I write from the seat of my pants). I sit down in my Jeep, turn on my recorder, start driving, and start talking. I become my characters while I’m behind the wheel, and I say what they say, see, do and think. I find the story in that. It takes trust that I’ll never paint myself into a corner. There are no corners, there are only discoveries.

A Fine and Dangerous Season was written a chapter per day in October 2023 in response to prompts from Fyrecon (my favorite writing and art conference). I started by writing a short story for the prompt each day; but around day 5, I started to see how these stories could weave together into a novel. I didn’t know what it was about until day 20. I didn’t know the ending until day 32. But I trusted that I could do it. The book will debut in July as part of a Writers of the Future bundle, featuring novels by some of WotF’s bestselling judges and others by past winners: Kevin J. Anderson, Rob Sawyer, Jody Lynn Nye, Nancy Kress, Sean Williams, and Eric Flint & David Farland. And me!

Tell us more about the book.

“This SEASON evokes every kind of Bradbury Weather - a worthy celebration of storytellers and the storms they summon.”- James A. Owen, author of The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica

As the veil between worlds thins on Samhain, ancient Celtic spirits prepare to unleash their malevolent power upon the unsuspecting world. In the heart of Grand Rapids, a group of unlikely heroes—writers, editors, and a comatose mathematician—must unravel a web of illusions and confront their own fears to prevent a catastrophe that could change the course of history.

Best-selling science fiction author Martin L. Shoemaker crafts a masterful tale that blends contemporary fantasy with the rich tapestry of Celtic mythology, in the tradition of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine. A Fine and Dangerous Season is a story about stories, where the line between fiction and reality blurs, and the power of imagination becomes the ultimate weapon against ancient evil.

Prepare to be enthralled by a narrative that weaves together mystery, magic, and the enduring strength of the human spirit. With nods to speculative fiction icons and a cast of memorable characters, this book will leave you questioning what’s real—and what’s merely an illusion.

Can you share an excerpt?

Reflections on Custard (October 19)

Wanda pulled the van into the extra wide handicapped parking spot at Myra’s Donut Galaxy. Wayne tried for a joke. “Parking’s easier now.”

But the joke wasn’t that good, and Wanda didn’t have her sense of humor back yet. “There’s nothing easy about this, Wayne.”

Wayne sighed. “I know. It was my accident, remember? I just… I had to say something. It wasn’t as funny as I’d hoped.” He looked around, but all he could add was, “So here we are, back again.”

“Here we are.” She smiled weakly, leaned over, and kissed him. If Wayne saw a silver lining to his accident, it was that Wanda had gotten much more tender and affectionate. Almost losing him had changed her, and he didn’t mind that change.

He tried to lean toward her as well, but that still wasn’t possible. His arms and shoulders were still bandaged and braced, practically immobile. He managed only to lift his left hand. Wanda took it and squeezed it.

Then she let go, got out of the van they had borrowed from her parents, and headed to the back. She opened the rear door, and she wrestled the wheelchair to the ground, along with a wide wooden step stool her father had built. Wanda had always been a big woman. Wayne remembered that about her, though not how he knew it. There were still gaps.

“Okay, Wayne,” she said, “I’m coming around.” She slammed the rear doors, unfolded the wheelchair, and rolled it around to the passenger side. Wayne actually managed to unlatch the door before she got there. He counted that as a win.

Then, as the door angle changed, he caught a glimpse of the big passenger side mirror. The big rabbit was in there, waving a paw at him.

Under his breath, Wayne muttered, “Go away… Please…”

The whimper was an improvement. He had developed a little self-control. In the hospital, when Wanda had shown him a mirror so he could see how badly banged up he was, he had seen a dark-mailed knight looking over his shoulder in the glass. He hadn’t just muttered then, he had screamed. Then when he had tried to explain… Well, that had ended up with sedatives, and with Dr. Walchek running him through another battery of tests. In the end, he passed every one and the doctor judged him reasonably normal. After that, Wayne had learned to stop talking about the figures he saw in looking glasses. The rabbit had… anthropomorphized since then. It was taller than Wayne, and it walked on its hind legs like a man.

Wanda swung the door wide and pulled the chair closer. “All right, Wayne, here’s the step.” She set the stool down in front of the door. Wayne was pretty good when it came to his legs. (She was a nurse, after all.) They had been burned in the accident, but not broken, not like his shoulders. With Wanda’s help to steady him, Wayne was able to step out of the van. It only hurt a little.

“Good!” Wanda said. “Now let’s sit you down.” She helped him to stand between the footrests of the chair and to turn around. Then she helped him lower himself into the seat, she extended the footrest, and he put his feet up on them. She put the stool in the truck, closed the door, and wheeled him up onto the sidewalk.

