What inspired you to become an author?
I wrote a poem for a 7th grade project about my experience with a childhood brain tumor. My mom’s side of the family has writers, so maybe that’s why it clicked.
Do you have a specific writing style?
I would say I’m more of a pantser. I love spontaneously adding details and connections that make the characters and text richer.
Do you write in different genres?
Yes, poetry [4 books] and literary fiction.
If yes which is your favorite genre to write?
poetry
How did you come up with the title for your latest book?
Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
The title came first.
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Just the randomness of life and how fast it can change…disability is not something to fear…if you are disabled, you will eventually become whole just as you are..It helps to have faith.
Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?
December 20th–when Rosa has her procedure–was the day of my first brain surgery.
Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?
Doc Star. She is a feisty black socialite from Savannah, Georgia, who uses a wheelchair. She’s a fashionista and keeps in shape by boxing.
What books/authors have influenced your life?
David Foster Wallace, Murikami, Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn
Can you share a little of your current work with us?
From my new book of poetry, Disablé:
Interstellar
It hurts to look in the mirror
Survive the Hawking Radiation,
Dip below the Event Horizon
Into a wormhole that
Passes celestial palaces and
Planets like irises,
Through crystallized frost, the expanding darkness,
And arrive at a dimension that harnesses magic.
After a decade of being,
Two constants broke with the dawn:
The invisible thing and
Time—both undefined.
For twenty-five years, a quarter of a century,
No hand held mine,
No lips touched mine,
No ethereal spell kept us intertwined.
I speak not of affection from friends and family,
But of the pillar that sustains societies.
The tender clay that every soul deserves.
In these infinite-scroll days,
With tribal huts, digital lust,
Self-monitoring sunset sluts,
And filters generating melancholy ruts—
I have rolled naked for all to see,
For all to swipe pass. So, what could it be?
Why when the hot bots eye me
Must they see an easy mark? Why
Must the endorphin rush of
New calligraphy
Fade like fire?
Perhaps my texts did not strike
To the superstring’s like.
Perhaps they are forever in a superposition,
Stretching my mind’s matter.
Tectonic plates once pushed pressure onto the other
But how much force led to an answer?
The gaul of me to have romantic desires!
Am I deranged?
Is there such a thing as blame?
Nymphs actions are difficult to convict
When I would have helmed the same sleeping ship—
If the Sun penetrated me the same way as they,
If hikes by rocky waterfalls filled my day.
These ice-olating, unaware rains
Are my eternal fountain of pain.
I’m tired of being Her good deed for the day.
And what am I to think–
Of these profiles with height requirements
And pleas for openmindedness–
If I am to ever own a home or
Earn an income after
Being sequestered like a leper in a slum?
How should I proceed? Is my pride in need?
Or is it as wide as the horizon?
Should I forget the stillness in my bedroom,
How the chromatic light on the lamppost loomed
Where I once played with ghosts under the moon?
Alas, it would have been easy
To twixt my mature soul with a ripe one
Like I had done
In my dreams—
No need to scheme,
Be seen on the scene, waste time
Fumbling words, lie like fiends, play
The game in an endless stream.
A tyrant has ruled my days,
And if this is the fate
I am doomed to face
I will abandon my sojourn
To be more free, but how free?
I would possess
The anchor of time, but would I hear
The music of wind chimes?
Now, I am a nebula’s shepherd
Waiting to be discovered.
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
I am terrible with plot. I’m more focused on smaller, character moments.
Who designed the cover of your latest book?
Spanish author and artist Sofia Sanz
Do you have any advice for other writers?
Take courses, learn the methods, then don’t listen to any advice. And don’t TRY to write.
Do you have a song or playlist (book soundtrack) that you think represents this book?
I Am Not A Robot by Marina
What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?
I used to be really into rap music.
When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?
I am a huge cinephile. Sports have always ben in my family. Basketball, football, soccer, volleyball, track. And I like poker.
C.R. Reardon
Genre: Science Fiction, Young Adult, Disability
Publisher: C.R. Reardon
Date of Publication: 6/13/1986
ISBN: 979-8-9920346-0-8
ASIN: B0F44JVWL9
Number of pages: 225
Word Count: 64,117
Cover Artist: Sofia Sanz
Tagline: 17-year-old Rosa Viviani grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.
Book Description:
Rosa Viviani, a seventeen-year-old girl living in the utopian colony of Civigem on Saturn’s moon Titan, faces a series of life-altering events. In a society where disability has been eradicated through genetic engineering, Rosa becomes one of the few individuals who must navigate life with a hoverchair. As she grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.
