Featuring Author Katy J. Smith

Today, I’m excited to share with you some words from debut Author Katy J. Smith. She released her first novel this month, “Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal,” and I had the pleasure of asking her a few questions about it. It’s a historical fiction piece that focuses on the West Virginia Mine Wars of 1912-1913. This book is a unique telling of the mine conflicts and I highly recommend checking it out.

The Interview:

Q: Start by talking a little about yourself and your writing journey. When did you start writing? What inspired you to do so?

A:  Interesting question, simply because I just wrote a blog about a part of my writing journey.  I love stories—whether I read them, whether I tell them, or whether I write them.  

I sort of kept a diary, and I sort of wrote stories when I was younger.  In public school, we had no formal writing instruction nor did we write outside of completing homework.  My first true attempt at writing was in the introductory college Composition and Rhetoric class.  I loved writing, although, at that time, I had issues with “what can I write?”  I had things published in both the college’s literary magazine at that time as well as news stories in the Tech Collegian.

Then I became an elementary school teacher in 1983.  At that time, teaching writing in public school, especially elementary school, was daring.  Years before it was a county and state mandate, our teachers at Pratt Elementary decided to teach creative writing to our students, from Kindergarten through Grade 6.  Our students did so well!  (I wish I kept the vignettes of what my students wrote.  WOW!  They were great!)  But, we teachers knew we needed training on how to teach writing.  We took the seminars and staff development so we could teach effectively.

I’ve written or told stories since those days.  It’s different as a writer because, while I want to tell a story, I want others to enjoy reading it.  I have to look at it differently, and I have to employ tons of deep leveling thinking on what makes sense in the story.

I also took two writing courses at Marshall University after I retired.  I’d take more, but I need on-line writing instruction due to the thing called ‘everyday living’.  Most of those courses, if it’s what I need, fill quickly or aren’t offered on-line.

Someone (I think it was my grandsons) told me, words are just the same 26 letters put in different formations.  I like making those different combinations.

Q: “Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal” is historical fiction set in the 1912-1913 West Virginia mine wars, which is an interesting part of the state’s history that I feel is overlooked by folks who aren’t from there or haven’t lived there. Why did you choose that setting?

I’m a retired elementary schoolteacher who loved teaching.  I am not good at the retired part of “retired elementary teacher.”  On my first ‘official’ day of retirement, I was driving to sub in a 4th Grade classroom for a month.  On my way to the school in the following days, I passed by a roadside marker that told the story of the Bull Moose Special, an armored train equipped with a Gatling gun, that shot up a small town of displaced miners who were living with their families in coarse canvas tents.  

I knew the story from several sources:  my grandfather, a coal miner, told me the story when I was young.  I learned about it from my history profs at WV Institute of Technology.  The children who live on Paint Creek attend the school where I taught had family stories to tell.  Their grandparents, who were children in this time, told me some of their personal stories.  Plus, I love Appalachian history, especially the coal history of WV, so I started digging into the region.  As I read, I was horrified by the atrocities inflicted on these families, simply for wanting to provide a better life for their families.

So, basically, I couldn’t get the facts out of my head, and then a bunch of “What if…” questions formed in my head and wouldn’t leave.

Q: Your story is told mostly through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old girl, Valentina, whose family is caught in the midst of the mine strike. How did you decide on this unique take for your story? Was it difficult to put yourself in the mind of someone so young?

The grandparents who told me their stories were adolescents in the era. Their stories were heartrending.  Their voices and eyes hardened as they talked about that night in their childhoods.  Their expressions, as if they were lost in a nightmare, reflected the brutality of that time.  Even my husband, who grew up near this area, told me about teachers and subs who told their personal stories.  Each person who spoke of that time was conflicted by the events, but those events help to create their character, something that still is an underlying tone in their progeny, the people who still live in the area.

I wanted the story to be completely written in diary form.  But I couldn’t develop my characters effectively through a diary format.  (I’m not that talented, but I’m trying to develop it!)  I taught mostly 5th and 6th graders, so I had an idea of how kids between the ages of 9 to 15 think.  Plus, these kids, not a child but not an adult, usually have something that shapes who they become.  I call it that defining moment.  Valentina’s defining moment was the death of Cesco Estep, her neighbor.  She realized it could have easily been the man she loved the most, her Pap.  

I think of it as her Scarlett O’Hara moment when Scarlett swears, “With God as my witness, I…”.  Valentina vows to find a way to help her family and her neighbors have a better life.  She does through true journalistic integrity*, to write unbiased stories. 

*I’m sending kudos to Dr. Ralph Turner of Marshall U’s Dept. of Journalism who taught me much about journalistic integrity way back then.

Q: To me, this novel does a great job of capturing the West Virginian spirit that can still be found in many small communities there. Did you draw from any personal experience to shape your characters and community?

Due to the mountainous terrain and isolation of many West Virginia communities, the people developed grit and self-reliance.  This has been proven repeatedly from the earliest days of human settlement in WV, from the Mound Builders, and throughout its history.  We West Virginians have a friendliness, but we can also survive.  We love you, and we will help you.  We will be a good friend and neighbor.  But, don’t try to walk over our good-naturedness.  We fight back.

Maybe that attitude is true for any small community, not just those in West Virginia.  Although West Virginians are still a marginalized group, they have grit and are self-reliant.  They help themselves and rarely whine about it. An example would be the 2014 flooding that devastated communities in different sections of the state.  Another example is the people who live in a small community of Hico in Fayette County.  We’re not hearing about the relief efforts for those who lost everything from the tornadoes in early April 2024.  Those folks prayed about it, and then rolled up their sleeves to clean up the devastation so they can rebuild or find a viable alternative.

