Welcome to Uncaged! You will be releasing, A Springtime Scandal with Dragonblade Publishing. Can you tell us more about the book? Is this part of an ongoing series?

Thanks for having me! Yes, I’m so excited to release this book. It’s Book One in A Lord For All Seasons based around four sisters who each find love in spring, summer, autumn, and winter respectively. I absolutely loved writing this one and I think readers are going to love it, too!

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

The banter between my characters all comes easiest to me. I sort of just let them run with it – sometimes I surprise myself with where the dialogue takes me! I’d say the hardest scene in A Springtime Scandal was the first spicy one. In historical you have to be careful to keep things relatively realistic, so I need to think carefully about setting the tone and how the characters would react and interact afterwards.

Do you have a favorite character you’ve written? Has there been a character that’s been hard to write about?

I honestly think The Templeworth sisters from this new series are my favourite. I absolutely love their relationship with each other, and they have such distinct personalities that bounce well off each other. I have five sisters of my own so I definitely drew on some experience when writing their relationship – and their bickering!

How do you come up with the title to your books?

I have no idea lol! Usually, I’ll start a book by imagining one scene – one scenario that pops into my head and a whole story or series will come from that. It’s aways idea first then title to match.

For A Springtime Scandal, I knew I wanted to do a series about siblings, then the seasons felt like a really fun way to give them all their spotlight. So the titles came from there.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

Okay, this was a LONG time ago but I used to be a belly dancer! I did gigs, shows and everything. Sadly, I absolutely do not have it anymore but it was definitely fun while it lasted!

Which comes first, the plot or the characters in the planning stages?

It depends on what I’m writing. So in Highway Revenge, I knew I wanted to flip the script so to speak, and have a female highway robber so the plot came first. But it developed into a series so the second and third books were definitely more character centric.

In my Royals of Aldonia series, the focus was very much character first. In that I knew I was writing about sibling royals and their plots came secondary to that.

Read the rest of the interview in Uncaged Book Reviews, linked below.

Nadine Millard is an international best-selling author hailing from Dublin, Ireland.
Having studied and then worked in law for a number of years, Nadine began to live her dream of writing when she had the third of her three children.

She released her debut novel in 2014 and has been writing ever since.

When she’s not writing she can be found reading anything she can get her hands on, ferrying her three children to school and clubs, spoiling her cat, her dog, and snatching time with her long-suffering husband!

nadinemillard.com

A Springtime Scandal
Nadine Millard
Historical Romance

Elodie Templeworth has always been the good sister. The well-behaved sister. The sister on whose shoulders the fate of their family rested.

With three incorrigible younger siblings, Elodie has always made sure she was perfect, above reproach with not a hint of scandal attached to her name. And she was doing a wonderful job of it, too. Until him.

Christian Harrison, Viscount of Brentford could think of little worse than being stuck in some small, country hamlet with nobody and nothing to entertain him. The beautiful Elodie Templeworth had caught his eye. But after a short time in her company he realized that even beauty couldn’t make up for boring, pious purity.

An unfortunate misunderstanding leads to a potential scandal for Elodie and Christian leading Christian to discover that all is not so innocent and demure with the fiery Miss Templeworth. And he’s more than a little intrigued by the passion lurking beneath her rigid composure. Not enough to help her out of a sticky situation though.

He’s ready to wash his hands of Elodie, her family, and the madcap town they all live in. But Elodie has different ideas.
With little options left available to her, she decides the viscount is going to help her escape her village, and the consequences of their actions, with or without his knowledge.

Their forced proximity isn’t what either of them wanted, but as time goes on, and attraction grows, perhaps it’s not so bad after all.

Excerpt

“Sh-should we eat?” she asked trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Should we eat?”

Had he yelled, Elodie would have felt rather miffed. But his voice was low and deathly quiet, and infinitely more intimidating because of it.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He stared at her, a scowl darkening his usually bright blue eyes.

“Miss Templeworth, have you completely taken leave of your senses?”

“No, I just –“

“You just endangered yourself. That’s what you just did. Do you have any idea what might have befallen you if –“

“If what?” she asked when he drew to a sudden stop.

“If I were less than gentlemanly, Miss Templeworth.”
Elodie could only imagine that she looked as sceptical as she felt for his frown deepened further still.

