Author Interviews Novels & Stories

Not just plain luck. Before the clock could hit ten, the staff was already in my office, setting up their stuff. I usually give them thirty minutes of my spare time at most when the questions are good. Every minute of my time is precious and I can't waste it over shitty interviews. "Good morning, Mr. Pride. Our interview today will be recorded, but don't worry because you have control over what we release. Please feel free to tell us if you want to cut out something and we'll do it for you. We will mainly ask about your company but with your permission, may we ask you some questions about your personal life as well?"

The interview was at two. The outlet was the tier one choice from Diana's list, a publication with a long history of serious industry coverage and a reputation for not sensationalising things that didn't require sensationalising. The interviewer was a woman named Carla Park who had been in fashion journalism for twenty years and whose work I had read and respected before my career had existed in any serious form. Diana had briefed me for forty minutes that morning.

CASSAIN I hate interviews. Not because I can't handle them, but because most people ask stupid questions and expect rehearsed answers. They want the version of me that fits headlines that sells and keep the audience in some fantasy land I know nothing of. Today, they're not getting that. The studio lights are too bright. The chair is uncomfortable. The host's smile is too fake. "Cassain," she says warmly, "thank you for joining us to talk about Valcrest Industries' record-breaking quarter."

“Nothing. Just gonna sit in and watch a movie or something.” She stopped suddenly as we got to the door of the room. “Wait, where’s your man? I didn’t even consider that he might be inside when I rushed to the bathroom.” Laughing lightly, I said, “that would have been hilarious. He’s not at home. He went for an interview.” Annabelle turned to me in surprise. “A job interview?” “Nah. A celebrity interview,” I said with a straight face. “A media outlet took interest in his life and they would like to–“

How was I supposed to keep my airline running like this? When she sat down in the chair with a bright, genuine smile, I was already bracing myself for another dull interview. She asked politely, "Is everything okay? You seem a bit upset." Her thoughtfulness caught me off guard, and I felt a flicker of warmth. "It's nothing," I replied. "Let's begin the interview." She responded enthusiastically, "My name is Layla Morgan. I'm 21 years old, and I graduated from—" Bored of hearing this routine too many times, I pressed the vibrator's switch without hesitation.

"Agreed." We spent the morning researching. Journalists. Programs. Options. Finally settled on someone. Sarah Chen. NPR correspondent. Known for thoughtful interviews. Fair. Balanced. Not sensational. Elliot reached out. Through her producer. Explained. What we wanted. She responded within hours. *I'd be honored to interview you both. Let's set up a time to discuss parameters and questions.* We scheduled a call. That afternoon. Discussed. She was. Professional. Respectful. Understanding. "I want to tell your story," she said. "Not the scandal. Not the sensationalism. But. Who you are. How you found each other. What you've survived."

“Oh okay, please i would like ti see the email to confirm and any of your national identity card would be helpful too.” “Okay, ma’am.” I took out my phone from my purse and brought out the email, showing her and also my National identity card. “Okay, that is confirmed. You can go to the auditorium and wait for Mr Rogers, he is doing the one doing the interview.” I swallowed hard, i was going to be face to face with a millionaire and if fate has it, my future boss. “One on one? Like in the same room?” “Yes, he personally requested that the girls would be interviewed by him.”

"I'm Margaret Stefano from the Hollywood Grandstand, and I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to chat." "Are you interested in ordering a cake?" I ask, pulling my clipboard off the wall. She laughs. "No, Ms. Worth. I wanted to ask you a few questions. For an interview." "An interview?" "For Hollywood Grandstand. We can chat right now over the phone if you like, or if you'd prefer to meet in person - " "No," I say quickly. "Thank you, but I'm not interested." "If you'd prefer - " "I'm not interested," I repeat, then hang up the phone before she can get another word in.

Brianna said, and hung up. The showdown came in the form of a televised interview. A renowned journalist, known for her hard-hitting questions and her unwavering integrity, sat across from Brianna, her gaze direct and empathetic. “Ms. Wilson,” the journalist began, “you’ve been through an extraordinary ordeal. Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened?”

I replied, “Okay…” “I would like to grant you an interview.” That caught him off guard. “An interview,” he repeated. “Yes.” I said, as he folded his arms, his eyes fixed on me. “I would like to address the rumors concerning the pictures that you reported on and everything in between,” His eyes sharpened instantly. “This would be on record?” “It would be exclusive,” I corrected. “And worth your time.” He hesitated. “We could even go live right now.” I continued, “I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”