Fortunately, I’ve not lived through these types of experiences. But I am the daughter and granddaughter of coal miners.  Even as a young girl growing up in rural Fayette County, I always feared someday Mom would receive word that Dad was hurt or killed in the mines.  I remember the days of union activity and why men went on strike.  

The only ‘coal camp’ I lived in was in Landisburg during my senior year in high school.  The house was a nice cinderblock home, 3 bedrooms, and a full basement with a free-standing shower stall Daddy used to wash off the coal dust.  The other six houses in neighborhood were as nice.  The mine superintendent house looked lavish, but it wasn’t.  It was an updated Craftsman with more bedrooms, a large front porch, and a wooden frame.

As for the spirit of West Virginia, I think about the ideas that shaped our American history.  West Virginians have a strong work ethic, but they expect respect, fairness, and equity from their employers.  They try to live by the tenets of their faith.  They expect their children to ‘do better’ than they did because of having better educational opportunities.  They are law-abiding for the most part, but they will not tolerate an injustice.  They expect to be heard in these matters.  

I find those same qualities in most rural areas in our country.

Q:  This book is also quite informative about the events that took place in it. Was that information you were already knowledgeable about, or did you have to research everything

It was a combination of both.  I’ve always been fascinated by the coal mining history of our region.  I knew some things about the 1912 – 1913 Coal Mine Wars.  But I researched it as well, mostly to verify what I knew (or thought I knew) was true.  Not only did I research about that era, I examined the beginning of the coal industry in West Virginia and how a region bounded by mountains was the leader in bituminous coal mining.  Coal mining is the reason we had an era called the Industrial Revolution, which began in those regions of England.  I researched its progression through time. 

I also examined the impact of the 1912 -1913 Coal Mine Wars on other mining incidents.  Within a year, the same Bull Moose Special gunned down another Tent City (with the striking miners living in the same tents supplied by the UMWA) in Ludlow, Colorado.  The incident at Holly Grove, WV, set the standard on the importance of gaining basic needs, such as increase in pay, safety on the job, and in not having the script system of currency that can be used at only the one company store. One of the experts on coal mining and the labor union stated the events in Holly Grove taught the striking miners what they needed to do to ensure others listened to their voices.

During this era, from 1912 – 1913, the fight wasn’t only on Paint Creek but also on Cabin Creek.  The two hollows are separated by mountains.  If it were a flattened area, the distance would be around five to eight miles.  The families on the two creeks helped each other, thus the incident of Valentina helping pull up the railroad tracks. *

Fortunately, we live in an era of using the internet.  I could do most of my research from the internet resources available, especially from the WV Mine Wars Museum and the WV Encyclopedia, e- WV.  But I also read books from the experts of the Coal Mine Wars.  I now own an extensive library of their research!  ☺ 

*This incident actually occurred in 1912, not 1913.  I took creative freedom to make it one of Valentina’s ‘acts of defiance.’

Q: I feel there’s also a strong message about feminine independence in the story. Was that intentional, or did Valentina decide that for you?

It was a bit of both.  I come from a long line of strong women.  We enjoy being with our men, but we can fend for ourselves.  My maternal grandmother, a quiet and tiny lady, married a coal miner.  She could have easily been Valentina.  They were the same age and had families who tried to shelter and protect them.  Women in WV received the right to vote on March 10, 1920.  My grandmother, a married woman around the age of 22 and mother of several children, registered to vote.  She was proud of being a registered voter and kept her voters’ registration card in her purse.  She voted in every election until her death in 1989, whether it was for the town, the county, the state or the nation.  When the men tried to tell her how to vote, she would clench her jaw and then voted how she wanted.  She listened to both sides and made her choices on what she determined to be the best choice.  Thus, I chose to put some of those characteristics into the Valentina character.

Like many children, Valentina was sheltered by her family.  Yet she yearned for independence and being treated as an equal, like many children do both then and today.  She was at an age of rebellion, and she was wanting to be treated equally and equitably.  Her mother recognized but yet hated that her child was growing up.  Margaret Rose became the unofficial head of household when Walter disappeared.  She and Walter’s mother Sylvia worked in tandem to keep their family safe. Valentina had strong models on how to survive in a bad situation.

Yes, Valentina started “talking” to me in the story.  I had to rewrite chapters to show her point of view, and then often she would tell me more, so I had to rewrite again.  But Valentina’s life changed in 1913, not only physically but emotionally.  She recognized she wouldn’t be the girl who played in the creek and shared secrets with her girlfriends.  She was growing up, often too fast, in a dangerous world.  Fortunately, her family helped her grow and accepted the young woman she was becoming.

Q: Can we expect more titles from you in the historical fiction genre? Are there other genres you enjoy writing, as well?

I want to write more historical fiction!  I love history and the ‘forgotten stories’ from the different eras.  I’m mapping out another story and researching another topic that too is being forgotten.  I would like to write a story about the European-based settlement in western Virginia.  

My grandsons and I have discussed different topics over the years.  I want to write non-fiction children’s books about our discussions.  The boys are creative and forward-thinking.  They ask good questions.

As a reader, I enjoy mysteries, perhaps my favorite genre.  A mystery doesn’t have to be a whodunit, but it can be something that aggravates a person because there are unanswered questions.  That’s the story I’m currently writing, but it has elements of romance in it as well.

