Hello everyone,

Today I am interviewing writer Sonja Yoerg whose wonderful novel, House Broken, is out in January.

Cathy Lamb: Sonja, before we talk about your new book, I am most curious about, and love, your personal story.  You were working in the San Francisco Bay area, then you and your husband decided to pack it all up, hit the road, and move to the tranquil Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. Why?

Sonja Yoerg: I first came to California for graduate school at UC Berkeley in 1982, and lived there, with a few breaks, until last year. Our daughters were raised in both the Bay Area and near San Diego, but when they left for college, we knew we wanted a change.

Both girls’ colleges are on the East Coast (Tufts U and Middlebury) and my family is mostly there. I imported my husband from England, so by moving east we’re closer to his tribe as well. Also, California is expensive! We wanted space and mountains and clean air and a reasonable climate.

After a detailed study of climate and geography (science geeks that my husband and I are), and visiting many wonderful places, we settled on Virginia. We hit the jackpot: it’s beautiful, each season lovelier than the next, and the people are incredibly welcoming.

So, city girl to country girl. What is different between life there and life now?

Gosh, what’s the same? The biggest difference isn’t geographical, but where we are in our lives. The fledglings have left the nest. It’s quiet, and there are, it seems, many more hours in the day. There are certainly many fewer sporting events! I cried when I packed my younger daughter’s last school lunch, but I can’t say I miss doing it.

We live at the end of a gravel road where, at the moment, all I hear, quite literally, is crickets. It’s heaven.

And amidst the crickets you wrote House Broken. Can you tell us about it?

The main character is Geneva, a hard-headed veterinarian, who reluctantly allows her injured, alcoholic mother to recuperate in her home. Geneva is determined to use the opportunity to poke into the dark corners of their family history, and her mother fights her all the way. I added two slippery teenagers and a husband at cross-purposes, and stirred the pot.

Aha, pot stirring! I am familiar with that.  I imagine a black cauldron with smoke billowing out and me, the witch in a black hat, leaning over it, cackling crazily.

But back to you and your pot stirring. Tell us about your writing process with Housebroken.  Where did the idea come from? How long did it take to write? What were the struggles you faced with it?

I started with Geneva, a woman who relishes control and believes in good training—for people as well as animals. She’s hard-working, smart and, like so many working mothers, one disaster away from coming unglued. After I understood Geneva, I set about making trouble for her. The story flowed organically. A few chapters in, I changed to Geneva’s mother’s point-of-view, then to her daughter’s. It ended up being a three-generation story.

Many writers will hate me for this but it took only four months to write the draft, which is very close to the final version. Don’t ask me how I did it, because I couldn’t repeat it! I got my comeuppance with my second novel, Middle of Somewhere (September 2015). It was a bear to write and went through many revisions.

Four months? Wow.  It takes me eight to nine torturous months, at least, and I’m muttering to myself at the end of it.   I’m impressed with your speed.

You have a B.S. in Psychology from the University of Massashusetts at Amherst, and a Ph.D. in Biological Psychology from Berkeley. How did those degrees help you in terms of writing Housebroken?

Geneva is a veterinarian with special training in animal behavior, and there are many scenes in the book where I relied heavily on my training in the field. It was also easy for me to get inside her head because we look at animals and people similarly.

My science career also shaped my writing. In science, clarity and brevity are prized. My style is fairly sparse and direct, and I push hard to express myself as clearly as possible. That said, I’m also a dreamer and a smart-aleck, and have a wild imagination. I try to use all of it.

I have to put a plug in for your blog. I love it.  It allows me to live vicariously through you and your life in the country, vs. my life in suburbia.  http://www.sonjayoerg.com/blog/.  Did you ever think you would be writing a blog about your new life away from the city?

Thanks, Cathy. I enjoy creating the blog, except when it’s hard to find time for yet more writing. As for anticipating writing a blog, I’m surprised I didn’t start one sooner. I’ve always loved essays and short stories. That’s what a good blog is, plus photos.

Most writers, I’m guessing, naturally tell stories about their lives in short essay form, whether they write them down or not. “Remember that field we needed mowed? Well, an old guy showed up…”and off they go. It’s the long story—the novel—that is such a monumental challenge.

Blogs are also a perfect venue for exercising voice and getting to the point without a lot of falderal.

(I just had to look up the word ‘falderal.’ For those of you who don’t know what it means, it’s ‘nonsense.’ Falderal is now my new word of the year.)

I love your new kitchen in your country home, by the way. That is exactly what I want. Yes, I am tired of my pink accent tiles. 

You are the guru on Twitter and social media for writers. Can you give all of us writers a few pieces of advice on what we absolutely should be doing to promote our books?

Make friends! Be nice!

I’m not joking. Look. No one likes a sales pitch. Most people are on social media to be social. Yes, there are strategies for gaining followers and for tweeting effectively and for driving traffic from one form of social media to the next, but at the end of the day, none of it matters if you are not connecting with people in a meaningful way. Treat people on social media as if they are in front of you. If they talk to you, talk back. If they do something nice, say thanks, and do something nice for them. I have met the most wonderful people on social media, including you, Cathy, and am grateful—and I haven’t sold anything yet!

And I am delighted to have met you, too, Sonja. You have taught me so much about social media, not my forte at all, and I am so grateful for your help.

Three things you’re looking forward to in 2015….

The release of House Broken. I never expected to become a novelist because the odds against it were so high. My agent picked House Broken out of the slush pile. It still feels like a dream.

New dogs. Our last dog died shortly before we left California. My husband and I will each pick one, probably rescues, like all our dogs have been. New furry friends!

Grandchildren. My daughters are 19 and 21, so I must be patient, but I think children are hilarious.

A snippet of Housebroken is right here, friends….

Dr. Geneva Novak stared at the X-ray clipped to the light box on the wall. She tilted her head sideways and squinted at the contents of the dog’s stomach. The iPod was obvious—it faced her—but the object protruding from the large blurry mass stumped her. Rectangular, with two bright white bars. Only metal lit up like that.

She clenched her jaw. This would be the third time she would have to operate on Zeke to remove things he’d swallowed, things his owner shouldn’t have left lying around. After the second incident, she had talked to the owner at length about how to protect his dog. She recommended he walk Zeke daily, so the dog wouldn’t turn to mischief out of boredom, and suggested he either keep his apartment orderly or confine the dog when he left the house. Nearly all dogs come to love their crates, she reassured him. Geneva had written down the instructions and told him he could call her anytime for help. But when Zeke’s owner brought him in this morning, he confessed he hadn’t followed through on anything. And the outcome was illuminated in black and white on the wall.

Eyes still on the X-ray, she pulled a hair band from the pocket of her lab coat and secured her dark hair into a tidy bun that would fit under her scrubs cap. Her cell phone, abandoned on the desk behind her, warbled. She touched the icon. A message from Dublin. It’s Mom, it read. Call me.

Geneva sighed. “It’s always Mom.”

Visit with Sonja…

www.sonjayoerg.com

www.facebook.com/SonjaYoerg

www.twitter.com/SonjaYoerg