Wayne knew it was irrational, but he had insisted at first that he didn’t need the wheelchair. His legs worked. But Dr. Walchek had straightened him out there. Arms are part of the balance mechanism, he had said. And you catch things with them if you get off balance. I want you in that chair until your appointment next week Tuesday. No walking any farther than bed to chair to toilet. Promise? Wayne had promised, and Wanda had done her level best to make sure he followed through.

They reached the door, and Wayne found the handicap access button. He was learning to spot those really well. Wanda stepped toward it, but he said, “No. Please. Let me.”

She sighed, but then she said, “You’re right. I just…”

“You want to help… Love, Dr. Walchek said I had to start doing whatever little things I can. If you’ll push me forward…” She did, and he pushed the button. The doors gently swung open, and she pushed him inside.

Tomorrow they would take delivery of a motorized wheelchair, and Wayne would start learning how to operate it under the tutelage of Mindy, the therapist. Until then he needed Wanda to push him everywhere. That was good, since she wouldn’t leave his side anyway.

As they rolled into the brightly lit bakery, nearly a dozen customers and staff shouted out, “Wayne!” Suddenly they surrounded the couple, cheering and smiling and applauding, filling the large space between the door and the counter. Wanda tried to caution them not to bump the chair, but there were too many of them. The whole crowd bounced around like Brownian motion.

“Hey! Boss coming through!” Myra forced herself to the front of the crowd. She was a large, friendly woman in a blue blouse and white apron, both covered with flour. She pushed back her hair, leaned in, and found Wayne’s cheek between the bandages so she could plant a kiss on him. “You! Don’t you worry me like that again.” Then she grinned and gave him another kiss.

“I won’t,” Wayne said.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got a fresh batch of long johns coming up…”

Long johns… Wayne had a mixed feeling. He knew he loved long johns; but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what they tasted like.

As Myra turned back to her oven, two cops squeezed in front of Wayne and gripped his shoulders.

“Wayne! It’s so good to see you up and about.”

“Thanks, Kyle. Amy.” These were two of the regulars. All the cops in the city and half in the county frequented Myra’s, twenty-four hours a day, taking their breaks in the dining area in the next room. In five decades, there had never been a burglar stupid enough to try to rob the Donut Galaxy.

Then Amy reached over and pulled in two more cops, these in county uniforms. Beyond them were a fireman and two EMTs, a regular first responder crew. Amy said, “Wayne, I don’t think you’ve met Deputy Phillips and Deputy Lawrence.”

Wayne shook his head as far as his brace would let him. The two deputies crouched lower so they were on the same eyeline. Lawrence, a slender young African-American deputy, said, “No, but we’ve met him.”

Phillips nodded. “And we are so glad to see you come out of the hospital, Mr. Hudson. When we pulled you out of that wreck…”

Then Wayne understood. These two deputies had rescued him from… from whatever had happened in the accident. “And these three?” He looked at the other first responders.

Phillips added, “Goldman here gave you CPR, then he and his partner loaded you up. Lane and Turner hosed the area down to prevent a fire.”

 Wayne still couldn’t remember a thing. Apparently no one had been on the scene until police and EMTs arrived.

“Thank you,” he said. Wayne felt like he should say more, but all that came out was another, “Thank you.”

“We already thanked them,” said Elise, the waitress. “We loaded them up with free donuts.”

“Yeah,” said Phillips, “I’m going to have to put in for a new uniform.” Elise laughed, and the crowd joined in.

Then Myra came back out from behind the counter. “People, people, people… Let Wayne finish getting in the door! I’m sure Wanda wants to sit down, so let’s get them to their table.”

The crowd parted, and Phillips and Lawrence took over Wayne’s chair, giving Wanda a break. They guided him toward the west wall, where…

…where the handicapped tables were. Special tables with a chair only on one side, so a wheelchair could pull up to the other side. Wayne had seen those in Myra’s for years. Now he actually needed one.

It was one more adjustment Wayne would have to get used to–but hopefully not for long. Dr. Walchek had been cautiously optimistic that he would recover most of his function. He would probably always have trouble with his shoulders. That might hurt his fishing, but he could get better with practice. But your mind, Walchek had said, that fabulous brain of yours, it’s on the mend. I think you’ll get back your memories, most of them. No promises, but the neurologist says you have a strong chance.

Considering that not that many days ago they hadn’t known if Wayne would ever rejoin the world, a few lost memories weren’t the worst he could imagine. He would take that chance.