I dabble in poetry, but I am not a poet.  I’d love to be one though.

Q: Finally, you’re published through Rose Dog Books. There are a lot of ways to publish these days, and a ton of different resources for authors who choose not to go the fully traditional route. Tell us a bit about your publishing experience. What made you choose the way you did?

One of my writing goals is to use a traditional publisher!  Wow!  What a coup that would be!  I researched they types of publishers available, and I knew what I wanted and, more importantly, didn’t want.  I didn’t want to have to build a room to house 2,000 copies of my novel.  I didn’t want to deal with certain aspects that a hybrid or traditional publisher can handle more efficiently.

Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal is my debut novel, and Rose Dog Press (part of the Dorrance Publishing umbrella) is my first journey in publishing.  Once again, I researched different publishers.  I liked many of the subsets and skills of Rose Dog/Dorrance offered.  I liked they were reasonably close to Appalachia and the coalfields, and, hopefully, would have a better understanding of what the beginning writers need.  Overall, I’ve been pleased.

My advice on using any publisher includes:

  1. Study what the publisher offers you, and see if it meets (most of) your needs.  If not, move on to another publisher.
  2. Follow, to the letter, the expectations of how to submit a query or your manuscript.  Most publishers don’t want the entire manuscript.  Read those points carefully, and then do what they request.
  3. Set a budget that you can live with.  (Don’t quit your day job!)  Then, live within that budget.  Also make sure you keep good records and receipts for your income taxes.
  4. Know your contract, a legal document!  Make multiple copies of it, keeping one as your legal document while you can mark up the others.  Then make sure both you AND the publisher are meeting the points of the contract.
  5. Work professionally and respectfully with your book team—from editing and revision, cover design, any book-related matters, and the publicity team.
  6. Keep in touch with the different coordinators within the book team.  If you haven’t heard something from them within a reasonable amount of time, email or call them.  But don’t waste their time or yours.  Be spot on with your questions and requests.  Give them time to find or develop their answers, but also expect a timely response from them.
  7. Above all else, have a publicity plan that you implement.  Use social media.  Have an author’s webpage. Write a newsletter or blog that you update regularly. Get your exercise by visiting local businesses and libraries to promote your book.  Discover the ins and out of using Amazon and Good Reads.  Go to the free zoom meetings on how to publicize your books.

When I have a second manuscript ready, I will go through the process again.  I hope by then to have an agent to help me.  I may or may not use Dorrance/Red Dog Press again.  But, at this point in time, I’m not opposed to using them a second time.

A huge thanks to Katy for spending the time to answer my questions! And congratulations on her release!

You can find her book here:

https://rosedogbookstore.com/search.php?search_query=Forgotten+Voices+Excerpts+from+Valentina%27s+Journal

Keep up with Katy online!

https://katyjsmith.com

Follow her on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61557998175235

Being Indie

Today I’ve decided to do a little something different for a post. Rather than posting writing samples, which is my favorite subject, I’m going to talk a little about what being a self-published author means to me. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I do have hopes my experience might be an inspiration for someone else out there who loves writing as much as I do.

It all starts with the books. Obviously, you can’t publish something that’s not written. Personally, I write my first drafts by hand. The process is certainly slower than typing directly, but I’ve found it helps me stay focused. Forcing my brain to form the words with my hand as I also string them together into something coherent keeps me locked into the moment. The whole experience is more organic. Then when I type that first draft I also do light editing. The first words in the notebooks are free of the editor brain. They convey the basic idea. The words that get transcribed are the first polishing of mechanics and descriptions.

I’m the type who always has several projects in the works. I highly recommend having multiple WIPs even if only one of them comes with the intention to publish. I’ve found this helps with stagnation and also provides time for characters to rest. Yes, I talk about my characters like real people. They’re basically my kids. Often times after putting them through high-stress situations, they need time and space to recover just as I do as the writer. So when certain characters stop talking, I move on to a different story for a while. This method means that at any given point, I have stories in different stages of development. For example, I recently finished massive rewrites on the sequel for “The Murder Meets at Dusk.” Those words are in the hands of a reader and will soon after go off to my wonderful editor. In the meantime, I’ve found my way back to the sequel for “The Nameless,” which has been on hold for some months at roughly 70% finished. Amongst those two major projects, I’ve been writing in a novella series that bounces around different characters’ points of view to create the bigger picture of the world and what’s happening in it.

What comes next? After a completed manuscript goes through the editing process, which entails several read throughs, the really fun part begins. (This is sarcasm.) Formatting has been one of the biggest learning processes for me. I wish I could say it has gone smoothly. Nothing draws the expletives out of me more than formatting. I haven’t reached the level of awesome chapter graphics or art inside the book, but I’ve learned to make my Apple Pages document look like an actual book and upload to Amazon KDP for print. Formatting the ebook is a bit of a different beast, some say easier. I think both formats have their own challenges, and both are rewarding. It’s an achievement I’m proud of, and in three years I’ve formatted four titles. There are, of course, other options for Indies to print by demand, but Amazon is the road I chose to take.

Other than editing, the only other thing I don’t do for myself is the cover. I have an amazing cover artist and friend, and it’s worth every penny to let her do her magic. There’s something to be said about knowing your limits, and mine is that. I think if I had any true advice for aspiring Indies, it’s that you absolutely need an editor, and your cover matters.

