Welcome to my weekly Author Spotlight. I’ve asked a bunch of my author friends to answer a set of interview questions, and to share their latest work.
Today, E.J. Russell – E.J. Russell holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally sheâs spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business-intelligence consultant. After her twin sons left for college and she no longer spent half her waking hours ferrying them to dance class, she returned to her childhood love of writing fiction. Now she wonders why she ever thought an empty nest meant leisure.
Thanks so much, EJ, for joining me!
Giveaway
Comment on this post for a chance to win an eBook of one of EJ’s Riptide backlist titles!
J. Scott Coatsworth: Were you a voracious reader as a child?
E.J. Russell: Absolutely. As an introverted child, and one who lived in a neighborhood with few kids my own age, reading was my primary occupation. Few of my relatives understood how crucial booksâand the time to read themâwere to me. As a child, when I was shipped off to spend summers with my extended family in Illinois, I lived for infrequent library trips. I think I plowed through my auntâs Readerâs Digest Condensed Book collection, I was that desperate.
JSC: When did you know you wanted to write, and when did you discover that you were good at it?
EJ: Iâm not sure Iâd describe it as âknowingâ that I wanted to writeâit was more like discovering that writing happened! When I was in second grade, our class went on a field trip to a dairy. Afterward, our assignment was to write a story about the visit. Keep in mind, this was in the day when our writing implements were pencils the approximate size of our skinny little wrists and the paper looked like this:
I interpreted âstoryâ to meanâŚwellâŚa story, not just a description of the trip. I cranked out seventeen pages, the tale of a Holstein cow named Trinket with an apparent identity crisis: she kept thinking she was other animals and (blame an eight-year-oldâs fine ignorance of biology) kept producing hybrid offspring. It was illustrated. In color. Trinketâs shocking pink udder provided my mother with endless years of entertainment.
JSC: What fantasy realm would you choose to live in and why?
EJ: I think Iâd choose Time City, from Diana Wynne Jonesâs A Tale of Time City, mainly because I really really really want to taste a butter pie!
JSC: How would you describe your writing style/genre?
EJ: I think I have a pretty informal, conversational styleâalthough others may disagree! My tagline is âeclectic romance, reality optional,â because I write both contemporary andâŚnot, straight romance andâŚnot.
Of my seven books with Riptide, five are âreality optionalââI find that âparanormalâ doesnât describe them precisely, nor does âurban fantasy.â Bookbub has a category called âsupernatural suspenseâ which I glommed onto immediately. Thereâs a supernatural element, but the primary romantic couple may or may not be the element in question. In Stumptown Spirits, for instance, Riley and Logan are both fully human, however theyâre required to battle with supernatural adversaries in order to earn their HEA.
My contemporary romances definitely trend toward romantic comedy. No high-angst tortured heroes for meâgive me light and fluff!
JSC: What pets are currently on your keyboard, and what are their names? Pictures?
EJ: I have a twelve-year-old Italian Greyhound named Nino who cuddles up next to me in my writing chair (usually under a blanket).
JSC: What was your first published work? Tell me a little about it.
EJ: My first book was a novella called Northern Light, published by Entangled in 2013. It was another âsupernatural suspenseâ in which the two heroes were fighting supernatural elements but were not themselves supernatural. This book is not available at the momentâthe rights reverted to me and Iâm in the process or working with my Riptide editor to revise the book significantly for re-release along with its sequel. Very excited about that!
JSC: What fictional speculative fiction character would you like to spend an evening with and why?
EJ: Itâs a toss-up between Antryg Windrose from Barbara Hamblyâs Dog Wizard series (because heâs such a quirky guy with a too-tender heart, whoâs forced to make hard (and sometimes heartbreaking) choices for the sake of others with no agency; and Sethra Lavode from Steven Brustâs Vlad Taltos series because sheâs just soooo mysterious.
JSC: Whatâs your writing process?
EJ: Iâm a micro-plotter, something that strikes terror into the heart of pantsers everywhere. Several years ago, I took a class from the amazing Suzanne Johnson (author of the Sentinels of New Orleans series, among others) called Quilting 101: Patchworking the Perfect Plot. She teaches a method of growing your story from a basic idea to a detailed list of plot âthreadsââwhich suited me perfectly, because I need to know what happens next before I start writing. Even back in high school, writing essays in English class, I always had to have the last sentence in mind before I startedâthen Iâd write to that point.