“You do not agree that I have acted the gentleman?” he asked and seemed genuinely astounded. Perhaps a little hurt.

“Well, it’s just that you aren’t making this very easy or pleasant frankly. And –“

“Easy?” he spluttered. “Pleasant? What would you have me do, Elodie? Fall to my knees and thank the gods that I have a runaway madwoman for company?”

“That’s not very gentlemanlike,” she chided and then wondered if someone’s head might actually explode in anger, for the viscount looked as though that were a real possibility right now.

She listened, grudgingly impressed that he seemed to know so many curses in so many languages. At least, she assumed he was cursing based on the English ones that she understood and most certainly did not approve of.

Swearing in the company of a lady was definitely not gentlemanly though it seemed prudent not to mention that at the moment.

After an age, he calmed. Throwing his head back and whispering what sounded like a another prayer for patience, he finally levelled her once more with his ice-cold stare.

“You have no idea the depths of ungentlemanly behaviour to which men can sink, Miss Templeworth. If you did, you never would have taken such a foolish risk.”

Elodie felt a shiver of fear at his words.

She wasn’t quite so naïve as he seemed to think, but she was aware that she’d lived a rather sheltered life, too.

Nevertheless, no matter what he thought of her sense and intelligence, she wouldn’t have gotten into just anyone’s carriage.

Read the rest of the excerpt and the interview in the issue below.

Uncaged welcomes Elizabeth Rose

Welcome to Uncaged! You will be releasing, Highland Soul in March. Can you tell us more about this book and this new series for Dragonblade Publishing?

Thank you for having me, it is an honor to be here. To answer your question, Highland Soul is book 1 of my new Scottish romance series called Highland Outcasts. From heroes to outcasts in the blink of an eye, these four men need to find redemption in order to be welcomed back into the clan. What did they do to be considered outcasts? All they did was to break a few tavern rules at the Horn and Hoof, owned by old Callum MacKeefe – the crazy grandfather of their chieftain.

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

Since the four books of the Highland Outcasts include other characters of my MacKeefe clan from some of my other series, the most difficult part is to tie it all in and make it work. I’m not one for keeping good records of things like age of characters, hair and eye color, siblings or children, or even names of castles, etc. Therefore, I have to go back and look up all the answers in my past books and that tends to be very time-consuming. The easiest part to write for me, is dialogue. I LOVE dialogue and use it heavily. Actually, I guess you could say I can hear the voices of my characters in my head, and just kind of take dictation and write down what they are saying to each other. Easy!

Do you have a favorite character you’ve written? Has there been a character that’s been hard to write about?

One of my favorite characters from when I first created the MacKeefe clan is that rugged warrior Highlander, Storm MacKeefe. His story can be found in Lady Renegade – Book 2 of my Legacy of the Blade Series. He eventually is chieftain, and shows up in many more of my following series as well. As for the character that is hard to write . . . I’d have to say it is the one that won’t do what I want him or her to do, and who goes off in a direction all their own. Yes, I let my characters get away with it, and I can’t control them no matter how hard I try. A lot of times they surprise me with what they come up with regarding their backgrounds and plot advancement, or in what they say or do. There will be times when I get to the end of a chapter and wonder what the heck is going to happen next, because I honestly have NO idea.

How do you come up with the title to your books?

For me, the title of my book is always decided before I even start writing, and is also the last words of the book. Highland Soul came about because I wanted to tie in the fact that my heroine was the daughter of a cordwainer – shoemaker. (Sole – soul, get it? Plus, my hero has lots of soul.) Highland Flame – Book 2 of my Highland Outcasts Series incorporates the fact that the heroine is the widow of a chandler – candlemaker. (The flame is for the candle and also the attraction between the hero and heroine.) The rest of the series that will release this year consists of two more books. Highland Sky – where my hero needs to help the heroine and her clan repair thatched roofs, since he caught the roof of the tavern on fire. And the last book is Highland Silver. In this story, a silver chalice plays a big part of the plot. The hero has lost the chieftain’s chalice, and the heroine ends up having it. She’s reluctant to give it up and wears it connected to a chain around her waist.

Read the rest of the interview in the issue linked below.