Then what? Title and cover reveals are a big part of raising hype for release. At this point, you call on all your resources to share your book on as many platforms as possible. This is the part where readers should be getting excited for your impending release. It’s typically not a long period, a few weeks maybe, but it’s a blitz of self-promotion. No one will ever be more excited than you are as the author when you reach the point when your words are released into the wild. It’s also scary, for me anyway, to know someone else will consume my words and worlds and characters. Likewise, no one else knows how much work goes into releasing a book.

Suddenly, it’s release day! It’s all excitement and guts twisted up into knots, fear, doubt, pride. It’s a lot. But it’s one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever had. Release day is the affirmation that all the work and effort paid off. That doesn’t mean sales will be amazing, but that’s a different story. Take your release day and celebrate yourself. You deserve it. Promotion never stops. It’s a job in itself. So take that one day to bask in your own glory. Trust me here.

Once your book is released, it’s out there. As I said, promotion is an ongoing process. It’s hard sometimes. Your friends will help. You might feel like you’re drowning in the never-ending social media grind, finding events to attend, ads and blogs and word of mouth. It’s a constant chase for ratings and reviews, sales, shares, and clicks. Isn’t it worth it, though? Again, no one will care as much as you do. It’s a choice and a commitment but, in the end, being Indie means you have control over your creation. You can choose your content, your aesthetics, all of it.

I’d love to hear from other Indies out there. What’s your process like? What successes have you found? What are you proud of? And to anyone still getting there, don’t quit. The world needs us.

First Chapter

I feel like I start every blog these days with, “I dropped the ball…” I gotta be honest, y’all, I don’t even know where the ball is. I can say I’m still here, taking a stab at indie life, if not a very good one. I don’t have any super exciting news right now, except maybe I’m considering running all my Kindle titles on a sale after Thanksgiving, with the hopes this past year hasn’t taken as much wind from your sails, my friends, as much as it has for me.

Alas, I haven’t posted anything here in a while, so it’s about damn time I do. I’ve decided to share the first chapter of the first novella in a series I have been working on with my creative partner. The whole project is probably still a long way off from seeing any sort of publication, but when it gets there it will be mixed media and something a little different. That being said, I’m still interested in getting some readers in on the project that is currently sitting at five novellas total from different points of view.

I have shared from this series here before, from the second installment. Today I’m going to post the very beginning. A short overview, the setting is a spin on post-apocalyptic, the fall of a society that would’ve been described as cyberpunk, and there are also strong fantasy elements to go with the tech. I would actually really love feedback on how the story starts, so feel free to leave me comments or messages!

The last thing I want to say before we start the part is … happy Halloween, spooky friends!

An excerpt from “Dirty Synth”, featuring Wen Daniri

Chapter 1

Most of us didn’t remember what life had been like before the demons came. There were some who did, the elves and the dwarves, but they kept those secrets in the space behind their borders. There were hints of the old world in the great cities that reached as far up as they did out, but they were crumbling ghosts.

Surely there were others who wondered about that world like I did. How did those people live before most of the planet became a wasteland? Was basic electricity so scarce? What had society been like before there was hell filtering through the blood of the masses?

The history passed down on the streets of Srong Sevina where I grew up was iffy. Some said the demons opened a rift for themselves, hellbent on death and destruction. Some said they came because our world had corrupted so much it wasn’t redeemable. No one knew for sure. They were too busy navigating crime-filled alleys and whole communities made of broken down train cars and subway systems.

It wasn’t until after I enlisted that I learned the Crown and the Cabinet weren’t even as old as the Fall. They were a result of it, a last-ditch effort to bring some order to a world that had fallen to chaos. I didn’t learn much later that it was also a point of contempt for some that the current Queen was herself of a hell-mixed descent.

The Queen’s military recruiters found me six years ago. The offer they had made was hard to beat. Relative stability, a steady stipend, a solid roof over me. It wouldn’t take much to beat slum life. That had been the plan anyway. Except when they put me through the initial screenings for basic training that plan changed.

Somewhere in those interviews I caught some important eyes. I met with increasingly ranked members of the military, eventually even the General and then the Queen. I never made it to basic but I was listed as a member of the 1st Division, the Queen’s Guard. Instead, I was assigned to tutors for reading and writing and, eventually, I started learning Elvish from the Queen’s personal language tutor. The General himself oversaw my martial training. I didn’t realize then how strange all of that was.

Over the years I met with the Queen regularly. It took me a while to realize she was grooming me for something specific, which came roughly two years ago when she gave me the title of Race Relations Adviser and strong armed me onto her Cabinet. That was when it occurred to me that she had made me a poster child for enlisting, the success story most folks would only ever dream of. I’d never regretted my decision once.

Despite all of that education, the history I wanted wasn’t taught. The closest I ever got was exposure to technology that the general population would never see, and contact with races who pretty openly despised humans. The tech had been rebuilt from that old world, mostly by the dwarves who stayed behind the walls of their industrial complex. They dealt grudgingly with the Crown because the royal machine was the only entity with enough resources for commerce. In turn the dwarves shared a small part of the electricity they produced with the Throne and the masses.

Hearing their concerns was my job. Though it was rare for them to make anything formal. It was hell when they did. They didn’t appreciate speaking to a human woman in her early twenties, by my best guess at my age, about official business, and their ambassador never missed an opportunity to insult me. At least they weren’t as bad as the elven ambassadors who simply refused to speak to me at all.

Still, my royal life was far above my younger years in the slums, scraping for food and scrapping with the competition for it. I didn’t have to worry about where my next meal would come from anymore. I had access to clean water and, for the most part, the struggle of the general population didn’t touch me.

