Do you have a specific writing style?
When I write, I try not to let the words themselves get in the way of the characters – and the story they’re trying to tell. I’ve experimented with more lyrical, poetic styles in short fiction, but in novels I write what’s most natural and comfortable to me, which is direct, unassuming, and clear. I enjoy deep point of view that gets right into the characters’ thoughts, and I enjoy using those thoughts to make wry observations about the world.
Do you write in different genres?
Yes. Though the vast majority of my published novels (8 of 10) are adult urban fantasy, there’s also a paranormal mystery and a science fiction book in the mix. Next up … maybe (no promises) … a young adult novel!
If yes which is your favorite genre to write?
I don’t have a favorite genre to read or write. Ultimately, I like character-driven stories that make me feel a sense of connection. I love stories about family, which is, alas, not a genre. But if it were, it would be my favorite!
How did you come up with the title for your latest book?
I usually struggle with titles, but this one almost wrote itself. It’s called Knot of Souls, and it’s about two souls trapped together inside one body where they get all tangled up. I played around with “tangle” and a few other synonyms, tried a few word orders, but this one popped early and obviously.
Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
I always have a working title to begin with, but I
usually change that title at some point, either midway through or at the end. Knot
of Souls is a rare exception. I’m too embarrassed to say what Cassie
Scot: ParaNormal Detective was called, not just at first, but as I
queried agents! And I have no doubt that the book I’m currently writing,
working title The Spaces in Between, will be called something else by
the time it comes out. Although in this case, I like the title and find it
deeply thematic. I just don’t find it hooky or marketable!
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
I want readers to enjoy the book and to infer whatever meaning from it that they’d like. I’m a big fan of reading for pleasure and for escape, maybe now more than ever. That said, I’ve written a book that has deep, personal meaning to me. It’s about overcoming trauma, it’s about finding hope in dark times, and it’s about forming deep, meaningful connections with someone who is very different from you (or at least, who seems very different from you).
Can you share a little of your current work with us?
It’s called The Spaces in Between (working title), and it’s my first attempt at a young adult book, although I confess to having chosen the young adult genre situationally. The thing is, I lost my central vision between the ages of sixteen and eighteen (especially when I was eighteen), and my main character is going through the same thing. Stargardts can affect children as young as ten, and it can take as long as the mid-thirties to culminate, but in my life, in my lived experience, it happened fairly rapidly and mostly over the course of a single year. The book is still fantasy, despite drawing on some real experiences.
Who designed the cover of your latest book?
BZN studio designs. And they did a beautiful job, didn’t they? I requested a knot, green, made up of blue and yellow light. This image was drawn literally from the book: Shade’s soul is yellow-gold, Joy’s is bluish-white, and where they begin to knot up … green. But the artist at BZN studio designs came up with the rest of it, helping me make it look magical.
When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?
I’m a freelance editor and political activist. Next
year, I’ll be campaign manager for a state house race (again). It’s a lot of
work, but so rewarding!
In my free time, I play Dungeons and Dragons, chess, and I’m a tea enthusiast (loose leaf, of course). My favorite is probably oolong, then black, and then I like to mix it up so I don’t get bored. Generally, though, I like smooth, full-bodied teas. Strong sensations and strong emotions, just like in my books. :)
Thanks for having me!
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Excerpt Chapter 1
Joy
The first thing I realized, after I died, was that my body could walk and talk and no longer needed my help for any of it. I was in there, able to look through my eyes and hear through my ears, but even the simple task of aiming my gaze had slipped outside my control. I was a passenger inside my own mind, an observer along for the ride.
Kristen had been right, I thought numbly as I struggled to make sense of my new reality. Had it only been lunchtime today when she’d told me I’d never get ahead if I didn’t learn to assert myself? “Take control of your life,” she’d said, “or others will take it for you.”
She couldn’t have been thinking of anything quite so literal. Whatever was happening to me, it wasn’t because I’d failed to advocate for a promotion at work or refused to ask out a coworker.
Right?
My body reached my car and slid behind the wheel. A rattled thought—not my own—cursed as it tried to understand how the contraption worked. How much can cars have changed in only a century? Visions accompanied the thoughts, memories—again not my own—of a classic car, gleaming black and elegant, its top down, my bobbed hair whipping around my face as I laughed with glee, a white-faced young man at my side gripping the door, begging me to slow down. I did not.
Which brings me to the second thing I realized, after I died: I was no longer alone inside my own mind.
Whoever was in there didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. Fine. I slid into the smallest corner of my brain I could find, ignoring the intruder as they struggled to figure out how to work an automatic transmission. Maybe they’d get frustrated and give up and go find someone else’s body to possess.
Holy shit! I’ve been possessed by the ghost of someone who died in like 1930.
But why?
I tried to remember what had happened, but the images danced just out of reach. I recalled that the night had been unseasonably cold for October, the chill biting through my inadequate jacket as I hurried to my car, parked in a garage two blocks away from the shelter where I’d been volunteering. Hugging my arms around my torso for warmth, I took a shortcut through an alley and …
There was a noise. I’d startled, my heart pounding in my throat, already on edge because of the argument.
Wait. Back up. There’d been an argument. That seemed significant, but my scattered thoughts couldn’t piece it together as yet, not when a bodily intruder fumbled at the gearshift of my two-month-old Hyundai Accent with only fifty-eight “low monthly payments” left to go.
