When twenty-year-old Ashby Overton travels to Overhome Estate for the summer, she hopes to unearth her ancestral roots and the cause of a mysterious family rift surrounding the horseback riding death of her Grandmother Lenore many years ago.
From the moment she enters her room in the oldest wing,
Ashby feels an invisible, enfolding presence. She learns the room
belonged to a woman named Rosabelle, but no one is willing to talk about
Rosabelle—no one except Luke, the stable boy who captures her heart. As Ashby
and Luke become closer, she realizes he can be the confidant she
needs to share the terrifying, unfolding secrets.
Ever present is a force Ashby never sees, only
feels. Candles light themselves, notes from an old lullaby fall from the
ceiling, the radio tunes itself each day. And roses, always meant for
Ashby, appear in the unlikeliest places. Are the roses a symbol of love,
or do they represent something dark, something deep and evil?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Great to have you as a guest today, Susan. I always ask the question "What draws you as a reader to the romance genre?"
Actually, I do not read “pure” romance by choice. I love
romance in other guises—Gothic -romance, for example or mystery-romance. To me
as a reader a little romance goes a long way. So it needs to be GOOD!
As a writer, I tend to lean in the same direction—subtle
romance to enhance the mystery or the adventure or action. For my cozy
mystery/Southern Gothic A Red, Red Rose, I leave much of the gore and sex to
the reader’s imagination; Shakespeare might call it “off-stage.” I feel this
technique leads the reader on, titillating and encouraging mental images
without boundaries.
Something I always wonder is "What is the most difficult part of writing a love story?"
Well, let me begin by telling you the easiest part:
conflict. In life, isn’t all romance made up of multiple conflicts? Will my
parents approve? Is he right for me? Is it love or simply fascination? As a mystery writer, I find plotting
conflict is paramount and thus easily extended to the romantic elements
involved. For example, in A Red, Red Rose, for her first serious tryst with
Luke, Ashby, my protagonist, arrives late—having overslept in a nap. She had
wanted to look perfect—but she’s a mess—hair tousled and no makeup—rain-soaked
and mud-splattered. Luke could not care less. He wants romance! But when they
finally settle in the hayloft, a swarm of wasps threatens to completely thwart
any love-making on the horizon. Conflict! It’s the root of all romance. What’s
hard is writing realistically about the physical details without sounding
melodramatic , awkward or unnatural.
Is creating a book title easy for you? Tell us about the process.
It seems my books entitle themselves! I usually look for a
recurring theme or symbol rather than plot or character for my titles. Thus, I am generally well along with
the writing before the title emerges. The sequel to A Red, Red Rose is entitled
Beneath the Stones (The Wild Rose Press, publication date TBA). Stones are
symbolic throughout the novel, so the reader is always looking for the
connection with the title.
Do your characters love the direction you take for them or
do they have other ideas?
Now, that’s an interesting question. I know authors who say
their characters talk to them—guiding the story. Alice Walker, author of The
Color Purple, for example, lived with her characters—moving from location to
location, sometimes at their whim. My characters don’t converse with me—sometimes
I wish they would! But they often do seem to take matters into their own hands
as I am writing about them. It’s like an idea is suddenly transmitted from
their mind to mine! And I admit that often I take a character down one road,
only to realize it’s the wrong path for him or her. That’s when the delete key
comes in handy.
Any tips for writers that you’d love to share?
Writing is such a personal journey that every writer must
chart her own path. Life experiences, values, preferences, loves and losses,
inspiration, role models—unique for every writer— will guide and mold and
refine the individual’s craft.
That said, I would add that every writer must also be an avid reader and
a close observer of life, in general, and of people, places
and events specifically. Who knows
when that bubbling mountain stream might flow its way into a setting? Smell it,
hear it, feel it, look closely at its depths and shallows for sensory details
and jot it all down in a journal or relegate it to your writer’s memory bank.
The quirky, brilliant professor whose classes generate mental lightning could
be a character in your next novel. Store his mannerisms, his speech patterns,
his retro clothes in your data base and bring it all out when the time comes. No
detail is too small for the observant writer’s sensory antennae. Do you
remember your very first extended trip away from home? The excitement of the
unknown—the hopes for adventure and stimulating discoveries? Dredge up those
impressions and infuse your journeying character with hopes and fears and
expectations akin to your own.
Every reader can relate to the human experience.
Excerpt from A Red, Red Rose:
As suddenly as it began, the music stopped. Bewildered, I held out the candle as though it might
illuminate the harmony I had heard so clearly only moments ago. Except for the dying sputter of the
storm, all was quiet again. My
ears strained, listening. Faintly
this time, but distinctly, I heard the melody again, this time in the hall
outside my closed bedroom door.
Barefoot, holding the candlestick in front of me, I moved slowly to the
door, drew the latch, and, without thinking, only feeling the music, I followed
the mellow strains, like a child of Hamlin behind the Pied Piper. Descending the steep steps, on the
first floor, now, I continued to follow the path of the music, through the
dining room, to the old keeping room and out a door I had never used or even
noticed before,
I halted, shook my head, trying to clear out the hypnotic tones that
crowded out all thought and plugged my senses. Once again, the music abated. It was like a game of musical chairs. Where was I? No longer in the house, I felt the damp night air on my bare
arms, and rough floorboards beneath my bare feet. Holding the candle at arm’s length, I crept forward, a step
at a time, my other hand grasping at the air in front. I felt like a blind person without a
guide dog.
My reaching fingers brushed
across a grainy surface, and crumbling powder dusted my fingertips. Instantly, I recognized the metallic
smell of old, rusting screens. I
knew then I must be on the ancient screened porch tucked between the wings of
the house, the crumbling porch with the antique rocking chairs. The old part of the house, reached only
by the door in the keeping room.
The music had led me here.
Again the strains wafted over and around me, holding me captive as I
stood, shivering, gazing at the dim light of my flickering candle.
The music stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Struggling to clear the cobwebs of sound spinning in my
brain, I took a deep breath and looked around. I sensed, rather than saw a movement in my
periphery. When I turned, I became
aware of one of the old rocking chairs.
Gently, so as to be barely perceptible, the chair rocked itself back and
forth as though someone invisible sat in it, enjoying the languorous, rhythmic
motion. Rocking, rocking, rocking,
without any sound at all.
Not conscious of moving, I found myself standing beside the ancient
rocker, now motionless, dusty, the seat sagging within inches of the floor, as
though it had not moved in a hundred years. I had not dreamed it. The chair had rocked itself, and
someone or something had led me here to witness it. Led me with the music.
I had the evidence. On the
decaying cane seat lay a single fresh rose just out of bud.
>>> A Red, Red Rose on Amazon <<<
>>> A Red, Red Rose on Amazon <<<
Biography:
Susan Coryell has long been interested in concerns about
culture and society in the South, where hard-felt, long-held feelings battle
with modern ideas. The ghosts
slipped in, to her surprise.
Susan Coryell is the author of the award-winning young adult
novel, Eaglebait. She lives at Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia.
www.susancoryellauthor.com