I had spent most of the years after enlisting in the capital city, Caris, where the population was more heavily human than the demon-mixed streets of Srong Sevina, and the city’s infrastructure was kept in a little better repair. It had been, what, six months since the Queen had relocated me and other key players with her to Srong Sevina to try to get a handle on the heavily-demonically-influenced seat of violence and destitution. Srong was a hard place and it was getting worse.

The city was also home to a large cell of the Retribution, a human purist group who believed it was their right and mission to exterminate any and all hell blood from what was left of the planet. They took matters far past regular demon hunters, who tended to focus on pure-blooded demons. The Retribution would target anyone of mixed descent, too. As far as I was concerned, they were little more than terrorists. However, they had managed quite a seat of power before they began blipping on the royal radar and now they were a holy pain in the Throne’s ass.

Those were just the biggest items at the top of a list of problems that rolled on seemingly forever. So far, our presence in Srong hadn’t made much difference at a street level. Most folks in the city had little use for anything royal, they were much more concerned with survival and our resources were already stretched too thin to do much for them.

I checked myself in the mirror. My long red hair was down against my shoulders even though I knew by midday the city would be so hot I’d regret it. I was wearing a short white jacket-vest with a high collar and actual metal buckles over a black midriff shirt and a knee-length skirt. Fashion was something not always readily available to everyone, especially something like the chunky white boots that matched. I had just gotten that outfit.

The Queen, of course, had her own tailors who also made my clothes. The general population often had to settle for more general trends they could find at the market. Often times they also made their own modifications to those trends.

I nodded satisfactorily at my reflection. I wouldn’t go to my scheduled meeting looking like I had also just come from the commoner market. Cipher would be hard enough on me as it was.

I picked up my handheld and headed out the door of my apartment. The tablets were one of those bits of technology that were far from common. They had lit screens and keyboards, connected to a wireless network that only worked inside the Paaj Military Compound that had been our makeshift home for the past six months. Mine beeped to remind me of the meeting.

I silenced the alarm with a sigh. I sped up my steps. I’d never hear the end of it if I was late, and it wasn’t that uncommon for me to be late. I wouldn’t give the dwarf an easy jab. I might even be a little early.

The Nameless Release Day!

The long-awaited day has finally come! The Nameless is now available on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)! I am so excited to share my boys with the world. This story is a unique blend of my noir-influenced style, Fae slow-burn head games, and my adoration of the live music scene. I hope someone out there loves it as much as I do.

Click here to follow the link!

Excerpt:

It’s about three in the morning. Johnny is asleep on the back seat of the van, which is parked at the edge of a Walmart parking lot a little way out of town, beneath the cover of a few overhanging trees. Chance is sitting in the grass in front of the van, leaning back against its nose, staring off. There’s a pile of spent cigarettes beside him and when I sit next to him, he ignores me.

I’m still riding a decent buzz from the bar, but I can tell he’s not in the mood for any theatrical shit or troublemaking. He gets like this occasionally. He’ll be surly for a few days, dark and damn near unbearable, but it will pass. It always does. One thing I can pretty much guess is that meeting a woman with a little depth isn’t helping the situation. I get it. Really, I do. That brand of loneliness isn’t easy to come to terms with and it’s definitely not new. Still, after so long, you’d think he’d have learned to cope with it a little better.

I snatch his pack of smokes from beside him and shake one out. I use his lighter to spark it. Usually, he says something shitty when I steal his cigarettes but, right now, he keeps ignoring me. I blow a thin stream of smoke into the early morning and say, “Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”

“I hate this place,” he answers. It’s more of a response than I was expecting and not at all what I thought he would say.

“We haven’t even been here a full day, how can you hate it?”

He smokes quietly for a while then sighs. He says, “I can feel it siphoning off energy, like it wants to keep us forever. It doesn’t feel right.”

Ah. His bad mood is starting to make a little more sense now. Over the course of our long years, he has developed a sensitivity to – for lack of a better term – magic. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance that if someone is a practicing witch, he’ll know. If there’s a strong concentration of a viral religion, he’ll feel it. I’ve seen him spook over a street oracle so hard he started shaking and bolted when she touched his arm.

Not me. I couldn’t pick up on a spell if it kicked me in the balls. Nah, instead I’m the one who feels our power activate. I feel us trigger fortune like a line of dominoes. If there’s someone whose life we can change for the better, I know it. I can tell when our presence starts tugging on the lines of someone’s fate. He would have no idea if I didn’t tell him, which reminds me …

“Someone in that bar needed us to be there,” I say. It occurs to me after the words are out that they may not be something he wants to hear right now, or ever again.

I can practically feel him gather his tension along his lanky lines, into his muscles and his aura. He crushes out his cigarette and swears under his breath in Irish – a language we learned as kids from immigrant parents, a language we rarely speak anymore. To hear it actually raises goose bumps along my arms.

“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” he says and I can hear traces of an accent we both lost decades ago. “Don’t tell me it was her.”

It doesn’t work that way. He knows I can’t really pinpoint the source, not spot on anyway, but I’ve gotten pretty good at making educated guesses. I don’t say it, though, which is a pretty good admittance that he’s right. He immediately lights another smoke.

I fold my legs up so that I’m sitting cross-legged and take a drag of my own. I could see it on his face at the bar that something was getting to him. Now I understand that it’s a grand mixture of several things that all stem from our unique roles in this fucked-up world.

He rests his head against the van’s bumper, staring forward, and sighs. He softly says, “I’m tired. Of all of this.”

