Please make welcome another fellow Wild Rose Press author, Bernard LoPinto. We're celebrating his new release, Consent of the Governed. The Tavern is serving ale and champagne, along with some Cornish meat pies. Pull up a chair and lets find out more from Bernard...
MM: Welcome Bernard! I'm delighted you could join us in the Tavern today. Congratulations on your new release! Describe a typical writing day. Are you a morning, afternoon, or night-owl writer?
BL: I write at night, after work, after taking care of our animals, after everything else is done. I’ve always had trouble fitting in time for myself. I write until my eyes get too blurry or I can’t stand looking at the screen anymore.
MM: I've always admired those that can write at night. Sadly, I turn into a pumpkin after 6:00pm.
Can you tell us about your current work-in-progress?
BL: My current w-o-p has the working title No Such Thing as Enough.
MM: Wonderful news, Bernard. What inspires you when you’re writing?
BL: My writing is drawn from my experiences as a Pentecostal minister and a correctional educator. Between church and prison (sometimes I can’t tell the difference), I have come across people ranging from the scary to the ridiculous. My distrust of religion and “good” people runs through everything I write.
MM: You have an interesting background, Bernard. What’s your favorite item on your writing desk?
BL: I don’t have a favorite item. All I need is my laptop. I work stripped down, as it were.
MM: Perfect! What do you to unwind after a day of writing?
BL: I live in a rural area, surrounded by woods and hills. I walk to clear my head. In the evenings, before it gets too dark, I’ll sit out on my deck in a rocking chair and watch the sun sink.
MM: I'm a country gal (though live in a small city), so this sounds wonderful. Can you share any writer’s tips for aspiring authors?
BL: The most important thing is to get something down on paper. Or on the screen. Even if it’s writing about not being able to write. Grab the muse by the throat and force it to happen. You can fix it later, but you have to have something to fix. And don’t let anyone—especially the editor in your head—tell you that you can’t do it. You can. And never use “very.”
MM: Excellent advice, Bernard, especially the one about the "editor in your head." Now for some fun questions. Do you prefer…
Wine or Beer? Neither. Both. The well water here is pretty good.
Golf or Football? I was a caddy in my youth, and that taught me to hate golf. I watch one football game a year.
Romance, Sci-Fi, Mystery, or all three? Mystery, but between Sci-Fi and nothing, I’ll take Sci-Fi. If All I have is Romance, I’ll stream Mystery on my tablet.
Print book or e-reader? I love print, but I’ve run out of shelf space again. It’s good to know I have an e-reader app on my phone when I need it.
Wishing you all the best with Consent of the Governed, Bernard!
Blurb for CONSENT OF THE GOVERNED ~
It’s 2026 and the United States has fallen under the sway of an oppressive government where all citizens’ rights have been stripped, Red shirt platoons patrol; the streets, and people die for voicing opinions. Into this chaos step Sid and Annie Winthrop. The elderly couple set out on a journey of revenge against the Red Shirts who murdered their son.
Red Shirt members Victor and Brooklyn have devoted their young lives to the cause of the president in protecting the nation. When attacks on their home town leave dozens of Red Shirts dead, Victor must help his superiors find the vigilante.
At their darkest moment, each couple finds a common bond in their suffering and must decide where their loyalties lie.
The next morning, despite his patched knee, Sid went out, pretending to shop for bread, listening for anyone talking about the carnage of last night. He came home, threw the bread on the table, and hurried into the bedroom, Annie following closely behind.
“Did you have any trouble?” she asked.
Sid sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together the way he did when he had a riddle he couldn’t figure out. Annie sat down next to him, and he put his arm around her. “No problem, babe. It’s just that there are so many of them. They’re all over downtown, at least one squad on every block. They’re even on the side streets. One group is a few blocks away, coming in this direction. That’s why I hurried home.”
“But you’ve dealt with clowns like these before.”
Sid let go of Annie and started pacing. “Not like these. Half of them, I’ve never seen before. They have gold leaf on their helmets and gold braid on their shirts. Their bearing is different. They’re tougher, but we found that out last night. The troopers were searching people. I must’ve looked too old to cause trouble because they let me pass. If they hadn’t, if they had frisked me, I’d have been done.” He pulled the .45 out of its holster under his coat and placed it on the bed.
“Are you going to go out tonight?”
“Not after last night. I don’t want to do that again.”
“I never expected things to go like this. Those kids don’t know what they’re doing; they’re Rowson’s pawns, and I killed four or five with the car.” Annie wrung her hands. “I’ve hated them for so long, but seeing them go down last night… Is it hard for you, too? I mean after Vietnam and the police force? Do you ever get used to it?”
“I never have, and I hope you never do. When it stops bothering you, you’ll have lost a big piece of yourself.” Sid pulled Annie back into his arms. “I don’t like it, but we started down this road, and there’s no turning back. With the heat on us like this, let’s lay low for a while.”
When starting on a journey of revenge, first dig two graves. Or in our case, three.
More about the author ~
I grew up in the Long Island, NY, suburbs, earning a BA in English and an MS in Education. I taught in public schools for seventeen years and in prisons for eighteen years, all the while honing my skills as a writer. My copy and photography have appeared in local newspapers in Central New York, on the web, and in one anthology. In between, there have been stints in wedding photography, men's fashion, delicatessen, and, of course, my nine years as a minister, from which many of my ideas spring. My years in the strict Pentecostal church and working with criminals in correctional education have taught me the importance of holding on to oneself, with periodic reinventions. Being a novelist is one of those reinventions. When not writing, I can be found motorcycling through the hills of Northeastern Pennsylvania with my lovely wife Jeanne.
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