Interview with Christian novelist Carey Green

Carey Green
is a retired Pastor turned author, multipreneur (he just has too many ideas),
and marriage and family coach. He’s married ever-so-happily and has 5 kids, a
wonderful daughter-in-law, and two grand-boys. He lives in the mountains of Colorado
and never, ever wants to move again. He’s written a handful of non-fiction
works centered around Christian growth but most recently has taken a step into
the fiction world with his first novel in a 3-novel series, Dragon Slayer: Beginnings.
And he’s
here today to chat about that first novel.
Welcome Carey. Please tell us about
your current release.
Dragons have been forgotten, relegated to the realm
of legend and myth. But tales of horror circulate among the common people.
Rumors of their attacks float on the night wind. They are a fearsome presence
that haunts the memories of the old and the nightmares of the young.
They are forgotten, but
they are not gone.
The dragon masters wait, a dark force lurking in
the shadows of every land.
They will have their opportunity. They will rise.
A young boy is stripped violently from his family
and thrust into the conflict between dragon masters and feudal lords. Through
tragedy and loss Hon is swept into the conflict while battling the fear and
pain that grips his own soul.
Dragon Slayer: Beginnings is a story of life and the growth of faith in
the midst of loss. It’s about the battle every person goes through to become
more than their past has destined them to be.
He is the first. He will
be the best. He is the Dragon Slayer.
What inspired you to write this book?
For years
I’ve told my kids stories at bedtime, on road trips, whenever… all right from
my head. The dragon slayer stories are some of those that my kids have urged me
to put into print for years. I finally listened to them and Dragon Slayer:
Beginnings is the first fruit of those efforts. But more than that, I believe
in the power of fiction. I know from my own experience that a story well told
that includes significant truths about life, faith, and people can change a
person’s life. I endeavor to make my writing THAT kind of writing.
            As Hon awoke, the sky outside his
window was dark, but the room was as bright and hot as if it were mid-day. His
hair and night clothes were soaked with sweat.
            His bleary eyes were drawn to the
wall opposite his bed, where flames danced atop it, quickly consuming the
thatched roof. The darkness of the night sky showed through the flames. He
thrust himself backward into the corner of the room, only to feel the heat of
rising flames as they came through the wall behind him. As he leapt over his
pallet toward the closed door, he could hear his Mamma frantically screaming
his name and the faraway shouts of the men of the village. The six-year-old boy
began to cry.
            He climbed over the smoking,
thatch-strewn quilts of his parents’ bed. Patches of burning straw dotted the
floor. The room was growing brighter and hotter by the second. Gripping the
door pull, he tugged, finding it unusually difficult to open. Trying again with
all his strength, the door suddenly swung free.
            It was in the midst of this chaos
that he first heard the sound, a piercing screech that filled his heart with
fear. It seemed to be right above him, but within the fire as well.
thinking, Hon began running for the front door of the cottage. Debris showered
over him as he dodged his way through the blazing room. Fright drove him over
the hot embers on the floor; he didn’t feel the blisters that were rising on
his feet. Suddenly, he was through the front door of the cottage, his face
blackened and his bedclothes smoking. He ran like a frightened deer, away from
the house and the terrifying sound above it. He came to a stop by the well in
the center of the town square.
            The pain of the burns on his feet
awoke him to the reality of the chaos about him. Tears flowed again as he took
in the scene. People were shouting, running, seeking cover. Most buildings were
in varying degrees of flame. Wood popped and hissed, smoke filled the air. He
picked out his Mamma’s slight figure through the crowd. She was back across the
square, turned away from him. She knelt in the dirt in front of their flaming
cottage, her head hung low. In his terror, Hon had run right past her.
            The sound pierced his ears again,
coming from the dark sky above the square. A second sound accompanied it; a
powerful, pulsing, whooshing sound that drew closer each second. His Mamma
turned her head away from it, hands over her ears and eyes clenched shut. Hon’s
only thought was to be with her so he began another mad dash, straight toward
            The sky erupted with fire and a
building to his right burst into flames. The blast knocked him to the ground.
He suddenly felt strong, rhythmic bursts of cool night air pulsing down onto
his head. A chill overtook his small body as the black sky seemed to descend
upon him. Down came a hulking, scaly, red beast, gracefully lighting on the
dusty ground immediately in front of him.
            The creature was huge, towering at
least fifteen feet higher than his childish frame. Its muscular legs were like
tree trunks, its body covered in impenetrable rows of rock-hard scales. It was
