Off to NYC!

I'm off to NYC for the RWA 2015 National Conference! I'm incredibly excited about the workshops; there's a self-publishing track this year with all sorts of lovely, useful information I can't wait to dig into.  Also, I'm putting At First Touch and Woman of Silk and Stone on a free promotion for the duration of the conference, July 22-26.
Looking forward to meeting some of my favorite authors and making new friends!

What is it about Sci-Fi Romance?

So, I'm working on an alien-abduction style Sci-Fi Romance, and I'm making sure that it doesn't annoy me with any of the tropes I don't particularly care for in the genre, but it got me thinking...what might be a peeve for other readers?

What annoys you most frequently in a SFR or any fantasy-style book, and what do you feel are the best characteristics?

For me, I can't stand whiny heroines or heroes who take 70% of the book to accept what's happening and complain to everyone about how no one understands them. And I'm not a fan of the constantly discovered new & limitless powers. Characters need limitations--otherwise, conflict seems manufactured and less compelling.

What do I love about SFR? So many things...strong heroines and complex heroes; interesting abilities or cultures, world-building, and the idea that human ideals and love transcend the universe.
What do you think? Help me avoid the pitfalls!

Off to the beach in a good mood!

So excited that Woman of Silk and Stone has debuted on Amazon's Top 100 Hot New Releases in the Sci-fi Romance genre!  Many thanks to everyone on Facebook who have been so supportive and to everyone who is picking up the book! It was a little out of my comfort zone, so I'm excited that it's being received so warmly.

And now, I am off to the beach! And I begin work on my next release, tentatively titled Never Been Used, which is a New Adult romantic comedy. More on that to come, but here's a little taste. I hope to release this book in early January.

And then, I promise on all that I hold dear that I will finally finish the sequel to At First Touch, hopefully to be released this Spring.  Feel free to yell at me if I fall behind!

A little taste of Never Been Used...

You know that saying, “you wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit you in the head?” That’s pretty true for me. Of course, when you get hit in the head as often as I, it’s hard to tell the good things from the blunt objects.

The first time I met Aiden I was thumping my head on my desk.  I was attempting to block out the sound of the two eleven-year-old girls on either side of me explaining why my skirt was stuck to the chair.

“But Miss McFee, it was an accident!” Tiffany Mercer wailed, her eyes growing dangerously moist. “When I spilled the rubber cement I cleaned it up. I swear I didn’t know it got on your chair!”

“Yeah, and I reeeeally didn’t mean to drop the bucket of glitter on you,” Jess Kesner, a short girl with flat blond hair and braces whined. I put up a weary hand and they quieted. I reminded myself that surely the job interview last week went well, and I was bound to get a call-back at any moment. Heck, there were probably a whole bunch of messages waiting for me on my answering machine; I would walk in the door and the red light would be flashing, letting me know that a hundred different prestigious companies were clamoring for my particular brand of genius.

“I think turpentine might help,” an amused male voice offered. I sighed heavily and raised my head, brushing glitter coated hair out of my eyes to get a better look at whoever was tormenting me now.

Nearly swallowing my tongue, I took in the golden-haired Adonis before me with the same sort of weary resignation I usually applied to funerals and family reunions.

“Gee, thanks. Who are you?” I asked acidly. Bad enough that I should be cemented to the chair, sparkling like a Christmas tree on meth. Now I had to be subjected to further embarrassment by having some ridiculously good-looking stranger with poorly disguised amusement offering less than helpful suggestions.

The man in question smiled broadly and surveyed me top to bottom with an acquisitive air, as though I were some joke to be stored away for a dinner party next week.  He was tall, over six feet, with glossy blond surfer boy hair, dark blue eyes, full lips and a wicked, lean build.  My hormones woke up and started sniffing around. For months they hadn’t been exposed to anything more exciting than Jeff Garrett, the sixth grade math teacher with a paunch and rampant nose hair.

“I’m sorry; I seem to have caught you at a bad time. I’m Seamus’s uncle. I’m here to pick him up for a doctor’s appointment.” I nodded and called for Seamus to get his stuff.

“You know,” I said, turning back to my unwelcome visitor, “you could’ve just called for him at the office.  We don’t usually allow people to come back to the classrooms without a visitor’s badge.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I was curious.” I raised my eyebrows and he grinned again. “I’ve heard that ‘Miss McFee is so awesome,’ I just had to see for myself. Now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure ‘awesome’ is an adequate description.”