Elizabeth Rose is the bestselling, award-winning author of nearly 100 books! She writes medieval, paranormal, small town contemporary and western romance. Elizabeth has been writing romance for over twenty-five years, her first book being published in 2000. She lives in the suburbs of Chicago and can be found in her ‘writing hammock’ in her secret garden during the summer months, creating her latest novel.

elizabethrosenovels.com

Highland Soul
Elizabeth Rose
Ancient Historical Romance

Can a Highlander and a cordwainer’s daughter surrender to love, heart and soul?

Welcome to book one in the adventurous new series Highland Outcasts from bestselling author Elizabeth Rose!

From admired warriors to outcasts in a blink of an eye, these rugged Highlanders are out to find redemption.

Gluttony, lust, pride, and greed, might sound like deadly sins. However, they are nothing compared to the wrath of Old Callum MacKeefe if you break his rules while drinking in his tavern!

The Accused:
Highlander, Gavin MacKeefe. He’s been called gluttonous because of his never-ending love of food and drink.

The Crime:
Gavin foolishly breaks some of Old Callum MacKeefe’s tavern rules and ends up as an outcast of the clan. His biggest offense is breaking rule number one: Never waste Old Callum’s precious, homemade Mountain Magic whisky. His second mistake was breaking rule number nine: Never step on, or soil Callum’s Cordovan leather boots.

The Punishment:
Gavin is sent to town to help the cordwainer’s daughter since her father was attacked and left for dead. He also needs to help construct and bring back a pair of Cordovan leather boots for Callum. If not, he’ll never be welcomed back into the clan. The cordwainer’s daughter takes him under her wing, but he discovers she needs his help with her family matters even more than he needs her.

The Cordwainer’s Daughter:
Davita is the cordwainer’s daughter, trying to save their shoe business in her father’s absence. She’s asked for help from the castle. To her dismay, they’ve sent her the Highlander, Gavin MacKeefe. She’s seen this man more than once drinking too much in the town’s tavern. In a desperate deal with the MacKeefes, she promises to keep him away from whisky and to help him construct a pair of Cordovan leather boots. It should be a simple task, but when he turns out to be her savior, she has a hard time letting him go.

Two people from different walks of life find that they need each other more than they think. But can a Highlander and a cordwainer’s daughter find happiness together? One of them will have to give up everything they love if they are to make this work. Love acts in strange ways. Sometimes, it steals one’s heart and soul.

Enjoy an excerpt from Highland Soul

“Open the bluidy cell door and let us out,” shouted Gavin, his deep voice echoing off the cold, stone walls of the dungeon of Hermitage Castle. His long fingers wrapped around the rusty iron bars and he shook the locked door with angry fists. If his teeth hadn’t been clenched, he was sure they would have rattled in his head from the jolting movement.

“It’s no use, Gavin, give it up,” complained his good friend, Cam, sitting on the dirty floor with his back propped up against the wall. The dungeon was attached to catacombs that snaked around underground, with tunnels leading deep and far, and even all the way to the other side of the border. It was a nasty place, and feared by all.

Cam pulled his blond hair back into a queue, tying it with a leather band. Next, he pulled off one boot and rubbed his foot. Spotting a rat sneaking through the bars, he quickly hurled his boot at it. Missing the rat, the boot ended up hitting North instead.

“Och, what was that for, ye fool?” North rubbed his knee. “I’m no’ the one makin’ all the ruckus. Ye should have thrown it at Gavin instead.”

“Arrrrg!” bellowed Gavin, kicking at the locked door of the cell, and then cursing. “We’ve got to make noise if we’re ever goin’ to get out of here. We’ve been locked up for three days now. This is insane.”
“Ye heard Ian tell us that they are waitin’ for Storm to return.” Nash stood in the shadows. He used an object to clean under his nails. “By the way, I agree with Cam, Gavin. Ye’re makin’ so much noise ye’re goin’ to wake the dead.” He cleaned off the object against his green and purple plaid – the colors that depicted they were from the MacKeefe Clan.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Gavin paced back and forth like a caged lion. “It’s just no’ right that we’ve been imprisoned in our own castle when we really didna do anythin’ wrong. We are heroes, no’ outcasts!”
“I agree,” remarked Cam from the floor. “However, we’re in here, and that crazy old man is out there, decidin’ our fates.”

Clan MacKeefe was from the Highlands. They had a camp in the Grampian Mountains near Oban. However, they also had holdings in the Lowlands, near the border. Years ago, they managed to secure Hermitage Castle, taking it back from the English. That’s where they were now.