At about the same time, I discovered Todd Klickâs screenwriting book, Something Startling Happens: The 120 Story Beats Every Writer Needs to Know. I combine Suzanneâs plot threads with Toddâs story beats, and away I go!
JSC: If you had the opportunity to live one year of your life over again, which year would you choose, and why?
EJ: I think I would choose the first year after the birth of my twin sonsânot because it was easy (they didnât sleep through the night until they were fifteen months old), but because I canât remember it! Between being sleep-deprived and having to go back to work two and a half weeks after they were born, I probably could have passed for an extra in The Walking Dead.
JSC: What are you working on now, and when can we expect it?
EJ: As I mentioned, Iâm working on a revised version of Northern Light (which will probably get a different title) and its sequel, Tested in Fire. I believe the plan is to release them within about six weeks of each other in the vicinity of February/March/April of 2018.
And now for EJ’s new book: Bad Boy’s Bard:
As far as rock star Gareth Kendrick, the last true bard in Faerie, is concerned, the only good Unseelie is . . . well . . . thereâs no such thing. Two centuries ago, an Unseelie lord abducted Garethâs human lover, Niall, and Gareth has neither forgotten nor forgiven.
Niall OâTierney, half-human son of the Unseelie King, had never lost a wager until the day he swore to rid the Seelie court of its bard. That bet cost him everything: his freedom, his familyâand his heart. When heâs suddenly face-to-face with Gareth at the ceremony to join the Seelie and Unseelie realms, Niall does the only thing inhumanly possible: he fakes amnesia. Not his finest hour, perhaps, but he never revealed his Unseelie heritage, and to tell the truth now would be to risk Garethâs revulsionâfar harder to bear than two hundred years of imprisonment.
Then a new threat to Garethâs life arises, and he and Niall stage a mad escape into the Outer World, only to discover the fate of all fae resting on their shoulders. But before they can save the realm, they have to tackle something really tough: mending their own broken relationship.
#faeoutofwater
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Excerpt
âNiall. Do you know how long Iâve been searching for you?â
At the sound of his brotherâs impossibly deep voice, Niall OâTierney jumped to his feet, knocking over his stool.
Eamon advanced into Niallâs quarters, his broad shoulders barely clearing the door. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to startle you.â
âYou didnât.â But jumping to attention when he was addressed was a hard habit to break. âWhat brings you to my little corner? Shouldnât you be getting ready for your wedding?â
âThatâs why Iâm here.â Eamon eyed the fire roaring in the hearth. âHow you can suffer through this heat is more than I can fathom.â
Niall righted the stool. âHeat? My dear brother, compared to what Iâm used to, your Keep is positively arctic.â
Eamonâs forehead wrinkled in concern. âIâm sorry. I should haveââ
âItâs all right. You neednât treat me like an invalid.â Even if I am one. âDonât forget, Iâve survived a night drinking with the duergar. And that involved shots of fermented dragon bile infused with crushed holly berries.â
Eamon smiled, shaking his head. âHow you could stomach thatââ
âOi. It was a wager, all right? Besides, it netted me a boon. Iâll call it in one day.â
Eamonâs smile widened. âNo wonder theyâre so nervous around you. Iâd never thought duergar capable of anxiety.â
Niall shrugged. âJust takes the right leverage.â Niall had always known how to apply it.
âYes. Well.â Eamon cleared his throat. âThere are several issues that we must discuss before the Convergence ceremonies. Some things that might . . .â He grimaced. âDisturb you. I wish you to be prepared.â
Niall bowed his head. âYou neednât ask, Your Highness. I appreciate the consideration.â
âAh, give over, Niall. You donât need to address me that way. Weâre brothers.â
âYes, and youâre the King by Faerieâs acclamation, even though youâre putting off official coronation until after the Convergence. We wouldnât want to scandalize the court by an unseemly display of informality.â
âYou mean we wouldnât want to give anyone else the chance for insolence.â
âThat too. Iâm surprised the whole court didnât forget that Tiarnach had any sons at all, let alone two of them.â
âAll the more reason for us to present a united front. Tonight is a critical juncture. If weââ
A startled cheep from the doorway made them both turn. Peadar, a brownie whoâd been one of Niallâs staunchest allies for most of his life, cringed at the threshold, his arms full of velvet and fur. âYour pardon, Majesty, Highness. For the interruption. I bring Prince Niallâs clothing for the feast and the ceremony.â
Despite the reforms Eamon had already put in place after deposing their father, the lesser fae on the Keep staff whoâd toiled under the old King couldnât make the transition to the more lenient regime overnight. They still instinctively expected a blow at every transgression, no matter how small.