I considered that for a minute. It was entirely possible that little Seamus had given me rave reviews; for some inexplicable reason, I was one of the most popular substitute teachers at Kimball Middle School. I say inexplicable because I am unfailingly unpleasant, generally indifferent, and frequently short of temper. I suppose that my regular episodes of head-banging and propensity for embarrassing incidents made me entertaining to students, but I had certainly never sought out any good opinions. In fact, I lived in secret hope that one day the principal would walk in and catch me pounding my head against the chalkboard while the children climbed on desks lighting things on fire. He would tell me to hit the road, finally giving me a valid excuse to abandon the multi-faceted world of substitute teaching.

“Uh-huh,” I finally said, losing interest. These days, it’s going to take more than blond hair and blue eyes to hold my attention. Now, put a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a bottle of Jack Daniels in front of me and I’ll perk right up.

“Bye Miss McFee, see you tomorrow!” Seamus lilted charmingly. I remembered him telling me that his family moved to Flat Rocks Lake from Ireland last year. His accent was undeniably cute and his freckles and reddish-blond hair piquant, but I wasn’t terribly engrossed in his story. The only thing that ever concerned me by two in the afternoon was the knowledge that there was only one more period to get through before I could go home and retreat into denial.

“Yep,” I replied, giving the desk one more good thunk with my head. I kept hoping that eventually I’d knock myself unconscious and wake up to find the room empty of children. There was a low chuckle behind me and I looked up, finding that Seamus’ annoyingly handsome uncle had gotten a good grip on the chair arms and was leaning over me.

“I’ll hold it steady. If you stand up fast enough the material might not tear,” he suggested. I narrowed my eyes and then shrugged. What the hell, it was going to have to be done at some point. At least I was wearing nice underwear.

“Ok. On the count of three,” I said, bracing myself against the desk. “One, two…” Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!

There was a sudden collective intake of breath and then a gale of laughter coming at me from all sides. The good news was that I was no longer attached to the chair.

Bad news: the back section of my skirt was.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, wishing myself into a parallel universe where things like this didn’t happen to me on a daily basis.

“Ok, class, go to the library and tell Mrs. Meadow that you’re looking for books to do reports on. I’ll be right there. No picture books!” I commanded, and the students eagerly shot to their feet, making a mad dash for the door. Once the last straggler disappeared into the blessed void of the hallway, I permitted myself a small groan and felt the damage.

“I’d say it’s an improvement,” said the gilded hero behind me. I sighed. I had almost forgotten about him in the trauma of exposing my backside to a classroom full of fifth-graders. “The glitter adds a festive touch,” he added admiringly.

“Well, thank goodness for small blessings,” I muttered, turning around to get my coat from under the desk, wrapping it around my waist to cover my bare legs and panties.

“You seem pretty calm about all this,” Seamus’ uncle observed thoughtfully.

I shrugged and started brushing the glitter off. “This sort of thing is pretty standard for me. No big whoop,” I answered, wishing that the beautiful stranger would just go away. My humiliation quota was definitely filled for the day.

 “I see,” was all he said, and he turned to Seamus, who was waiting patiently with a stunned expression on his face. “Ready to go?”

Seamus nodded and trekked out the door, his oversized backpack swinging back and forth as he walked.

“I’m Aiden,” his uncle said, offering his hand. I hesitated and then shook it, saying a silent prayer that he would finally be satisfied with my discomfiture and leave. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better this weekend.”

“Er…” I said, eyes darting around as I tried to work through this bizarre pronouncement.

“Oh, perhaps you hadn’t heard.  I’m helping to chaperone the field trip to D.C. I was told you were the other chaperone for this class. I’ve got to say,” he declared with the air of one who has won a coveted item at an auction, “I’m pleasantly surprised. I imagine this will be an entertaining trip. See you Friday.” He turned and strode out swiftly, leaving me tongue tied and in shock. What the hell just happened?

After a few moments of standing around confusedly, I shrugged and dug through my enormous Mary Poppins’s style purse, huffing in triumph when I located the spare set of slacks I kept rolled up for emergencies. I’d learned a lot about accidental spills in the months I’d been a substitute teacher.

