Runs with scissors, does not work or play well with others, fails to follow directions. Oh — excuse me, we were channeling our Kindergarten teacher. Ginny Fleming has that effect on people. We (meaning I) sent Ginny our usual questions and she tossed them out the window and let the dog roll around on them. In their place, she sent this.
Miss Ginny, as always, you crack us (meaning me) up.
Daughter of a Sunday School teacher and a prankster, Ginny grew up in the best of both worlds. The jokes flowed from her father, but were tempered by weekly Bible lessons (bi-weekly, daily or whenever the Holy Muse struck her mother). She’s written several screenplays (optioned), short stories and novels. In her life, she’s peddled Hallmark Cards, hawked books, sold craft supplies and worked at a pot factory (Louisville Stoneware). While she didn’t inhale the wares, she did paint them. A long-time member of the Southern Indiana Writers Group, Ginny’s work appears in their anthologies.
On the dark and stormy night Ginny Fleming was born, the Earth shook (somewhere), the planets swirled (somewhere– out there) and (somewhere– in a galaxy far far away) life formed from a thick, bubbly primordial soup, which coincidentally resembled the very first meal Fleming prepared for her husband many, many (back when dirt was a pup), many years ago. Fleming first told the world she wanted to be a ballerina. The world replied: “Tell me another one, Stumblefoot.” After that, she kept her hopes and dreams to herself. Over the years, after failing to become a veterinarian (her brother informed her it meant she couldn’t ever eat meat again), a nurse (they shove the thermometer WHERE?), a missionary (the natives are all veterinarians, right?) and a Wild-Wild-West-Horse-Riding-Cowgirl (*sigh* – all the *real* horses live across the river and get too skinny running the Kentucky Derby), she finally closed her eyes and listened for that small clear voice deep inside. When at last it spoke, Fleming thought it said “Artist”. After spending 15 years of her life painting everything that moved, she finally threw up her hands (though she’d not really eaten them– merely nibbled a fingernail or two) and had to admit perhaps she’d misheard the small clear voice. Perhaps it had not whispered “Artist” after all. Perhaps it had merely mumbled. Perhaps it was only her stomach growling.
Somewhere along the way, Fleming stumbled across her first computer. After cussing a blue streak and massaging her injured toe, she looked around the room for the idiot who’d leave a perfectly good computer in her path. Booting up the contraption, she was surprised to hear it whisper: “Writer”. She took that to be Word From On High and promptly climbed the basement stairs (futilely searching for the lofty Voice of Inspiration) and ate a chocolate cupcake (just in case it was her stomach rumbling again). While Fleming proudly takes credit for the death and destruction of at least three computers, she *is* mildly surprised to have extracted many screenplays and various novels from the Gates-Inspired Tool of the Devil.
As a (con)founding member of SIW (Southern Indiana Writers), I testify we’re a group of roughly 10 people with varying success, though we publish a yearly theme-based anthology. The Southern Indiana Writers regularly contribute to her delinquency. This motley crüe of writers meet weekly (if the stars are aligned – otherwise, we meet weakly).
Find us here: http://southernindianawriters.com/
Interests: Screenwriting, novels, short stories, silver, scuba diving, magical illusion (studied as a hobby), pulling the wings off small angry insects, mermaids… er… that is: mer-MEN… These are a few of my fav-O-rite things.
My paranormal/fantasy romance novel KEYS OF ILLUSION (*Scuba in the Keys with the proper Merman*) takes place in the Florida Keys. All alone in the world, Jerri Delaney, a young professional magician, travels to the Keys, hoping to fulfill the original Amazing Delaney’s (her late namesake father) long-held dream. But before she can reach Key West proper, she’s waylaid by an eccentric billionaire in a lavender Rolls Royce. The luxury car creams Jerri’s tiny import and Miss Marty — a “Mr. Rodgers-loving” billionaire — adopts the young entertainer, bringing her home to her “Purple Plantation”. As Jerri recuperates from her injuries at the woman’s lush compound with the rest of the elderly lady’s adopted family-clan, she’s drawn into their lives, finally finding a “family” and the love of a lifetime with a truly “magical” man… the mer-MAN of her dreams.
“The Florida Keys — A gift you give your soul.”
Thank you, Ginny. Folks, Ginny will be at the Author’s Fair in Madison on the weekend of March 17. That will be St. Patrick’s Day, so she’ll probably be wearing purple. That’s our girl.