Niall could relate. Thanks to his own punishment at Tiarnachâs hands, he had the same reaction himself.
He strode across the room and took the bundle of clothing from Peadarâs arms. âPlease donât call me Highness. Iâm not a prince.â Not anymore.
Peadar looked down his long nose. âThose as act like a true prince are treated as one. Highness.â He bobbed his head at Eamon and scurried out.
Niall returned to the hearth where his brother was waiting. âIâm sorry. What did you want to discuss?â
âDo you recall the Seelie traitor we left in the underworld along with Father when we rescued you?â
âYou mean the Daoine Sidheâthe one-handed one, who spewed such invective when you removed his mute curse?â
âThe very same.â Eamon scowled. âHe was CaitrĂŹonaâsâthat is, the Queenâsâformer Consort until he tried to usurp her throne.â
Niall chuckled, his laugh still sounding like an unoiled hinge, since heâd had so little opportunity for amusement in the last two centuries. âJealousy doesnât become you, Your Majesty.â
âI told you not to call me that.â
âIs that an order?â
Eamon sighed. âOf course not. But I want to be your friend again, Niall, not your sovereign. Iâve missed you.â
And here Iâve been acting like a typical self-absorbed Unseelie arsehole. âForgive me, Eamon. I missed you too, and Iâve never even asked. What were you doing during my unfortunate incarceration? Finding new and creative ways to make Tiarnachâs life miserable?â
âNo. I . . . I spent it in exile. I returned the same night you did.â
Niall goggled at him. âWhat? Why have you never told me this?â
âWhen have I had the opportunity?â Eamonâs voice took on an exasperated edge. âYouâve spoken barely a word to me in the entire two weeks since your release. You dodge me, hiding here in your quarters, or down in the kitchen, huddled by the fire, surrounded by lesser fae who regard me like I might suddenly turn into Father and dash their brains out against the hearth.â
âSo youâre telling me Tiarnach got rid of us both? Was it . . . was it my fault?â
âIn a way . . .â
âShite,â Niall muttered. âI brought nothing but misery to everyone I cared about. If I had knownââ
âPeace.â Eamon held out his hand and Niall clutched it perhaps harder than he should have, but Danuâs tits, if heâd known Tiarnach would vent his fury on Eamon . . .
âIâm so sorry.â
âDonât be.â Eamon squeezed Niallâs hand in return. âI donât blame you for Fatherâs decision. Although he used my assistance to you as an excuse, I have no doubt heâd have found another reason to curse me in the end. He was convinced one or the other of us was plotting to usurp him.â
Niall forced a smile that was doubtless a parody of his old irreverent grin. âA rather prophetic fear, at least in your case.â
âMore like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If he hadnât been obsessed with punishing you, with killing Gareth Cynwrigââ
Niallâs belly clenched, and he dropped Eamonâs hand as if it were molten iron. âDonât. Please.â Niall had taken the sentence Tiarnach had meted outâevery stroke of the lash; every hour, every day, every year of the futile backbreaking labor. Stoking the fire, hauling piles of metal scrap from one cavern to another, working the bellows as Govannon forged weapon after weaponâonly to melt them down again into scrap and leave Niall to drag it all off to the scrap room to begin the cycle again the next day. Heâd taken it, and gladly, because Tiarnach, certain Niall would break and be brought to heel, had declared none but Niall would kill Gareth. Niall had clung to that, believing that as long as he remained imprisoned, Garethâs life was safe.
âBut surelyââ
âIâm not ready to talk about him.â I may never be ready. Because not two days before heâd been liberated, his back still bloody from another unscheduled flogging, heâd learned it had all been for nothing. Tiarnach had confessed gleefully that heâd grown tired of waiting and killed Gareth himself.
Niall could only hope Tiarnach had been more merciful to Gareth than heâd been to his own sons. How likely is that, you bloody great twit?