Low is such a relative word.
My beautiful new, inexpensive (also relative) car jerked suddenly backwards out of its parking spot as the voice in my head grew angrier and more frustrated and … afraid. I saw flashes, images I didn’t understand of multi-colored ghosts who seemed to be singing. The more they sang, the more desperate I felt as fear, my own and somehow not my own, made it hard to breathe.
We streaked across the nearly empty parking lot in reverse, almost colliding with the only other vehicle in the place—a red SUV with scratched paint and a dented front bumper suggesting it regularly attracted unwanted attention from other cars. I tried to scream, but didn’t have control of my voice. I tried to hit the brakes, but instead the possessing spirit shifted from reverse to drive without stopping. The grinding of gears made me want to weep, but we came to a stop, breathing heavily, muscles tensed as if in expectation of attack.
They destroyed her. They tore her apart.
I had no time to wonder what any of that meant before the thing possessing my body channeled its anger and grief into a force I’d never experienced or even known existed. One second, the battered red SUV was parked inches from my back bumper, the next, it flew through the air, smashing against a far wall, its frame crumpling like an accordion.
I tried to make myself even smaller, a nearly impossible feat, but I couldn’t let it know I was in here. If it could do that to an SUV, I didn’t want to think about what it might be able to do to me.
Now what?
For one, panic-filled moment, I thought I’d asked the question. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one trying to figure things out.
My car rolled forward again, its speed uneven, first too fast and then—I slammed on the brakes. Well, maybe I didn’t do it, maybe the thing inside me had the same idea as me, but the car skidded to a halt so it just kissed a large concrete pillar. At least it’s just the paint, I tried to tell myself, but rage welled up within me and my fist slammed into the center of the steering wheel, eliciting an angry honk.
An ominous crack formed in the concrete pillar, more evidence, in case I needed it, that the thing invading my body had powers beyond belief. Then came more rattled thoughts that were definitely not my own:
Who thought it was a good idea to build obstacle courses in the sky? Is there not enough room on the ground? Too damn many humans …
Once again, I drew away from the voice in my head. If I hadn’t lost all connection to my body, I’d be trembling, but even so, I felt the sort of cold that seeps through to the soul.
The third thing I realized, after I died, was that the thing possessing me wasn’t a ghost. Or at least, not the ghost of a human.
My car backed away from the concrete column and maneuvered around it to continue the winding path down … down … down to the exit.
Where was my body going and why? More importantly, what would happen if I made myself known and asked?
I reeled at the thought, mentally slinking all the way back to the homeless shelter where I’d been volunteering in the hours before my death. I’d had a crappy day and needed to channel that into a sharp reminder that plenty of people had it much, much worse. Their circumstances, their personalities, their trials and tribulations didn’t fit neatly in the lock box some tried to label and forget, but all of them struggled in some way. They needed help, and sometimes I needed to be needed; it helped me feel less alone.
Tonight, though … tonight there’d been a problem. I remembered having a nice chat with one of the regulars, Roger, big-hearted and with a certain excited energy about him. He’d found a job and was working hard to get back on his feet, but he still couldn’t find a place to rent after being evicted from his old apartment. Now, he lived in his car except when the nights grew too cold, and he was always there to lend a helping hand or just to listen. He had a way of getting people to open up, even me.
He’s the one who jumped in when Thomas started getting belligerent, ranting and raving about false witnesses and evil spirits. The whole thing was so sudden and confusing, I’m not even sure how it happened. One second I’m chatting with Roger about the crappy end to a crappy day—accidentally seeing porn on a coworker’s computer—the next Thomas is in my face, grabbing a fistful of my shirt as he accused me of being a liar, of being in league with the demon spirits, demanding I admit that I could see them too. I was off balance;, I don’t know what I said, I only know what I felt. There was a moment when I looked into his eyes and saw fear and desperation reflected back at me. Then he was being dragged away, thrown out of the shelter …
But he hadn’t been the one to sneak up behind me and kill me. I thought he was, at first. When I heard the noise in the alley, I jumped and looked around, sure it would be Thomas. But it was someone else.
No, not someone else, something else. The thing possessing me wasn’t the first nonhuman I’d encountered tonight. That honor belonged to a blur, a shadow, a … the only way I could think to describe it was as if a small child had found a gray crayon and colored over an otherwise human shape.
I knew I’d died. The bright light I’d only heard about—never believed in—had beckoned and I’d known it was over. Dead in a cold alley; would anyone notice before morning? Who would even mourn me? I had few friends and fewer attachments. No husband or kids, not even a boyfriend. My cat would probably find someone else to feed her. Some might say that was a blessing, not to leave anyone behind, but all I saw was lost potential. If only … the words that would follow me into my lonely grave.
Where had the light gone? I’d seen it, I’d hesitated, I’d wondered if there really was a god after all, and then …
… my body was walking and talking and thinking and acting and I was along for the ride.
My beautiful blue car, none the worse for wear, exited the garage without running into anything else and turned onto the empty city street. Fewer cars might mean lower odds of getting into another accident, although it was clear the thing in my body had little experience driving. It swerved left and right, unable to center itself in the lane, and braked suddenly at a flashing yellow stoplight, which bent backwards in reaction.
That’s when I reached the final—and belated—realization of the most bizarre night of my life. (Afterlife?) If I didn’t take over the driving of this vehicle, I’d die. Again.
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