Please Welcome Shannon Muir

As writers, we open ourselves up to a world of possibilities. Every scene laid out, every word chosen, every aspect of a character created, defines what we write – but until we choose each one, there are so many paths to take. I've found life is like that, too.

I started out wanting to write for television animation as a teenager. Unable to learn those specific skills, I came to discover that overall script structure skills would go a long way to helping me. So I went to college for radio and live-action television, expecting to find a writing component as part of it. It turned out they didn't really offer courses on that (my local university focused on production), but one of the instructors wrote professionally at a point in his past and did direct studies with me.

While the late David K. Terwische worked with me on writing, I made the most of my degree program l to appreciate what everyone else did to bring a script to life; I also tried my hand at radio, something that never crossed my mind before going there. Being on the radio opened me up to learning about jazz, a music genre I'd never really spent much time with before. I would come to want to learn more about the women of the genre, and get to start my own show, Women of Jazz, which continues to be on the air on KEWU-FM as of 2016 – many years after I left. From this radio experience I wrote not only an award-nominated  script by a college honor society, but learned what became the inspiration for my short story, "Ghost of the Airwaves," available from Pro Se Press as a Single Shot.

Unable to focus much on writing in the radio and television department, I also became a double major in English. However, I soon learned that my love for genre fiction did not translate well into a literary fiction environment, and ended up concentrating on poetry which I had loved doing as a child but moved away from. I'd later draw on that sense of poetic rhythm when partnering with my now-husband Kevin Paul Shaw Broden on the webcomic FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY (, which turns 15 years old in June of 2016. However, as in the radio and television department, I learned the basic building block skills of prose so when my time came to be in anthologies like NEWSHOUNDS and THE DAME DID IT from Pro Se Press, my love of the genre and the knowledge of story building, I was ready to grab the opportunity. More opportunities are set to follow, and I continue to pursue others. There will be more to come, even though it took a while to get here.

You never know where life's experiences will take you.

That's not to say the initial spark of animation fell to the wayside; even that provided an interesting journey. My first jobs moving to Los Angeles were actually in television animation production, which were opportunities I didn't even imagine existed. If I hadn't have been so passionate on wanting to be a writer, I probably wouldn't have walked away from such an amazing situation I didn't realize I currently had. That side of things has been a rockier road, but not without other great adventures; besides production work on several shows since I have written for one animated series, and spent some time in production for virtual worlds for kids. The initial show that inspired me, VOLTRON, has seen three relaunches in the years since I became a professional, and I have worked on none of them in a professional capacity. That being said, during the first relaunch, I was approached by the company that owns VOLTRON – World Events Productions – and paid for my suggested layout of their Denubian Galaxy to be rendered as a visual starmap for the show's website; additionally, I know my starmap was used as reference by the writers.

While the latest rendition of the show – VOLTRON: LEGENDARY DEFENDER - draws a whole new take on the universe, I know I made an impact from the treatment I receive from other fans, which I appreciate. My efforts in those early years played a role in them maintaining their passion for over thirty years. Most of all, even though I've not been as involved as I dreamed of being all those years ago by actually writing a VOLTRON script, that initial spark opened the door to every adventure you've read about. To reach out and try to contact the production company and hearing back from their head writer with feedback encouraging me to keep trying is one choice I will never regret.

So whether you're a writer – or even a reader, with a world of life choices before you – embrace your possibilities and find your direction.
Write your story.

~ ~ ~

A "Single Shot" Short Story

From Pro Se Productions’ Single Shot line comes a tale of mystery and murder set against the backdrop of the Golden Age of Radio! Through this stand alone digital single, Author Shannon Muir introduces the world to Ghost of the Airwaves!

Ghost of the Airwaves is the suspenseful tale of radio actress Abigail Hanson, whose husband died under mysterious circumstances. Everyone believes the culprit is caught until a mysterious typed letter from "Ghost of the Airwaves" comes through her mail slot. Abigail becomes determined to find out who killed her husband and uses her own observant eye to help coax the police along. But, as she delves deeper into the mystery, Abigail may learn she should have stayed behind the microphone…to stay alive!

SHANNON MUIR's fiction is both to entertain as well as explore issues of the the human condition and female identity, primarily with female protagonists. The genres she focuses in include mystery, action and adventure, fantasy, science fiction, as well as thought-provoking stories in contemporary settings.

Her latest releases are "Tragic Like a Torch Song" in THE DAME DID IT from Pro Se Press, and the short story "Meeting the Monster" in the Emby Press anthology SUPERHERO MONSTER HUNTER: THE GOOD FIGHT. She also has genre fiction work with Pro Se Press including the Single Shot New Pulp tale"Ghost of the Airwaves," preceded by her debut genre fiction story "Pretty as a Picture" in the anthology NEWSHOUNDS. From her personal self-published projects, best known titles include the rural-noir inspired THE WILLOWBROOK SAGA and THE TRUTH REVEALED SAGA (soon to be collected and re-released as the first book of a continuing series called THE MYANNA MOORE MYSTERIES).

Other self-published projects include THE PHOENIX COLLECTION (combining THE PHOENIX RISES and THE PHOENIX BURNS); THE HEART'S DUTY COLLECTION (including the previously published THE HEART'S DUTY and TOUCH THE STARS). She's also author of FOR THE LOVE OF AIRAGOS and A SPONTANEOUS KIND OF HOLIDAY. Anthologies of short fiction and poetry are LIVES REFLECTED, AT THE END OF INNOCENCE'S ROAD and SEARCH FOR A WOMAN. She's also written textbooks based on her animation experience entitled GARDNER'S GUIDE TO WRITING AND PRODUCING ANIMATION and GARDNER'S GUIDE TO PITCHING AND SELLING ANIMATION. Also available is a book collecting all her full lyrics as well as the history of the FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY webcomic over its first ten years, entitled FLYING GLORY FLASHBACK. Her first published story was in the anthology ARIA KALSAN: MYSTERIES OF THE FUTURE. She has also been co-writing and providing all of the in-story lyrics for the webcomic FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY since it debuted in 2001.