“There’s nothin’ we can do about it until Storm returns,” continued Cam with a yawn, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye ken we’ll rot here until Callum cools off.”

“Aye,” agreed North, rubbing a weary hand through his long brown hair. He and Nash looked very similar, but were not identical twins. They both had long brown hair, but Nash was a little shorter, and his face was more rounded than North’s. Nash’s eyes were also hazel, while North’s were silver. Their mannerisms were quite different as well. “I now regret drinkin’ so much of Old Callum’s Mountain Magic. If I had kent he was goin’ to shove his silly rules in our faces, I never would have done it.”

“Me, too,” agreed Nash. “But Callum has never done anythin’ like this before,” he pointed out. He continued to clean his nails.

“I think he’s been upset about somethin’ lately,” said North.

“He does seem more ornery than usual.” Cam nodded in agreement.

“I think our chieftain, Ian, is ailin’,” said Gavin. “He looked ill and in pain to me.”

“That would make sense,” said Nash with a nod. “Callum is worried about his son.”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and looked over at Nash, surveying what he was doing. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I said that would make sense.”

“Nay! I mean . . . what’s that in yer hand, Nash?” Gavin couldn’t believe his eyes. He hurried over to him and gripped Nash’s wrist, holding it up for the others to see. “I dinna believe it.” A dirk reflected in the dim glow from the light of the torch burning outside the cell. Gavin’s jaw ticked in aggravation and he tried not to explode. “Ye have a bluidy dirk,” he said through his teeth. “Ye’ve had it all along.”

“Aye,” Nash answered. “It’s the one I always hide in my boot. Ye ken that.”

“He has a dirk?” asked North from the front of the cell.

“Aye, he has a dirk,” Gavin repeated, his fingers gripping tighter around his friend’s wrist now. “Yet, he didna think to mention it to us three days ago.

“What?” This news actually got Cam off his arse. He jumped up and headed over to them.
North watched from over by the door. “Brathair, we could have used yer blade to pick the lock and get the hell out of here by now. I canna believe they missed yer blade when they removed all of our weapons before throwin’ us in here.”

“Leave me alone. All of ye.” Nash pushed Gavin, and pulled his hand back, still clenching the small blade. “It doesna matter. We’re outcasts now with nowhere to go. If we had used it, we’d be on the run for the rest of our lives.” Nash bent over to replace the dirk in his boot. But before he could stand back up, Gavin tackled him and brought him to the ground, punching Nash in the face.

“Blethers, Gavin, ye’re goin’ to hurt my brathair.” North dove atop the pile, struggling with both of them. A sea of green and purple plaid got tangled around their legs as they rolled over and over in a heated struggle, fighting for the blade.

“Stop it,” said Cam, but of course they didn’t listen. So, Cam put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly to get their attention.

Read the rest of the excerpt in the March/April Issue of Uncaged Book Reviews

Uncaged welcomes Barbara Monajem

Welcome to Uncaged! You’re here to tell us about Love and the Shameless Lady, a book in your Scandalous Kisses series. Can you tell us more about this book, and what you may have coming in the near future?

Love and the Shameless Lady is one of my favorite books for two reasons: first, because the heroine, Daisy Warren, is way out of her normal environment. She’s a disgraced lady who lives in a tumbledown inn. She bakes in the kitchen, serves ale to the sailors and smugglers, and plays the piano and sings rude songs for them. The second reason is because Daisy is also a writer. In her spare time, she writes romantic adventure stories with intrepid heroines who make their own happy endings. It’s often said to write what you know. I don’t quite agree with this (I’ve never lived in Regency England, nor have I served ale to smugglers, nor do I sing worth beans, etc.), but it is fun to write about writing, one aspect of life that I do know quite well.

My upcoming book, The Infidelity Curse, will come out in late spring or early summer. The hero comes from a long line of Earls who were cursed with unfaithful wives. He tries his best not to fall in love with a lady touched by scandalous accusations. Of course, he doesn’t succeed—luckily, because the lady is just what he needs.

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

The most difficult scenes are always the ones where I don’t quite know what should happen next. Sometimes I ponder for days. Other times I just start writing and see what happens, then go back and revise until I know what’s going on. The easiest scene is the first one in a new book. I adore new beginnings, and the first scene is always clear in my mind when I start.