When I was suitably attired and had brushed off the majority of the glitter from my sweater, I heaved an inner sigh, finally acknowledging the sting of humiliation I had been holding at bay since Aiden left. My cheeks burned for a moment and then I shook it off, reflecting pragmatically that this incident was hardly the most embarrassing thing to have happened to me. Stuffing my ruined skirt into the cavernous depths of my bag, I straightened my shoulders and prepared to reenter the fray.

Two hours later I folded myself into my clunker of a car, a ten-year-old minivan I had confiscated from my parents’ garage, and motored back to the cluttered two-bedroom house I shared with my troll of a roommate, a clear picture of the Betty Crocker brownie mix just inside the pantry driving me onward.

By the time the brownies were out of the oven, I was showered and relatively glitter free. I had a feeling that I would be finding little sparkles in unorthodox places for the next few days, but all in all things were looking up. I scarfed a too-hot brownie and downed a glass of milk, my equilibrium restored. Chocolate is the only sure remedy for my condition.

The front door slammed and David’s clear voice drifted through the hall.

“Are you de-glittered?” he called. I rolled my eyes, wondering why I had bothered to share my earlier episode, and went to show him, doing a little spin so he could see that I was back to normal.

He stood in the living room, fingers drifting over a picture of us at our college graduation. I smiled and punched his arm, drawing his attention.  David grinned down at me, his warm brown eyes soft with sentiment and a glint of humor.

“Hmm. Well, you’ll do. Look, don’t make a fuss, but I’ve got someone I want you to meet.” He put up her hands to stave off my protests. “Just give him a chance. It’s been six months. You have to get out and start meeting people. I’m putting my foot down,” he threatened, narrowing his eyes.

Easy for him to say; all he had to do was walk out the door and he had women flinging themselves at him. I had worked on the same guy for two years and just look how that turned out.

“David, I don’t want to go on a blind date, ok? These things never turn out well,” I argued.

He shook his head obstinately and put a casual arm around my shoulders. I sighed, registering defeat. David was about to give me a guilt trip, something he had mastered by age ten, when I accidentally sat on his pet frog and killed it. He ruthlessly used my guilt to convince me to spend four hours combing the lake for a new one. I caught a number of slimy, reptilian creatures that day, none of which he deigned to keep as pets.

“You’ve never been on a blind date, Fee. You had exactly one boyfriend in high school, and that relationship lasted two years. You were with your only other boyfriend for two years. See the pattern here? You don’t know what it means to date.” He patted my shoulder comfortingly and turned his big-eyed, lost puppy dog look on me. “Now, I’ve been pretty understanding, I think, and put up with the moping and grousing, the late night margarita parties and constant supply of brownies. I’ve gained like five pounds!” He put his hands on his perfectly honed abs and gave me a mock grimace.

I rolled my eyes.

“But sweetheart, if you make me spend one more Saturday night watching The Notebook, I won’t be answerable for my actions.”

“Fine. Just this once,” I capitulated and he grinned.

“You got it. He’ll be here in an hour, so go put on some makeup and hide the damn brownies.” He dropped onto the couch and flipped on the TV, effectively ending the conversation, while I went off to change and tried to control the urge to throw up. I fortified myself with another brownie before tucking them away in the fridge where they couldn’t betray me as being a chocoholic to my date. I took my time getting ready, trying to think of an excuse to get out of the coming horror. And I had no doubt it would be horrible; there’s a reason I never tried a blind date before. I always figured that with my luck whoever I was set up with would turn out to be the next Ted Bundy.

When the doorbell rang forty minutes later I was holed up in my room, freshly made up and wearing my best jeans with what I thought was a flattering green v-neck sweater.

“Fee, get out here,” David commanded as he pounded toward the door. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed my purse and dragged myself to the foyer where Prince Charming awaited

“She’s fatter than I thought,” a husky male said in an exaggerated whisper. David hushed him and shot me an apologetic look. I pasted a fake smile on my face and stretched out my hand.

“Hi, I’m Fee. Sorry you got suckered into this; I’ll try to make it as painless as possible.”

He was marginally attractive, with wavy brown hair almost hitting his shoulders, and he was tall, but that was pretty much the end of the good stuff. He was bulky with muscle, but had the kind of build that runs to fat the second weightlifting loses its draw, and his eyes were deep-set and squinty, reminding me a little bit of an irritated squirrel. He was wearing a flannel shirt tucked into loose jeans held up with a battered leather belt. The belt buckle was huge and shiny and sported the charming phrase, “Git R Done.”

Awesome.