âNiall.â Eamon laid his arm across Niallâs shoulders and Niall flinched, his back no more fully healed from that last beating than his heart had healed from Tiarnachâs final blow. Eamon dropped his arm. âIâm sorry. I thoughtânow that youâre back in Faerie, havenât you recovered yet?â
âWhen the whip is wielded by a god, my brother, not even a fae royal can heal the wounds.â
âI never thought Govannon was so very cruel.â
âHeâs not, at least not purposely. But heâs neither judge nor juryâonly the jailer, and indifferent to anything but atoning for his own guilt. Once Tiarnach condemned me, Govannonâs duty was to carry out the sentence. So he did.â
Eamon closed his eyes, his face contorting with pain. âBelieve me, if I had known what Father had planned, I would have done everything in my power to dissuade him.â
âYour belief in the power of words is touching, but nobody has ever convinced Tiarnach to change his mind. To do so would be to admit he was wrong in the first place. Inconceivable.â
âI was fully aware of Fatherâs ruthlessness, but I never imagined heâd take leave of his reason so completely.â
Niall gripped Eamonâs forearm. âItâs done. In the past. Leave it and tell me whatâs got you worried about the future.â
âVery well. According to Fionbarr, we needââ
âWhoâs Fionbarr?â
âHeâs First Mage now, the primary architect of the Convergence spell. He says that in order for the Convergence to succeed, all faeâand no one elseâmust be present, inside the gates, when the spell takes effect. That means both Father and Rodric Luchullain must be brought into the Keep from the forges.â
Niall shivered. Once again under the same roof as the man who was unfortunately his father? Iâll bear it. I must. âWill I need to be present then, or share the room with him?â
âNo. Iâll make sure youâre advised well in advance, and Fionbarr has orders to take them to the dungeons directly. Theyâre shackled with a druid-made chain, and Fionbarr will be escorting them, along with a full cadre of guards.â
âVery well. Is there anything else?â
Eamon ducked his head, looking as shamefaced as six feet eight inches of solid muscle could. âThe procession from the Keep to the Stone Circle will leave soon after the feast. CaitrĂŹonaâs entourage will leave her pavilion in the Seelie realm at the same time.â
âA parade.â Niall applauded slowly. âHow festive.â
âIâm afraid you must be part of it, Niall. Iâd spare you if I could, but your presence is necessary for the spell. Also . . .â Eamonâs gaze dropped to his feet. âI would ask you to stand by me at my handfasting.â
Ah, shite. How could he refuse? âOf course. But I warn youâIâll not be able to stomach the feast. Youâre on your own there.â
âI suspected as much.â Eamon withdrew a small velvet bag from his belt pouch. âI want you to have this.â
Niall took it, hesitant to look inside, but by the weight and size, the bag held an item not much bigger than his thumbnail. âWhat is it?â
âFionbarr calls is a binding stone. CaitrĂŹona has the mate to it. Weâll offer them to him on the altar as the final part of the Convergence spell.â
Niall thrust the bag back. âThen you keep it.â
Eamon closed his fist over Niallâs. âNo. Youâve been disregarded in Faerie almost since your birth because of Fatherâs attitude and court politics.â Eamon released Niallâs hand and smiled wryly. âYour own antics didnât help, of course. Baiting the trows with enchanted dice? You were lucky to escape with your head.â
Niall shrugged, then winced at the chafe of his shirt on his back. âI was in no danger. They were too busy trying to cheat each other to wonder why I won every third throw.â
âNevertheless, I want you to be part of this new Faerie. Weâre so few now, where once we were many. All fae should feel welcome: Unseelie, Seelie, greater, lesser, Scots, Irish, Welshâand whatever of the Cornish, Manx, and Bretons we can find. Youâre somewhat of a hero to the lesser fae, you know.â
âMe? I never did anything special.â
âNo? As I recall, the incident with the trows involved a pack whoâd attacked a bauchan den. And somehow the courtiers who lost most disastrously at your famous card parties were the ones who were most churlish to the Keepâs staff.â
Niall shifted uneasily. He hadnât realized heâd been quite so transparent in his targets. âThose arseholes simply thought they were better players than they actually were.â
âNiall. Accept it. You were treated as an outsider your whole life, and I know it hurt you. I donât blame you for your rebellion. In fact, I envied your courage at the same time I despaired of your recklessness. Iâd never have dared oppose and flaunt our Fatherâs will as you did.â
Niall held up his abraded wrists. âMuch good it did me in the end.â
Eamon grasped his biceps. âI want you to be a part of this ceremony. Integral to it. Like it or not, youâre the standard bearer for the disenfranchised.â
âSo if I can be brought back into the fold, thereâs hope for anyone?â Niall couldnât help the scorn in his tone.