“What choice do we have?” I say with a shrug. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.

“There has to be a way to end it,” he answers in a growl.

I haven’t thought about that night in a long time. I can usually distract myself with an array of mind-altering substances. Tonight all I have is a fading blood-alcohol level and my brother, being absolutely wretched.

“The problem here, dear brother,” I say, dropping into full Irish-accented English, “is that we pissed off the Summer Queen.”

Now I’m the one staring off at the vague darkness where the river winds through the area. I can still see the movement of him turning his head to look at me. Having a twin for a hundred years is … exhausting. I don’t need to see him. I can feel the giant hole I just carved in him by speaking the way our parents taught us to when we weren’t at home. It happens so little that the words feel strange to me.

He looks away before he says, “Maybe we can find her.”

The Nameless Character Spotlight: Lucky

Hello and good day! Today I’m continuing on with another character spotlight from my approaching release, The Nameless. I absolutely adore this story and these characters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. The book follows two brothers on their fae-cursed journey as they start to learn details about the Otherworld and the Fae who stole their names a century ago. You’ve already met the first twin, Chance, now it’s time to meet Lucky.

I think my favorite way I described Lucky is a shooting star. While his brother is methodical and often serious, Lucky is emotionally explosive. He’s always the life of the party, and if there’s no party he makes one. He’s all front man, the guitarist in their three-piece punk band. He’s not the type to dwell on the past or face any demons. He’d rather work the crowd for free drinks until he sails off into oblivion.

Lucky doesn’t take well to sitting still. He’s also the schemer of the two, always looking for ways to take advantage of the situation. If there’s a way for the twins to benefit from the moment, it’s Lucky who will figure out how. He’s charming, enigmatic, and all about the fast life.

The excerpt:

We just finished our set and adrenaline has my whole body buzzing like I just did a huge rail. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is hammering away in my chest. Playing punk music is one of the best outlets I’ve found in all our years for the rage that ebbs and flows damn near constantly. There’s something about bodies writhing and slamming together as a result of music we make. The adoration is a drug that feeds my restless soul.

Behind me, Chance is panting over his drum set, his bare upper body slick from sweat, his chest piece – a variation of the Wheel of Fortune – glaring in full glory. His hair is stuck to his face and neck and I can tell the same euphoria has him in a vice. At least, however fleeting, he can forget his depression.

There, right in the front almost pushed up against the stage, is Becka and her smoking-hot friend. She hasn’t strayed far from him save when he’s been behind his drum set. I swear if he doesn’t take advantage of this opportunity for a little release, I’m gonna call him a fucking idiot for the next hundred years.

The alcohol has been flowing freely, shots from patrons, drinks on the house from the bartenders, such love from a bunch of strangers. We’ve been drinking since we got here but I’m pretty sure I just metabolized most of it, so I don’t even feel drunk. Apparently the owner is here somewhere and I heard a rumor that he sometimes throws exclusive after-parties at his house. If that’s true, I can damn well bet tonight will be one of those times and we’ll be the life of it.

Someone brings a round of beers to us on stage. The excitement of the crowd is palpable. A few young guys are offering to help us break down and pack up. Like I said, so much love.

I know I’m smiling like a demon. There’s no reason to hide it. This is the kind of night I’ll ride until it’s gone. Our next show isn’t for a few more days and, other than getting down to Myrtle Beach by showtime, we have no obligations until then.

I look back to my brother. He’s not smiling, but the fire in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. We won’t sleep until we pass out from exhaustion. He’s got a lot of aggression to release. If he doesn’t fuck it out we’ll probably end up fist fighting.

He twirls a drumstick through his fingers then shoves them both in their holder. He mops his face with the shirt he discarded before we started playing. Then he stands, tosses the shirt onto my amp rather than putting it back on, then stalks past me. He hops off the stage directly beside Becka and she starts talking excitedly.

I laugh wolfishly though no one can hear me. He’s telling himself he’s not going to mess with her, I just know it. I also know, just as he must, that it won’t work. I can already see it. It’s out of his hands.

“The Nameless” will be available through Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats August 1, 2023.

The Nameless Character Spotlight: Chance

Welcome back to my blog, my lovely readers! To say I am excited about finally releasing The Nameless to the wild would be an understatement. For reasons, I’ve been sitting on this manuscript for months, not-so-patiently awaiting the day I can start sharing it. The time has come!

I’ll be doing several excerpts and other related posts in the coming days, and today I’d like to do a character spotlight. Where better to start than Chance? As is mentioned in the book’s blurb, Chance and Lucky are twins, but they’re not identical twins. Quite the opposite. Where Lucky is the blond-haired, blue-eyed front man of their band, Chance is a brunette with green eyes. Likewise, their personalities are very different.

Chance is dark and broody in a completely different way than any of the other characters I’ve written. Outwardly, he looks like just another young punk rocker with his tattoos and spider bite piercings, but he carries the weight of his long life close to him at all times. The tragedies he has experienced have left deep emotional scars that have never quite healed. The spotlight and the stage are momentary distractions, but they never really reach past the surface.

Chance is the thinker of the two, often times caught up in his own head and suffocated by his emotions. He’s also usually content to be the shadow to Lucky’s shining presence. Consequently, Chance typically plays the role of big brother, though the two are mere hours apart in age.

The excerpt:

It’s close to midnight. I’m a few beers in, this last one compliments of the gaggle of women who have seemingly adopted Lucky and might be competing to try to take him home after last call. I can hear them giggling at him as he tells a story about accidentally putting out a stage light with a drumstick. His story is mostly true and also partially why Lucky doesn’t play the drums. His energy is boundless and their attention is just fuel to the fire.

