Monday, January 23, 2017

Author Interview: D.A. Hewitt, author of 'Dominion'



D.A. Hewitt is an award-winning author of four novels and over a hundred short stories. One novel was awarded a gold medal from the Independent Publishers Book Awards for best regional fiction. He attributes his success to hard work, honing a skill and providing an outlet for his passion for writing.

Born in Michigan, he lived for 25 years in North Carolina before returning to live in his home state. In addition to enjoying sky diving and mountain climbing, he is a proud veteran of the US Marine Corps and has earned a degree in mathematics.

Mr. Hewitt admits to a fascination with the work of Carl Jung and of the Gnostic religion. He’d always thought intertwining these topics in a science fiction novel was a stretch, but one day the storyline of Dominion came to him. He wrote the novel in a stream of consciousness. “It makes sense, tapping into the collective unconscious,” Mr. Hewitt says, “very much like Carl Jung might have predicted.”

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About the Book:

It’s the year 2075. Lunar mining and processing facilities have prospered near the lunar south pole, where the Moon’s largest city, Valhalla, rests on the rim of the Shackleton Crater.

Dominion Off-Earth Resources has beaten the competition into space and is ready to establish its monopoly with the opening of the orbiting space resort Dominion. But Pettit Space Industries has a secret plan to emerge as a major contender in the commercialization of space. The upstart company is training the first space rescue squad at a secluded off-grid site in Barrow, Alaska.

The rescue squad gets nearly more than it can handle when its first mission involves the Pope, who’s traveling to the Moon to establish the Lunar See. During the rescue attempt, they discover Earth is imperiled by an asteroid large enough to cause mass extinction. Using the unique skills taught during their training, skills emphasized by the great psychoanalyst Carl Jung, these Jungi Knights must elevate their game if they are to save both the Earth and the Pope—while not getting killed in the process.


Thanks for this interview, Doug.  Can we begin by having you tell us about yourself from a writer’s standpoint?

I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since the seventh grade. Even then, I knew though that I didn’t want to be a starving artist. In a way, it’s more interesting to me the circuitous route that I took to get the “day job” I have is really more interesting. On the writer’s front, I just love to write and hone my craft. That’s what artists do. But really, to get a B.S. in mathematics along the way? Curious.

When not writing, what do you like to do for relaxation and/or fun?

It used to be reading. It’s a common lament for writers that the one thing they miss is being a profuse reader. When you’re a writer, you have much less time to read for pleasure. Writing is a business and a craft. And if you want to be a great writer, you really don’t have a lot of leisure time.

Congratulations on your new book! Can you give us the very first page of your book so that we can get a glimpse inside?

The bus chortled as it slowed, the magnetic-drive treads slowing their frenzied snow-gyrating pace. “Barrow, Alaska,” the driver said cheerily enough. “Only five percent of the world’s land mass is as far from the equator. Average temperature in January, minus twenty-five Celsius.” White billowing clouds churned briefly from the exhaust. The engine cut off. The driver stood, facing his six passengers, and said, “We’re here.”

I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and headed for the front, shivering reflexively.

“Last chance to back out,” the driver added as the last of us stepped onto the frozen snow. His breath lingered as white mist. He looked questioningly at us and played with the door control, flapping it at us, taunting us.

We were standing in front of a Quonset hut, bundled in parkas and survival clothing, enough to keep us warm for days in the most extreme climates. And I counted Barlow, Alaska, as one of those.

“Go on—get out of here!” the tallest of us barked at the driver. I didn’t know any of their names, but from what I’d gathered from the sparse chit-chat on the drive from Prudhoe Bay (no reason was given for why we hadn’t continued the flight from Juneau to Barrow instead of the drop-off and subsequent bus ride in), this guy was the most gung-ho among us.

The driver smiled. “I’ll be back to pick up any dropouts.” He closed the door, picked up his comm device, and spoke briefly into it.

One moment, we were staring at the bus—I can do this, I will do this—and the next we were all spinning in response to a deep voice projecting out from where the Quonset hut door had slammed open.

“The sheep have arrived!” the voice boomed.

He stood in the doorframe as the door banged against him in the stiffening arctic wind. For a moment, he seemed stuck there, his massive shoulders too wide, his girth too large to fit through. Then he took a step back, spun, and said, “Follow me!”

I’d been thinking my life was getting stranger and stranger as of late, and the next thing that happened cemented that thought-trend in my mind, because we stepped into a room heated to tropical temperatures, the ground covered in sand. The room took the entire width of the Quonset hut. One other door on the opposite wall from the door we’d just entered was the room’s only other exit.

“Throw down your stuff anywhere,” the bulky man said, dropping his parka, revealing himself to be wearing only green shorts and a white muscle shirt. His chest was enormous (ah, the booming voice), and he thumped it when he caught me looking at him. He appeared Polynesian. His skin was dark and his black hair was tied back in a ponytail, thick and scruffy.

“My name today is Mister Chenga,” the Polynesian announced. Whenever he spoke, everyone’s head turned to him as though his voice subconsciously demanded our attention. “Take off your clothes to your underwear and then take a seat.”

“Where do we sit?” one of the girls—the short blonde—asked with what sounded like a Russian accent. “There are no chairs.”

Would you say it’s been a rocky road for you in regards to getting your book written and published or pretty much smooth sailing?  Can you tell us about your journey?

Unless you’re a bestselling author or are self-publishing, it’s always a rocky road. First of all, writing a top-notch novel isn’t easy. If it was, there’s be a lot more novels that are well written out there. However, Dominion is my third published novel, so I’ve been through the wringer before. Novels are pieces of artwork, and “publishing” a wonderfully written piece of art that can stand the test of time is not an easy task. Rocky, at best.

If you had to summarize your book in one sentence, what would that be?

In Dominion, an asteroid that could introduce an extinction event on Earth is approaching, so what would the first trained space rescue team operating as a for-profit business do in response?

What makes your book stand out from the rest?

First, I introduce a new psychological dogma, which includes the newly created Process Map of Consciousness, which can be viewed from my website, www.StinkyUniverse.com.

If your book was put in the holiday section of the store, what holiday would that be and why?

This one is easy. The Fourth of July. In Dominion, the Moon declares independence from Earth in the year 2075. And it is also the date that the orbiting space station Dominion opens for business. Of course, in my novel, that’s when the sparks start to fly!

Would you consider turning your book into a series or has that already been done?

For those so inclined, I invite readers to ponder how Dominion is akin to the first installment of the Star Wars series. I mean, my spaceship is the Centurion Hawk, and if you remember that the Millennium Falcon is the name of Hans Solo’s ship. What a coincidence!

What’s next for you?

I’m thinking, make Dominion a series.