Following is a brief list of the French phrases used in this story. Only meanings relevant to the story are given.
Amusez-vous, amuse yourself (polite imperative)
Bien-aimé, beloved (m)
Bonne nuit, good night (bedtime)
Chérie, sweetheart, darling (f)
Lioncourt, short (brief span of time) lion
Ma chère, my dear (f)
Merci, thank you
Merci beaucoup, thank you very much
Merde, excrement
Mon Dieu, my God
Mon père, my father
Mon petit, my child (m)
Monsieur, sir, mister
Parfaitement, absolutely
Pointe du Lac, point (tip) of the lake
Toute de suite, immediately, at once (idiom)
Très bien, very good (morally)
Vos guenilles, your rags
Sheri Richardson is an award-winning writer and an as-yet-unpublished novelist. Writing is the essence of her nature. She is also a long-time computer professional. A California native, until recently she lived in the Silicon Valley with her daughter. She currently has three manuscripts in development and seeks new representation.
Her speculative fiction focuses more on the mundane, on the day-to-day lives of the characters, taking a few days and filling in the myriad tiny joys and sorrows that make up a life. Or as Leo Kottke has said: Take a simple melody and drive it into the ground.
A fledgling devotee to vampiric fiction, Sheri is fiercely loyal to cher Louis in all things, but finds Lestat’s passion and humor almost irresistible. Almost.
Another Interview started out as something I simply had to get on paper if I ever wanted to sleep again, Louis haunted me so. Just what would it take for him to reshape his beliefs? What could possibly change his perceptions so much that he would embrace his gifts and find real peace? These questions troubled me incessantly.
The name Louis chose for his love truly appalled me; I honestly hadn’t picked a name for her by the time he finally asked. But as it turned out, it became vital she not reveal her true name and there was no other choice than the name Louis had given her.
Another Interview remains a story of the struggle to be true to your nature, whatever sort of fiend you might be. Much of the story is also a crying out over the desolation left in the wake of Memnoch’s terrible passing.
Like other authors, I have drawn from my own world. The walnut tree stands in what was my front yard. In the back there was once a large and friendly dog, though he was neither mine nor a deerhound. Were you to walk down my street then, you would see the places Louis strolled, the sequoia, the swing, so long ago now it seems.
The Hakone Gardens (hah-koh-nee gahr-dehnz) are most especially real. Any visit to the Silicon Valley is incomplete without a pause in that particular corner of the Savage Garden. They are closed at night, however, so I’m uncertain if the illusion I painted truly occurs. Perhaps it does, but only for those with lustrous hair, radiant skin, and fierce eyes.
Another Interview and my two other Louis stories may be found in their entirety on Divisadero Street, Louis’s original homepage.
Comments on and discussion of the story are welcome and encouraged. Please use the link, below.
Posted, August 1995 -- Uploaded to the A.B.A-R newsgoup.
Revised, January 1996 -- The original story contained several inaccuracies that needed correcting. And I took the opportunity to incorporate some of the suggestions I’d received, and to clean up the writing overall. The times I fell asleep at the keyboard were glaring, I’m afraid.
Perhaps more importantly, I had a better feel for these fine Créole gentlemen once the sequel, Resurrection, was completed, a much longer piece of spec fiction at over ninety-five thousand words, and I wanted to bring this story into line with what I’d learned.
Reposted, October 1997 -- Updated e-mail address and added Divisadero Street link.
Converted to HTML, November 1998 -- Long overdue, non? I also got around to changing baritone to alto. Duh.
Updated the HTML, October 2006 -- Modernized the code, erradicated the frames, and also reverted bienaimé to the more common spelling, bien-aimé.
[Respect that was once given freely, having been demanded, is irretrievably lost.]
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents in this work are fictitious or used fictiously. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, products, or publications -- living, dead, or otherwise -- is intended nor should such be inferred.
The story and all its trimmings are protected by U.S. and international copyright law. Posting or republication is prohibited without my express, written permission in advance. If you would like the story for your site feel free to contact me, using the link below. I cannot give permission for reproduction of this story in any for-profit collection on any media; t’was written for love, not money. I will entertain writing to spec, however.
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