âThink of it this wayâif you refuse, will all who look to you as a champion believe that the new order will be as corrupt, as rigid, as the old? Do this for me, Niall, please. Do this for Peadar and Heilyn and all the other lesser fae who look to you for fair treatment.â
Niall took a deep breath. As little as he wanted to plunge back into politics, how could he refuse Eamon this simple request? It was little enough.
Eamon, however, had done the impossibleâforged alliances between natural enemies, defeated his own curse, deposed Tiarnachâand won the Seelie Queen as his mate. Yet the first thing heâd done afterward had been to release Niall from captivity.
A public gesture in support of his brother and the Queen. What could it hurt? He could always hide out again afterward.
âVery well. What must I do?â
âFionbarr will call for the stones at the proper time in the ceremony. You only need to come forward then and hand this one to me. Stand next to me during the handfasting.â
âWill CaitrĂŹona have someone at her side as well?â
âShe will, but not family. Her champions, Lord Cynwrig and Lord Maldwyn.â
Niall flinched and turned away, staring out the narrow embrasure at the forest beyond the Keep. Garethâs brothers. Heâd never met them, but heâd heard of them. They couldnât have taken the news of Garethâs death well, yet theyâd still chosen to take part in the ceremony. Theyâd know about Garethâs life in the years I lostâhow he filled his days, what made him smile, his music . . . If Niallâs heart werenât still so raw from the loss, and if he werenât certain theyâd hate him for his betrayal, heâd beg them for the tales.
âHave you studied the documents I gave you? The details of the Convergence spell?â
âA bit.â Niall glanced guiltily at the rolls of parchment on his table. âThere are a lot of them.â
âYes, because itâs a very complicated spell. Iâd value your opinion.â
âMe? But Iâm not a mage.â
âNo, but youâre clever, far cleverer than me. That cleverness is something CaitrĂŹona and I desperately need in the combined court. She has her trusted advisors in the Cynwrig brothers. I have only you.â
Niall shifted uneasily from foot to foot. âSurely Fionbarrââ
Eamon waved one giant hand. âFionbarr is interested in the Convergence only as a magical puzzle. He has no real allegiance to me, or to anything other than his own study of magic.â
That raised the hair on Niallâs neck. âPerhaps that is something you should worry about. A man with power but no loyalties is more dangerous than a known enemy.â
âYou see?â Eamon said heartily. âAgain, you show how much I need you.â
âNonsense. Besides, until Iâve recovered fully, Iâm of no real use to youâno better than a human, like my mother. There are enough at our own court who never considered me a fit prince for that reason alone. If you couple that with my reputation?â Some twist in Niallâs half-human heritage had given him the ability to discern the crack in anotherâs character, the flaw that when stressed would cause them to shatter. And once heâd seen it, he couldnât resist applying the necessary pressure. It hadnât made him popular. âDo you think theyâll accept me in your . . . what do you call it? Administration, like the Outer World governments call it?â
âTheyâll have to learn.â
Really, Eamon? Are you still so naĂŻve? âBut thatâs the point. They may not be able to. Not without help. I can accept change because Iâm half-human. True fae might take more persuasion.â
âYouâre a true fae, and Iâll challenge any who say different. Besides, who better than you to persuade? You persuaded the last Seelie bard into your bed.â
Niall froze, hands fisting in the folds of his cloak. âHow dare you, Eamon? How dare you?â
Eamonâs perfect brow puckered. âWhat do you mean? You did, just as you said you would, then defied Father to keep him.â
âAnd that got me chained in the forges for two hundred years. And Tiarnach killed Gareth anyway.â
Eamon blinked, then pity flickered across his face. âOh my dear. I didnât realizeâ Gareth isnât dead.â
Niall staggered back until he stumbled against the stool, his heart knifing sideways in a painful thump. âNot . . . not dead?â He could barely force the words out of a mouth gone dry as bone dust. âDonât toy with me, Eamon. Please.â
âI would never joke about such a thing. Heâs alive. In fact, heâll be here tonight.â
Niallâs knees gave out and he collapsed, missing the stool completely and falling on his arse, uncertain whether the sounds tearing from his throat were hysterical laughter or racking sobs.
Author Bio
E.J. Russell holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally sheâs spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business-intelligence consultant. After her twin sons left for college and she no longer spent half her waking hours ferrying them to dance class, she returned to her childhood love of writing fiction. Now she wonders why she ever thought an empty nest meant leisure.
E.J. lives in rural Oregon with her curmudgeonly husband, the only man on the planet who cares less about sports than she does. She enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Publisher: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/bad-boys-bard