a legend come to life, a monster to strike fear into the bravest heart.
            Hon could see his Mamma’s cowering
form as he looked through the widely spread legs of the dragon. Instinctively,
he made his way toward her again, choosing a path directly through the legs of
the beast. Just as he emerged from underneath the massive body, his Mamma’s
eyes met his.
            “Hon! Hon, no!”
            As he darted toward her a lightning
fast thrust of the dragon’s strong fore-claw plucked him from the ground,
midstride. With a screech of triumph the beast rose to its full height,
violently shaking its head from side to side as flames spewed from its mouth.
Though he
could no longer see her, Hon heard his Mamma’s voice again.
            Swinging around to face her, the
dragon focused its attention on his Mamma. She screamed at the beast.
            “Let him go, you devil!”
            Reaching for stones and pieces of
smoking wood, she pelted the dragon with one measly object after another, each
one emphasizing a different word.
            “Let… him… Go!”
            Enraged at her pitiful assault the
dragon advanced. In one stride it towered above her like a mountain. Mouth wide
and teeth bared, it roared fiercely into her face. She turned to run, but found
nowhere to go. Behind her was the burning remains of their home and in front of
her was the dragon. Spinning around she glanced from Hon, to the dragon, and
back again. Mother and son locked eyes and tears began to flow. The dragon
swiped viciously at the woman and she flew limply through the air, landing in a
heap 50 feet away, at the far side of the square.
            As the beast turned, a shower of
arrows and rocks peppered its rough hide. The men of the village had gathered
themselves to make a defense. Hon saw his Papa in the front ranks, notching an
arrow and letting it fly. Their missiles bounced from the monster’s scaly hide,
causing no harm at all. It roared in defiance and, with a quick twist of its
mighty body, swept its tail across their small company, sending men flying like
dust in a gale.
            Suddenly, Hon was rising, high above
the blazing village. The men below were picking themselves up from the ground,
and some did not move at all. His Papa was running toward the blacksmith’s
shop. Hon craned his neck to find his Mamma. Her still form lay motionless on
the far side of the square. The beast rose higher, circling the town as if
taunting the helpless villagers. The sound of its mighty roar echoed through
the valley. Hon wept, helpless and afraid as he soared high above his home.
            A quick gust of wind blew against
his cheek and he heard a loud “thwap,” just to his left. Something
wet and sticky fell across his burnt arm and the dragon screamed, and lurched
to one side. A short, thick shaft protruded from the base of the dragon’s neck.
Far below, his Papa was frantically trying to load a crossbow while two other
men ran out of the blacksmith’s shop with crossbows of their own. With a
screech of pain, the dragon began to climb higher into the dark sky.
            The wind violently whipped Hon’s
night clothes as the rhythm of the huge, bat-like wings grew faster. The pair
rose higher, above the clouds, into the starlit night, the boy clutched tightly
in the dragon’s bony claw.
            The compressing grip of the dragon’s
claw caused Hon’s head to pound and his breath to become short. As the wind
blew harder and colder against his face, he gasped for air, unable even to cry.
His thoughts became a jumble, fading as he lost consciousness… flames…
Mamma… the dragon… Papa… pain… the sound…
            Then all was silent.
What exciting story are you working on
I’m working
on book #2. Hopefully, it will be published by Thanksgiving 2014.
When did you first consider yourself a
I guess I
first thought of myself as a writer when I realized that the curriculum I’d
created for church classes was actually a form of writing. It’s taken me a bit
longer to believe that I could do this as part of “what I do” to make
a living, though.
Do you write full-time? If so, what’s
your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find
time to write?
No, I don’t
write full time (though I’m always writing something, even in my other lines of
work). I’m also a marriage and family coach (,
a podcast producer (
and an online course creator (,
as well as a mortgage loan broker in the state of Colorado. I’m self-employed
for the most part so I do my best to schedule writing into my work schedule
every day.
What would you say is your interesting
writing quirk?
A quirk…
hmmmm. Let me see. I often type exactly what I’m thinking when asked questions
like this one. I think it’s an example of what Dawson Trotman once said,
“Thoughts disentangle themselves when they flow from the lips or the
fingertips.” I guess for me it’s the fingertips.
As a child, what did you want to be
when you grew up?
professional baseball player. But by the time I was 15 I realized that I didn’t
have the raw talent to accomplish it, which was OK. Really, it was.
Anything additional you want to share
with the readers?
I love to
interact with my readers. Feel free to contact me at or by
commenting on my Facebook page or website or Google+ (I really, REALLY love

Thanks, Carey!

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