The EMTs wheeled Wayne’s chair up to the southernmost of the two tables, the one near a spinner rack of… science fiction magazines? Yes, that was right! Myra was a science fiction fan. That was why this was the Donut Galaxy. Wayne didn’t have time to more than glance at the magazines, but one cover looked familiar. An orange jungle scene with a carved stone disk…

Then Wayne was turned straight at the table. It was spotless even beyond Myra’s usual high standards, as if they had cleaned it just for him. So clean, in fact, that Wayne saw his reflection in the silver metal of the napkin holder.

And of course he wasn’t alone there. There was a… a creature there, something like a giant yellow face. Unlike his dreams, this wasn’t anything out of Lewis Carroll. Am I getting worse? It was hard for Wayne to judge.

He nodded at the creature, and it nodded back, blinking big pointy eyes with fiery red pupils. Wayne tried not to react too strongly. He didn’t want to worry Wanda, so he looked away.

So far the images in reflections had shown no ability to touch Wayne, nor even to talk to him. Sometimes they waved for his attention, while other times they merely watched him. Watching them back got to be too much for Wayne, though, and he was afraid he would smash the reflections if he watched too long.

So Wayne looked away just as Myra brought over a warm, steaming long john. “Quiet, everyone!” The voices subsided. “Here you go, Wayne.” She set the plate down in front of him, and she set a cake donut in front of Wanda. “And you, Wanda. It’s so good to see you to back here, where you belong.”

Where I belong, Wayne thought. His memories of Myra’s Donut Galaxy were shattered into a thousand little pieces, but all of them were comforting. This place, these people, they were his friends. People whose company he’d enjoyed. Some of them–Wayne had trouble remembering which ones–some of them were closer, friends he could rely on to help move a refrigerator, or to join him for fishing. Some of the warm smiles made him instinctively smile back, even if the names came and went. Joe… Jill? Aaron… Anjum… The redhaired woman, Wayne had dated her before he met Wanda. Had that ended well?

And someone was missing. Someone close to him. Whenever Wayne thought about fishing, there was a vague face of a man in his memory. The man was anxious, but Wayne couldn’t remember why.

There were so many pieces of Wayne’s life to reassemble, like a big mosaic artwork. A few pieces had fallen into place already, but the rest seemed to be constantly in motion. He imagined himself reaching out, grasping for them, only to have pieces scurry away from his touch. The neurologist–why couldn’t Wayne remember her name?–had said it would be a long process. When he asked her how long, she shook her head. I don’t have those answers.

So Wayne tried to stop thinking about it. He reached down (with some difficulty, of course), picked up the long, warm rectangle of dough covered with chocolate, and took a bite.

Heavenly! The light, tasty dough with the chocolate icing was better than Wayne could’ve imagined. Myra stood by the table, looking at him with expectant eyes. “Good!” he said, and she beamed. Conversations resumed throughout the Galaxy, and everyone seemed happier.

Wayne took another bite. “Mmmmm! Custard!” There was beautiful, creamy custard inside, wonderfully warm without being hot. At last Wayne remembered why long johns were his favorites.

He took another big bite, trying to get as much custard as he could. But he went too far. Some custard squeezed out the side and down his chin. Before the accident, Wayne would’ve quickly reached a finger and dabbed the custard to wipe it from his chin. Then he would’ve licked the finger to get every last drip.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready yet. He just sat there, embarrassed, as the yellow cream dripped down his chin. Would anybody notice? This is embarrassing. But it would be worse to have to ask somebody to take a napkin and wipe his face.

A napkin… That drew Wayne’s eyes back to the silver metal in front of him. The yellow creature stared out, with a dollop of custard on its own face. A long, flaming tongue zipped out, licked the custard off, and drew it into the creature’s mouth.

And though Wayne couldn’t explain it, he was sure: the custard was gone from his face as well.

Any upcoming events where you can people can meet up you?

I’ll be on a panel and selling books at the GR Lit Fest: https://grlitfest.com/

I’ll also be selling books at the Cedar Springs Renaissance Faire: https://www.cedarspringschamberofcommerce.com/renaissancefantasy-faire.

I may also tell some stories as The Instant Bard. I talk to the audience and improvise stories based on what they tell me.

You can learn more about Martin at his website. Here are some links to a few of his books.

https://shoemaker.space/

Amazon.com: Dust to Dust: Maxwell's Demons Episode 1 eBook : Shoemaker, Martin L.: Kindle Store

Amazon.com: Thrash Metal Homicide (Maxwell's Demons Book 2) eBook : Shoemaker, Martin L.: Kindle Store

Amazon.com: Today I Am Carey eBook : Shoemaker, Martin L.: Kindle Store

Amazon.com: Garden Paths: Stories inspired by Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park eBook : Shoemaker, Martin L.: Kindle Store