Do you have a favorite character you’ve written?

I rarely have a favorite anything—there are too many lovely characters, books, foods, people, etc., in the world. However, I guess I would say Daisy Warren (mentioned above) is one of my favorites, as is Bridget O’Shaughnessy Black, who falls in love with Daisy’s brother Colin in The Rake’s Irish Lady. Also, I’m very fond of Noelle de Vallon, the daring Frenchwoman in The Smuggler’s Escape, because she’s the first historical heroine I wrote.

Read the rest of the interview in the issue with the link below

USA Today bestselling author Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. After publishing a middle-grade fantasy, she settled on historical mysteries and romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes (or vice versa). Often there’s bit of fantasy mixed in, because she wants to avoid reality as much as possible.

Barbara used to have two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding and to succeed at knitting socks. She managed the first (don’t ask) but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second. This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.

barbaramonajem.com

Love and the Shameless Lady
Barbara Monajem
Historical Regency

Disgraced lady Daisy Warren serves ale in a tumbledown inn, sings crude songs for the smugglers, and writes romantic novels in her spare time. Shunned by her own class, she’s resigned to her lowly life—until someone tries to kill her.

Gentleman spy Sir Julian Kerr noses out seditionists and traitors. When he visits the inn to investigate two suspicious Frenchmen, he meets the lovely but hostile Daisy. He doesn’t intend to get involved with her—but then he learns that someone is threatening her life.

He wants to find out more—it’s part of his investigation.

He wants to protect her—he’s a chivalrous man.

He wants her.

But will Daisy’s bitter past allow her to risk love again?

Excerpt

Daisy Warren set her pen down with a heartfelt sigh. The Lady’s Ruin was her best novel yet. The plot and characters were so outrageous she felt sure they resembled nothing and no one in real life.


Except perhaps Daisy herself, but she didn’t want to think about that just now. The novel was over and done with, and so was the smuggler who’d inspired it—dead, and richly he deserved it. Unfortunately, neither of these facts changed a thing about the life of a ruined lady.

She bundled the pages, wrapped and sealed them, and addressed them to her publisher. In the morning, she would have it sent on the mail coach to London. She set it aside, went down to the taproom of the ramshackle inn where she lived, and indulged in a celebratory brandy.

Tonight she would play the out-of-tune pianoforte and sing for the drunken patrons of the Diving Duck, while her mother turned in her grave. Tomorrow she would begin the sequel—The Lady’s Revenge.

~ ~ ~

Six months later…

“He’s a good-looking man,” Sally said, wiping three tankards and preparing to fill them. “And one of your sort, too.”

Daisy Warren glanced up from kneading the dough for the cottage loaves. “Not anymore.” She was a ruined woman, and therefore her ‘sort’—in other words, the gently bred—would have nothing to do with her.
That didn’t stop her from taking a good long look at the newcomer, plainly visible through the doorway from the kitchen to the coffee room of the Diving Duck. Slouched in a chair, he was entirely at ease, his station in the world assured. A man would practically have to commit murder before being ostracized, whilst a woman had merely to—

She stopped that thought before it had a chance to grow into full-blown fury. Anger did no good at all. It changed nothing, except to make her feel ill.

Sally rolled her eyes. “The gentry can’t all be prigs.” With practiced ease, she operated the tap with one hand and held the three tankards in the other.

“Most of them are,” Daisy said, punching the dough hard. His fairish hair was a little too long, curling over his cravat. His other clothing was fashionable without being ostentatious, his only jewelry a ruby ring on his left hand. She thought his eyes were blue, but she couldn’t tell from this distance.

God only knew why she found him so interesting. Perhaps because he brought a little culture, a little education, a little worldliness into this godforsaken inn.

Mostly, Daisy was content with her life at the Diving Duck. The smugglers who frequented the place knew by now to treat her with friendly respect, and whenever she wanted to play a proper pianoforte or go for a bruising ride, her brother Colin’s estate wasn’t far away. She would never marry, never have children, but all in all—

Drat, the newcomer had noticed her watching him. She glared and returned to kneading the dough.

“Maybe this one ain’t so bad. I wonder why he’s here.” Sally headed for the coffee room.

“I don’t care.” Daisy was tempted to close the door so she couldn’t see him and therefore he couldn’t see her, but no, she wouldn’t let any man’s appraisal discomfit her. She no longer minded the bold stares of some of the smugglers. They meant nothing by it.