She is also known as administrator of the blogs THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF and INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS, along with her DISCOVERWORDS blogs.

Shannon holds a BA in Radio-TV and English from Eastern Washington University in Cheney, Washington, which she considers to be her hometown. She also holds an MA in Communications from California State University, Fullerton, along with additional education in screenwriting, project management, and library technician studies, while in the process of completing a certification in General Business with Emphasis in Marketing from UCLA Extension. Besides working in animation production, Shannon has written television scripts for animation. She is married to FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY collaborator and fellow New Pulp writer Kevin Paul Shaw Broden. They live in California in the United States.



Popular posts from this blog

Need to Catch Up With My Blog Tour?

Reunions: You Can’t Go Back Again (Because ‘There’ Is Gone) You hear about people going to Reunions: high school, college, family, war vets, et cetera. Well, not me. For example, my high school, St. Augustine’s Diocesan on Sterling Place in Park Slope, Brooklyn, was already out of business when the passenger jet made an unscheduled crash landing on its doorstep in the late 1960’s, erasing all prospect of reunions. No matter, I wouldn’t have been attending anyhow. As for St. John’s University College, whose ‘campus’ was in a seven-story former bank building on Schermerhorn St. in Downtown Brooklyn---it’s condos now and even if the doorman would let me in for old times’sake, I’d pass. I spent all of 1956 and half of 1957 at St. Augustine’s as a transfer student, having come from a low-rent seminary that was supposed to prepare you to become a member of the Franciscan Order of Teaching Brothers. St. Anthony’s ‘Juniorate’ (odd name for a high school, right?), no doubt why we boys simply referred to it as ‘Smithtown’, located as it was in the Town of Smithtown on Long Island, among the potato fields of Suffolk County. My short story: I got kicked out after two years, told I was mistaken in thinking I had a ‘vocation’ (I won’t bore you with my sins). So how’d I get there in the first place? Well, you’re graduating from eighth grade in St. Anthony of Padua grammar school (same ‘St. Anthony’, no coincidence); you’re twelve years old and, since the age of five-and-one-half, been shuttled from the school to the looming red brick Church next door when the steeple bells summoned us to prayer. There, all us boys, in our dark-blue worstered trousers, white shirt and clip-on black tie, have been kneeling for all eternity on the hard wood kneelers in the pews in the Lower (basement) Church, interminably humming the five Decades of the Rosary amidst the fourteen Stations of the Cross, as the priest parades up and down the marble-floored aisles spewing swirls of sweet smoke from his incense-burner. No surprise then: After the Good Franciscan Brother reveals to our class that some among us may be ‘called’, on Easter Sunday, at Mass in the Upper Church, drunk on incense fumes, I actually see God point a long index finger at me through the fog, and over the swell of the organ while the choir pounds out the Hallelujah Chorus, I hear Him say to me, clear as a bell: “You! You! Pack your bags!” Upon graduation in February, 1954, I boarded the LIRR, Ronkonkoma Branch, with my ticket punched for Smithtown. One recent Sunday, in the grip of an irresistible impulse to see Smithtown once more, I get on the LIE and head for the North Shore of Long Island. To get to the school, you must drive through the hamlet of Kings Park, once home to the Kings Park Psychiatric Center, which I see from my car on Route 25A, is still there, sprawling on top of a hill but empty, decommissioned. And I remember then being aboard the ancient yellow school bus, the name ‘St. Anthony’s’ painted in black on its sides--captive boys being taken to the movies in Kings Park on a Sunday afternoon more than half-a-century ago--the hospital full of life, the inmates hooting and hollering to us from their barred windows as we speed past. It’s a high point of the trip, riding past the Looney Bin: a happy feeling, I remember, as if them up there and us in our bus were connected. No more acres of potato fields as far as the eye could see along Rte. 25A now-- replaced by row upon row of suburban tracks, Divisions and Sub-Divisions. I drive onto the grounds of St. Anthony’s. It is not a functioning school, it’s obvious. There are some broken windows in the elongated two-story structure, and the white paint is peeling. I think of Iroquois Longhouses, I suppose because of the stretch of the building. I get out of the car and what strikes me is how small-scale everything appears: the buildings, the playing fields behind the main house, the grass badly in need of cutting. The chicken coops are gone as well as the fenced-in execution ground where I beheaded and plucked my first chicken for the Sunday dinner, on orders from the Brother in charge of the Refectory. Everything smaller than I remember it. For it’s vivid, larger-than-life in my memory. Jerome Megna, the pool shark; Joe Rogus, the polio-stricken basketball star; Bill Cullen, the gay librarian from Brooklyn and my best friend; the school’s principal Brother Henry, vain about his PhD in history; Brother Patrick “The Claw’, who taught Latin, had a crippled left hand and the DTs from drink; Brother Linus, the math teacher, who’d feel you up if you weren’t fast on your feet. I swear I remember them all, the faces and their names. I even remember the movie we saw that Sunday in Kings Park in 1954. The Bridges At Toko-Ri; William Holden, Grace Kelly and Mickey Rooney starring. I wrote the movie review for the school paper, The St. Anthony Star. Funny how it all stays with you. The important stuff.

The Greatest Benefit of Virtual Book Tours