I’m feeling a lot more low key. The tension from the road is finally starting to ease from my shoulders and neck. Beside me, Becka has kept a steady pace of a conversation with me on an array of general topics from music to travel, drink preferences, all kinds of fairly safe information that isn’t super personal. Still, she’s giving me some insight into a personality that’s intriguing, deep in a way that’s rare among the general public.

On my other side, Johnny is chatting with a couple of guys about humbuckers and bass strings. His gear is one of his favorite topics. It’s almost weird to hear him talk so much. Must be all the free booze.

I catch Becka watching the knot tattoo on my hand again. I check myself in the mirror. My stick-straight, brown hair is poking from beneath my beanie, lying against my neck and cheeks. I’m pale, a product of living mostly at night, playing shows at random bars. Even if my skin does see the sun, it doesn’t really tan so much as burn, thanks to my bloodline.

After you live for so long, you kind of get tired of your own face. If you’re me, you’re kind of tired of everything. But after a few drinks of her own, Becka isn’t shy that she likes what she sees. It’s mutual. She’s attractive, not in a drop-dead movie starlet way. More like she probably doesn’t even know how pretty she is.

This is a dangerous line of thought. For the – obvious to me – reason that I’ll probably outlive everyone in this room except my brother. That shitty reality tends to discourage making friends and especially keeping lovers. Damn, but it has been a while.

I realize that I’m idly staring at the mirror, not at myself, but at her. There’s a bit of color high in her cheeks and she seems to have noticed my attention. She sweeps her dark curls over her shoulder and looks down at her closed notebook.

“So, what do you think of our town so far?” she asks, her voice quieter than before so that it almost gets lost in the eruption of laughter from Lucky’s fan club.

I look at her sideways, take a long drink, then say, “It kinda reminds me of Innsmouth.”

Her eyes go wide and she says, “Oh my god, you’re right.”

I force a smile and a small laugh, and shrug a shoulder. I watch her scan the mirror, presumably watching the people gathered in the booths behind us. I almost ask what she thinks of this town, but something about the introspective look on her face stops me. I’m sure I can already guess.

She shakes her head, so slight I doubt she realizes she does it. She says, “You read Lovecraft?”

Damn. What do I say here? Actually, we were born around the same time. No.

“We spend a lot of time on the road,” I say vaguely with a hope that it’ll be enough in the way of explanation.

“What a dream you are,” she says with a wry little smile that makes my gut twist. 

“The Nameless” will be available through Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats August 1, 2023.

“The Nameless” Cover Reveal!

Chance

I take a long drag off a cigarette I don’t even taste anymore as I stare up at the bar’s sign. I’m not impressed and I hope my bandmates can tell. We rolled into town mid-afternoon but our gig isn’t until tomorrow night. I’ve already had plenty of time to get the impression that, despite the university here, this place is overwhelmingly the bad part of town.

This little street has a weird feel. There’s a fog clinging to the asphalt. It’s the middle of January, almost 10 pm, and my black hoodie and knit beanie are a little too warm. Fucking river towns, man.

“Could you seriously smoke any slower?” Lucky says with a whole lotta whine. He’s practically buzzing. He needs to expend some energy. Long hours cooped up in the van are hard on him. That’s not a space big enough to contain him. I hate that tone and he knows it.

“Fuck off. Why are you waiting on me? Go inside,” I spit. I’m aware that I’m snapping at him and I don’t give a shit. All the driving gets to me, too.

Lucky’s rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels then back again, and he’s watching me sideways. He shoves his hands in his baggy pants pockets and says, “And leave you out here alone in a strange town? Not ever.”

There’s no whine in his tone now. I was expecting him to be an ass, so his gravity hits me like a physical blow from a blind spot. The muscles in my jaw clench. My eyes narrow in his direction. I flick the cigarette at the sidewalk and sigh the word, “Fine.”

The very corner of his lips twerks upward. There’s not much light out here, but I swear there’s a gleam in his pale blue eyes. It doesn’t help that his white-blond curls are coming to life in this creepy humidity and are doing their damnedest to escape the messy knot on the top of his head. He looks like an imp.

I glance past him to Johnny. His expression is the same flat, disinterested set it usually is. He’s waiting for us. That’s also a normal state for him. He catches the eye contact, though, and shrugs.

“Lead the way, princess,” I say.

Lucky scowls but he’s already moving forward, reaching for the door handle. Just before he crosses the threshold he says, “Lighten up, Chance. We might as well make the best of it.”

Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.

Inside is warm and dimly lit. There’s a lot of hardwood, some built-in booths along the right wall and the bar along most of the left wall. There are maybe twenty people here, but the place is so small it feels like a comfortable crowd. Motley Crue is playing on the house system and I try not to cringe.

All bars are more or less the same, especially in moderate-sized towns like this one, which is situated right about the Mason-Dixon Line. The first thing I do is check the demographic to see if we might have problems because our bassist’s skin is the same color as midnight on a new moon. The crowd in general is pretty white and openly watching us, but no one seems instantly offended, mostly just curious. And wary. That’s fair.

If a hundred years have taught me anything, I know that Lucky has zeroed in on the bartender. The charm is on and, if the atmosphere is friendly, said bartender is about to have a really good night. If we’re together, everyone around us will have good fortune. That’s our curse.

The Nameless will be available August 1st, 2023 on Amazon. Paperback and Kindle format will be available.