Daisy covered the dough with a cloth and set it aside to rise. The only true advantage to being ruined—and to leaving her brother’s home to live at a disreputable inn—was that she was learning how to cook and bake. A Warren doing menial labor! Her mother’s shroud must be twisted into knots by now.
Sally returned with several empty tankards. “He’s on a riding tour, visiting Roman ruins.”
“Is that so,” Daisy said flatly. A scholar, was he? Thanks to her late father, she had a soft spot for those studying the ancient world, but she knew better than to let nostalgia affect her. He might seem appealing, he might even be knowledgeable, but when it came right down to it, he was just another man.
Sally never stopped moving. Already she was wiping the tankards preparatory to filling them again. A group of locals, most of whom were involved in smuggling to some degree, had come in for their customary darts and ale. “Finished with the dough, have you? Then if you don’t mind, Miss Daisy, I think those rock buns are about done.”

It had taken Sally months to get used to Daisy in her kitchen, and only recently she’d begun to ask for help rather than waiting for Daisy to volunteer. She would never have done so if Daisy hadn’t proposed writing a cookery book, and said she needed to learn how to do things herself, not just watch how they were done.

Daisy opened the oven and shoveled the little cakes out. They were likely to cool as hard as their names indicated, but tasty all the same.

“They don’t look bad,” Sally said, “but what we really need is that recipe from Mr. Warren’s cook.”
At least they weren’t burned, which they would have been if Sally hadn’t prompted her. Yet another reason why Daisy shouldn’t dwell on handsome men. The real reason, though—the most important one—was that if she let her thoughts wander in that direction, she might consider dallying with one of them again.

No, she wasn’t that much of a fool. Once was enough.

“Haven’t really tried, have you?”

Daisy started. “Tried . . .?” She certainly had tried, and . . . Oh, Sally was still talking about rock buns. “Yes, I did my best to pry the recipe from my brother’s cook, but she says she’s never written it down. She won’t want me in her kitchen watching her make them.”

“Tell her she has no choice,” Sally said. “If I was gentry-born, it would be do as I say, or else.”

“I daresay, but she’s not my cook, and she’s been with the family for eons, so I couldn’t sack her even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. We’ll find a recipe elsewhere, or we’ll adjust yours until we get them just right.” Nothing like a nice, safe conversation about food to take one’s mind off a man.

How could she be interested in men after what she’d gone through? It made no sense at all, and yet she kept on noticing them—their teasing grins, their powerful arms and thighs . . .

She must be mad, but she couldn’t help it.

“He’s not staying at the inn,” Sally said, “so you needn’t worry he’ll try tiptoeing to your bedchamber at midnight.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Daisy scoffed.
“The way he’s eyeing you, maybe you should be,” Sally said.
~ ~ ~

Read the rest of the excerpt in the issue below

Uncaged welcomes Zachary Steele

Welcome to Uncaged! You released, The Weight of Ashes in August. Can you tell readers more about the book? Are you working on anything now that you tell us about?

The Weight of Ashes is about Mark Murphy, a young boy unwilling to accept the death of his older brother and enlists the help of his friends to carry his ashes to the Witch on Spook Hill to have him resurrected. In the end, it a story about grief and loss and the myriad ways in which we cope with it.

At the moment, I’m working on the second book in a young adult fantasy series. The first, The Fallen Hero, will hopefully have a home soon!

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

Whew. There were so many emotionally challenging scenes in this one. Avoiding spoilers, I’ll say the most difficult was the scene in which Mark finally arrives where he believes the witch lives. The emotional weight of the journey, his brother’s loss, and the hopes he carries just spill over. I had to stop multiple times to compose myself. The easiest is a flashback with his brother and cousin on a baseball field. Despite the intensity the scene closes with, I’m always most comfortable and happy on a baseball field.

Do you have a favorite character you’ve written? Has there been a character that’s been hard to write about?

A favorite is tough. We’re supposed to love all of our children equally, right? But if I must choose, I’d go with Belle, a thirteen-year-old autistic girl in The Fallen Hero. She’s so pure, full of joy, sees more than people give her credit for, and is the glue that holds that group of friends together. The most difficult was Gordon, in The Weight of Ashes. Closely based on a friend of mine who committed suicide when I was seventeen, he opened up a number of channels of grief I had no idea were still broadcasting.