“Ok, well…you two have fun. Don’t bring her home too late, Reese.” David started backing away, accurately judging the death bullets I was shooting him with my eyes. “See you later, Fee. I’ll uh…yeah, have fun.” He darted out of the door like a man with the seven levels of hell chasing, and I considered following.

“Alright, sugar. Let’s go,” my date boomed, throwing an arm around me. He smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey. Gagging a little I shuffled along meekly until we reached his mammoth truck.

“Do you ride in the derby or something?” I asked, and he guffawed.

“Nope, I just like things big. We should get along fine,” he added and chuckled at his own wit.

My fake smile was getting thinner and thinner. Before I could attempt to climb into the cab, which I’m pretty sure was about ten feet off the ground, he lifted me up and swung me in the open door, giving my rear a firm smack as I rolled around to a seated position. My cheeks burning and patience running out, I scowled at him and pulled the door shut. As he threw the huge engine into gear, powering us down the road like some kind of third-world tank, I began contemplating the terrible things I was going to do to David to pay him back for this night. On top of the whole rubber cement and glitter business, this travesty of a date was going to put me into a brownie-eating coma for at least a week.

“So, where are we going?” I asked hesitantly, hoping he wasn’t planning on taking me to a cabin in the woods to show me his gun collection.

“Roller-skating,” he replied jovially, shouting over the deafening sound of his truck. My mouth went dry with panic. Roller-skating? Like, with wheels and slick floors?

“I’m not so good at roller-skating,” I said, my voice coming out all high-pitched and wobbly. He just laughed and started telling me about the ten point buck he’d shot the past week. Torn between my fear at our destination and wondering what in the hell David had been thinking setting me up with this guy, I tuned out his description of the intricacies of deer-skinning and missed his next turn of conversation.

“You listening to me, chickie?” he demanded, little squirrel eyes fastening on me with a frustrated look.

I cleared my throat and tried to make the best of things. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” I replied demurely. He grinned toothily and turned his attention back toward the road.

“Yeah, the engine’s a beaut. I said what kind of a name is Fee? Is it short for something?”

I had been dreading this question. I always dread this question.

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth, hoping futilely that he would let it go there.

“Well, what’s your name, then?” he pestered. I sighed, knowing what was coming.

“Murphy,” I whispered.

He glanced at me with his eyebrows drawn together and grunted, “What?”

“Murphy,” I spat. His eyes widened and a smile tugged at his mouth, his diminutive rodent eyes twinkling.

“That’s a boy’s name, ain’t it?” Reese chuckled, his broad face turning red. I cursed under my breath and looked out the window. This date was off to a great start; he’d already said I was fat and now he was mocking my name.

And my mother wonders why I’m still single.

“Traditionally yes, it is a man’s name. It’s a family name. I go by Fee,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even. Since I was old enough to go to school, I’ve had to explain my name to people while they laughed at me. Why my parents, in their infinite wisdom, had chosen to saddle me with a moniker like Murphy Jane McFee I’ll never understand, but I’ve spent most of my life trying to live it down.

Reese had a good chuckle about my name, though what a guy named after candy had to laugh about I couldn’t tell, and we finally pulled up to our exotic destination. The roller rink had been plopped down on top of a hill, the squat building hovering like a toad on a lily-pad over the winding road beneath it. The truck chugged to a stop and Reese bounded out of his side, rushing over to open my door for me. Suspecting that he was only trying to maneuver another grope at my ass, I grabbed my purse and leaped down from the precipice of the cab, preempting his strike. He shrugged good-naturedly and waved me ahead of him with a flourish, his enormous belt buckle winking in the late afternoon sunlight.

The inside of the rink smelled like sweat, rubber, and desperation.  It was one of the last of its kind, a rink built in the 1950’s with a four-lane bowling alley attached and a bar with cheap hamburgers, greasy nachos, and liquor distilled from old boots. The ceilings and walls were probably stuffed with asbestos, and most of the patrons were middle-aged men with bald spots and beer guts or sloppy-eyed teenagers who couldn’t afford anything better out on dates. The fact that my date brought me here did not endear him to me. I hadn’t been to the rink since high school, for a number of good reasons, the most important of which involved a hefty nosebleed and a broken wrist.