Amidst the chaos, Rosa's connection to an ancient Earth religion awakens within her a mystical power that could save Civigem from the impending catastrophe. Guided by the wisdom of goddesses and unwavering support from her parents and girlfriend, Rosa embarks on a journey of self-discovery, confronting her fears and insecurities while learning to harness her newfound abilities. As the meteor's impact looms closer, Rosa must confront the limitations of her powers, the fragility of life, and the complexities of love in a society that has long forgotten the meaning of community.
In a race against time, Rosa's journey becomes a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the power of love, and the importance of embracing life's uncertainties. As she confronts the impending apocalypse, Rosa's story challenges the utopian ideals of Civigem, exposing the deep-seated prejudices and the hidden costs of a society that has long suppressed the natural diversity of human existence.
Excerpt: Day 1
When
I first used my hoverchair, nobody told me about the unexpectedness. I didn’t
know I’d be the only young woman on Titan using one. When I’d run my last
Convalor, climb my last staircase to a house. Traverse a ravine’s rocks. I wish
I could have readied myself for things like my last walk with my dad along the
lakeshore, but life doesn’t always give us time to prepare.
Dark
brown clouds slit the dusky morning sky. I lay in bed reading Village Sisters
on my tabicus, trying to learn what life would be like for me in a hoverchair.
The Village Sisters was written on Earth about the bond between an
African-Japanese beauty queen and her best friend, who broke her spine in a
tsunami.
An
empty frame hung in front of my bed next to the window. I didn’t want to see me
standing with my friends at Lucky’s Tavern. The obligatory smiles and people I
barely knew now felt like a past life. The picture was only a year old, but
still.
I
always kept sunflowers on the table beside my bed to brighten my mood. Next to
the sunflowers, my elegant ballerina motivated me to strive for grace and good
posture. The best thing I ever got from the Keller Aviary was a fluffy, stuffed
butterfly that I named Ms. Monarch and rested on my bed. Like many times since
the incident, I embraced her and squeezed tight.
Then,
just before the announcement, a tingling shot down my right arm. Was I numb
from squeezing Ms. Monarch too hard? Was it a side effect of the surgery? It
felt like hot wax on my skin–but somehow empowering?
My
body jerked upright. My arm swung like a directional arrow. I had no control of
it.
My
hand and arm lined up with a Faberge egg on my dresser. It was a family
heirloom passed down to my dad’s disabled relative. This, in part, is why I
believe our lives are echoes of our ancestors. We’re the same stars, just
moving through different galaxies.
The
heirloom navigated our solar system aboard the U.S.S. Freedom. The maroon and
gold Faberge egg rattled out of its four pure white supports, fell to the
floor, and shattered.
I
thought someone might’ve bumped into my dresser the night before. Maybe they
nudged it off its axis, and that’s why it toppled over this morning.
The
pneumonia rains started, and I was content watching them splatter the bubble
and cascade down, but we all know what happens now.
The
Urgent News banner appeared on my tabicus. I turned the volume up. Remember
that image? The mayor drooped like a geranium.
“Fellow
citizens, I come to you today with the heaviest of hearts. I sincerely hope
that every individual heed this news with the understanding that the best
course of action for every life was attempted.” Her shoulders rose and fell
like the Magic Islands. “Several weeks ago, a volcano on Jupiter’s moon Io
dispelled lava that somehow escaped its gravitational pull and froze, hurtling
it into space. This is the meteor I’m sure many of you have heard about on the
news. The meteor is one point-six kilometers in diameter and travels at a speed
of thirty-six kilometers per second. I regret to inform you that it is headed
directly for Titan, and it’s too late to stop it.
“The
meteor will make an impact with Titan in six days and destroy everything,
including our beloved–” I felt so bad for her when her voice cracked, and she
began to tear up. “Civigem.”
A brain tumor survivor since the age of 8, and handicapped since the age of 10, C.R. Reardon is now 39 years old. He fell in love with creative writing after writing a poem about these hardships in the 7th grade. Since then, he has self-published four books of poetry: Disablé (2025), Born on Friday the 13th (2018), Torghatten (2016), and Hard Polish (2013). After 2 years at The University of Arizona, C.R. graduated from Stonehill College in 2009 and earned his Master's degree in English from Salem State University in 2011.
His screenplay Lagom (the Swedish word for 'just the right amount') was a finalist for best screenplay at the 2017 Massachusetts Independent Film Festival, as well as the 2015 Catalina Film Festival. In 2016 my screenplay Spawning Neon was a semi-finalist at the 16th annual Awareness Film Festival.
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