The Nameless New Excerpt!

Cover reveal is fast approaching, although maybe not fast enough for my excited impatience to share this story with the world. So I’ve decided to share another little glimpse of my upcoming novel release with you. I mentioned in my last post that of the twins, Chance often is the one who exudes big brother energy. I think that sentiment comes through in what I’m sharing here. I adore both boys as characters. Writing Chance was a different kind of challenge. He’s a thinker, methodical, and not afraid to take the lead. This selection is his POV. Enjoy!

Chance

My frustration comes out as a sigh. The temperature is still dropping outside. Night will fall soon. Even with the van running and the heat going, it won’t contend with freezing and we would run out of gas before dawn. I make another executive decision.

As I reach for the door handle, I feel Becka’s hand on my forearm. When I meet her eyes, she has that searching look. I think it’s sanity she wants, but I don’t know how much of that I can offer.

“Is this also fairy magic?” she asks quietly, gesturing vaguely out the window.

The question hits me in the chest like she punched me so that, for a moment, I just stare. I glance at the bundle that is my brother and say, “I hope not. I’m gonna get us a room.”

I hope not, but I think so.

I go through the motions in a daze. I pay the clerk in cash. One room, two beds, smoking. It’s on the ground floor, the woman informs me. She’s probably in her forties, overweight, bottle blonde. She isn’t very friendly about the whole thing. I get it. Eventually, she’ll have to try to go home in this impromptu blizzard or be stranded at work. I guess I’m not being friendly either. She passes me two key cards.

I slowly pull the van around the parking lot, squinting through the snow to see the numbers on the doors until I find our room. The tires slide a little when I hit the brakes, but I manage to get us parked. I hand one key to Johnny and pocket the other.

As Johnny and Becka start unloading some stuff, I climb into the back seat beside Lucky. When I say his name he doesn’t stir. I gently pull the blanket back some and press my fingers against his cheek. I bite down on the curse that tries to come out. Despite being snuggled inside his hoodie and a blanket for over an hour, his skin is cold to the touch.

“What have you done?” I mutter, shaking him by the shoulders.

The Nameless will be available August 1, 2023 in paperback and for Kindle.

The Nameless, first glimpse

Cover reveal is still a couple weeks away, but I’m feeling quite excited to start sharing my upcoming release with everyone. That’s why I’m going to go ahead and put up a little excerpt here today. Let me start by saying The Nameless is a dual-POV, first-person narrative following the twins, Chance and Lucky. The story is my first true foray into Urban Fantasy, as well as my first time focusing entirely on the Fae as the fantasy element. Boy, I was not prepared when I began this journey. This book had me cursing fairies and their slow-burn head games every few pages. The thing about writing tricky characters is you have to put your own head into their space. I didn’t know I had it in me.

Something else that was really important to me when writing this book, and as I work on its sequel, is capturing the musician life properly. The main characters are in a band and I wanted it to feel that way. They’re not a hugely popular band with millions of followers. They’re a DIY punk band who basically lives in their tour van. I am a huge fan of music, especially live music, so it means a lot to me to portray that life, from their gear to traveling between shows to showering at truck stops. It was a little challenging and definitely fun to do so.

This leads to me to the first full excerpt ever shared from this book. It’s a little glimpse of something anyone who has been to live punk, metal, and rock shows understands. Community. Plenty of people will look at a mosh pit and see violence, but a pit isn’t about that. It’s about expression and experiencing the music, something you do with a bunch of strangers yet something you all understand together. Please enjoy this little glimpse of my upcoming release, The Nameless.

Chance

My body moves without my brain. Next thing I know, I’m cutting through the backstage area. Security is pretty lax toward band members and nobody tries to stop me when I slip into the space between the stage and the crowd. I’m vaguely aware of a couple guys crying out excitedly when they see me, probably people who just saw us play. I ignore them as I vault the barricade and throw myself into the mosh pit.

They welcome me like no other group of people could so that, for a little while, everything fades but the bodies crashing together. All the pain and anger channel into my momentum. I’m not thinking or feeling. At some point, I careen off a body much larger than mine and go sprawling to the ground. In the same breath, a hand wraps around my arm and pulls me up.

When the song ends I’m sucking in air like I’ll never get enough. Sweat is streaming down my entire body. My muscles are tired and I feel much better.

Someone pats me on the shoulder and yells something about our set over the cheering crowd. I can’t understand him but the camaraderie is nice. I barely have time to catch my breath before the next song starts. I launch myself at the closest person and the circle closes around me.

Title Reveal!

The Nameless

“Being in a band used to be fun. When you can’t die, why not live on liquor and loud music? Lately, it just feels like another job.

Chance is the drummer in a three-piece punk band. His twin brother, Lucky, plays the guitar. It’s their latest in a long line of occupations. The names aren’t their real ones. They lost those over a century ago when they tried to trick a fairy and ended up cursed by a Fae queen. They haven’t seen her since.

When the twins happen to meet a woman who seems strangely familiar, things start to change. A life that has been curiously void of Otherworldly forces suddenly becomes crowded by them, and the twins find themselves woven into Court drama they don’t understand.”

“The Nameless” will be available August 2023. Stay tuned for more posts about this upcoming release, including excerpts, playlist, character spotlights, and – of course – the cover reveal! I’m extremely excited about sharing this book with the world. Please join me on my journey!

Big thanks to Derrick Hairston for the art included in this post. Follow him on Instagram for tons of badass original art @homebrewhairston.