“What size you want?” Reese asked, obviously feeling a big man since he was springing for my skates. I said a size nine and he snorted, slipping the shoe guy a five for his trouble. I was feeling more and more ridiculous. We were the only people in our twenties in the building and were garnering a round of hostile stares from the regulars. I pasted a smile on my face and accepted the reeking skates, passing my own loafers over the counter, praying to the shoe gods that they wouldn’t come back to me with a cockroach in them.

“Look at that,” Reese grumbled, his beady little eyes fixed on the couples circling the rink, a grim set to his thin lips. I glanced around, trying to see what had caused the ire of my companion, unable to see anything amiss.

Apart from the fact that we were in a roller rink.

“Look at what?” I asked. He shook his head violently and made a low growling noise in his throat.

“Those two, twirling around like it don’t matter. A colored boy with a white girl. I oughta go over there and knock some sense into her.” Reese’s voice was low and nasty, and I felt dirty just hearing it.

The girl was clinging to her companion’s arm as her legs flailed around like they weren’t attached to the rest of her. The boy was smiling broadly, solicitously holding her arms, keeping her from falling. I couldn’t see anything wrong with what they were doing, and hearing someone voice so archaic and bigoted a remark left me speechless.

“I don’t see…any problem,” I stuttered finally. Reese glanced at me sharply and his mouth gaped open unattractively.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re some kind of ni…” he started and I threw my hands up.

“Ok, let me just stop you there,” I interrupted, my voice rising in pitch. “I don’t like that word or the sentiment behind it.” His eyes bulged demonically, a squirrel on steroids. I flinched, hoping he wasn’t about to start chucking acorns at me.

“Eichhörnchen teufel,” I muttered under my breath, using the only two German words I know. Oh yeah, and ‘sheisse,” but everyone knows how to say shit in German.

“What did you just call me?” Reese asked, his face turning a truly magnificent shade of puce.

“I called you a devil squirrel. I think we’re done here,” I said, stalking back to the booth to retrieve my shoes. I waved at the guy and he stood to attention, clearly stunned by having so much business in such a short time. He disappeared into the lockers and I heard Reese breathing heavily behind me.

“Whatever. You probably wouldn’t put out anyway,” he said with an ugly twist of his lips. The man with the shoes reappeared and I hastily grabbed mine and stuffed my feet into them, aching for the social torture to be over. As soon as my toes were safely encased, I stomped back to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect myself before I could even think about getting into the enclosed space of the truck with squirrel man for the uncomfortable drive home.

“Ugh,” I groaned, splashing water over my face and pressing my hands against my eyes. I felt a wave of intense longing for Carter roll over me; his quick smile and intelligent brown eyes. He would never have taken me to a roller rink and made racist remarks, or called me fat, or mocked my name. In fact, he was the only person aside from my parents who had never made fun of it. The wave passed and I felt empty. There was no point in wishing for Carter; I hadn’t heard from him in six months and wasn’t likely to now.

Heaving a sigh and wiping the moisture from my eyes, I glanced in the mirror to make sure I was presentable and then pushed my way back out to deal with my belligerent date.

He had left.

The rotten, racist, squirrel-eyed bastard had motored his jacked up truck off into the great blue yonder and left me stranded at the damn roller rink.

New Release: Woman of Silk and Stone

Available October 31 - Woman of Silk and Stone

Some days you should just stay in bed...

Honeydew Morning-Sun Sullivan is having a bad day. Apart from having absentee hippie parents, a job in crisis management that she hates, and an apartment she can’t afford, Honey is about to learn there are some mornings you should just call in sick.

First, she gets fired. Then, while wandering the streets of D.C. in a jobless stupor, she accidentally enters a deserted neighborhood that happens to be a portal to another dimension.

Whoops.

When Honey wakes up in a world with blue grass that feels like the finest strands of silk and a sky the color of amethysts, she knows something weird is going on. But it’s when the enormous warriors who look uncannily like living Easter Island statues riding leopard-spotted Clydesdales show up that she really starts to panic.

Trapped in a world that seems like a cross between Aladdin and Victorian England, with a resentful populace, a shaky monarchy, and a villain who looks like Jafar’s evil cousin, Honey is thrust into the middle of a struggle for the crown, even as a hidden enemy tries to take her out of the equation.

Developing abilities she never dreamed of back home and friendships she can’t live without, Honey must use her wits and her questionable PR skills to maneuver a treacherous royal court, assassination attempts, an unexpected mating with an immortal fire creature who really likes using the word “MINE,” and to help a young, orphaned king unite a fragile realm.