How do you come up with the title to your books?

Much like element of storytelling, it has to have a purpose. I want it to say something about the story, about a character, or to capture the voice or mood of the pages within. The Weight of Ashes, for example, has a dual meaning: the literal weight of his brother’s ashes as well as the emotional weight attached to them.

Read the rest of the interview in the issue below

Broadleaf Writers Association Founder & Executive Director Zachary Steele is the author of three novels, including his latest, The Weight of Ashes. He was nominated for the Sidewise Award for Alternate Fiction and has been featured in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Publisher’s Weekly, Writer’s Magazine, Shelf Awareness and City Lights with Lois Reitzes on NPR. Currently, he is hard at work on the first book in his upcoming fantasy series, The Fallen Hero, for release in 2022. You can follow his ramblings on writing and life at http://zacharysteele.com/.

After a car accident claims his older brother’s life, Mark Murphy’s world is turned upside down. The silence of their shared bedroom, the memories of Mitch’s guidance, and his mother’s drunken spiral are constant reminders of the cost of his absence. But Mark isn’t ready to grieve. He isn’t ready to accept that his brother is truly gone. Despite the insistence of the adults in his life that he accept Mitch’s death, Mark is undeterred.

They don’t know what he knows.

They don’t know the story of the Witch on Spook Hill.

Aided by his loyal band of misfit friends, Mark’s plan to carry Mitch’s ashes to the witch is complicated by the pursuit of the town sheriff and the cousin responsible for his brother’s death. With no time to regroup, Mark and his friends must navigate the dangerous path to Spook Hill before the sun sets, so that Mitch can be resurrected in exchange for the life of the one who took it.

Excerpt

Another minute flipped by. 8:45. The red numbers seemed to burn hotter. Like they were mad at me for still sitting on the floor. Two hours had passed, and I hadn’t moved. If the bed wasn’t at my back, I’d have probably dropped flat on the floor, curled up with my pack and bat, and never moved again. I needed to get up, but the fear wouldn’t let me.

What if Mama had the box?

What if I couldn’t find what I needed at the Junkyard?

What if I made it to the witch and she couldn’t…

She could. She had to.

My arms trembled.

I was supposed to be gone already. The walk to the Junkyard would take thirty minutes. No way I could avoid being late now. If my friends didn’t wait, I’d be on my own. I couldn’t do this alone. And if I waited much longer, there wouldn’t be time to do it at all. It’d take a while to find Gordon’s car, then it was at least another twenty minutes through the woods to the Mall. Then, from there, we had to find the trail. We’d be pushing dark getting back as it was. Any later and we had bigger problems. Trying to get through the woods at night would be impossible, even with Mitch leading the way.

A sting ran deep into my chest. The corner of the box peeking out of the rip in my pack jabbed into my collar bone. My arms wrapped tight around the pack like it was the only thing keeping me alive. I didn’t know how long the box had been like that, but the sting didn’t go away when I lowered the pack. In fact, it spread until my entire body ached.

“Get up, Mark. Get up and go. Now. You have to. Mitch needs you.”

Mama’s door was always open unless she was out of her room. I just needed to sneak in, switch the ashes, then sneak out and go. That’s all. If she woke, I only had to be faster than her. She’d forgive me later. I didn’t want it to go like that, but there was no other way.

Dishes clinked.

My heart beat so hard I thought it might bust through.

Mama was up.

I’d waited too long.

She couldn’t be up. That wasn’t the plan.

I bounded to my feet as if my legs hadn’t refused to budge for the past two hours. The door stuck in the frame. In the summer months, the humidity made the wood swell. Took my shoulder to knock it loose, setting it to pop and rattle as it swayed outward, into the wall. From the sink, Mama gave me a tired smile.
“Morning, baby. You hungry? I was just about to make some eggs.”

I wasn’t and I’d never hated the thought of eggs so much in my life.

“No, ma’am.” My stomach hurt. I was pretty sure I’d never be hungry again.

Her bedroom door was shut. She’d already showered and looked presentable. On Saturdays, she was always in her blue sleeping gown until late morning. She showered while I watched cartoons. It was all wrong. Mitch was waiting. I couldn’t go tomorrow. This was the fourth day. There wouldn’t be a fifth. Mitch would be gone.

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