Can't a girl catch a break?

Off to Tennessee!!

So I am extremely excited to be off to Lebanon, TN for the Indie Romance Writer’s Conference!!

I’m geeking out a bit because some of my favorite indieauthors are going to be there, so I’m trying to get my “I’m totally cool and nonchalant about everything” face down so I don’t seem like a dweeb.  The whole thing is thrilling to me because I’m going to get to meet with other authors who are trying to do or are succeeding at exactly what I’m working on: being a self-supported author who is in on the ground floor of indie publishing. 

As much as I would love to get a fantastic book contract and have movies made of my books and all (which, let’s be honest, everyone would love), I am so privileged to be able to make my mark now on the indie publishing world. I have no doubt that in the next 10 years, indie publishing is going to be dominant in the industry, which is great; so many new and exciting authors with innovative ideas are getting out there when they might not have because their stories didn’t fit the market or weren’t trendy enough. No matter what, having your book read by the public is a wonderful thing, but there’s something really appealing in the purity of the author directly reaching out to readers the way indies have to do.

Anyway, hopefully I’ll learn all sorts of new and exciting things to post on my blog and website at the conference. In the meantime, I’ve just announced that my new book Woman of Silk and Stone is available for pre-order on Amazon. The release date is set for October 31, so check it out please! I’ve included the blurb below. Check out my website for a samplechapter!

Some days you should just stay in bed...

Honeydew Morning-Sun Sullivan is having a bad day. Apart from having absentee hippie parents, a job in crisis management that she hates, and an apartment she can’t afford, Honey is about to learn there are some mornings you should just call in sick.

First, she gets fired. Then, while wandering the streets of D.C. in a jobless stupor, she accidentally enters a deserted neighborhood that happens to be a portal to another dimension.

Whoops.

When Honey wakes up in a world with blue grass that feels like the finest strands of silk and a sky the color of amethysts, she knows something weird is going on. But it’s when the enormous warriors who look uncannily like living Easter Island statues riding leopard-spotted Clydesdales show up that she really starts to panic.

Trapped in a world that seems like a cross between Aladdin and Victorian England, with a resentful populace, a shaky monarchy, and a villain who looks like Jafar’s evil cousin, Honey is thrust in the middle of a struggle for the crown even as a hidden enemy tries to take her out of the equation.

Developing abilities she never dreamed of back home and friendships she can’t live without, Honey must use her wits and her questionable PR skills to maneuver a treacherous royal court, several assassination attempts, an unexpected mating with an immortal fire creature who really likes using the word “MINE,” and to help a young, orphaned king unite a fragile realm.

Can't a girl catch a break?

Check me out on Smashwords!

I've just posted Instinct on Smashwords, and although I want to apologize for any formatting issues (I'm currently working on that, but having a little difficulty with the transition), I want to thank everyone who has downloaded it so far and has given me such great feedback! 

A little bit about it...

I was driving home from work one day and glanced up at a billboard with a giant picture of very earnest looking people in suits standing in front of a bookcase and I could have sworn it read: “Worst lawyers in the state!”

I blinked and looked again and then read what was really there: the name of the firm and some throwaway phrase about “working for you!” It struck me as funny and got me thinking about mistaken impressions and Freudian slips, those moments when you’re sure someone said something really naughty even though they’re looking at you like you’re crazy. From there I started imagining what it would be like if that happened all the time, if a first impression could always be right, could give a person a glimpse of truth rather than a carefully crafted façade.

And Derry came to life.

My heroine came first, her strange abilities and her personality, long before I ever came up with a story. I was actually working on something else at the time, but Derry and her honest impressions just kept popping up in my head, stealing away my attention, and finally I sat down and let her tell her story. I was living near Harpers Ferry, WV at the time, had always thought it would make a perfect setting for a murder mystery, and so Derry had a home.

The rest of the story came to me pretty organically; I just started writing scenes from Derry’s point of view and all these other characters turned up and their stories began emerging until I had a pretty solid plot.  I’m a teacher, and too many times I see students who are caught up in destructive relationships that would be categorized as domestic abuse if they were adults, and I wanted to bring a bit of that to light; Derry gave me a clear outlet since she wouldn’t be fooled by a smooth-talker or manipulation. The rest of the book flowed from there.

I wish I could say I had some great plan in mind when I sat down to write, but really the whole thing just came from me misreading a billboard. There’s a bit of honesty for you.