Interview with Author Elana McDougall

1. When did you start writing?

I think all writers start as readers and then something triggers them to make their own stories. Like many writers, I’d start something but never finish it. Becoming an "author" was a dream, a "maybe someday" sort of thing. The first book "Hidden Magic,” was something I played with when I didn't want to do report cards. Then I retired from teaching and had the time to finish the story. And once it was done, I thought, "Well, maybe now I should do something with this." And suddenly I went from writer to author. No one was more surprised than I was.

2. What was your journey towards becoming an author like?

We all imagine that it's easy: just put words on a page and publish. Then BAM!—fame and fortune. It's not that at all. It's a wonderful, creative, expensive hobby. I tried the traditional route to publishing- querying agents and publishing houses, but my novels aren't trendy enough. Not in fashion. I joke that I'd have been picked up if I'd had the word "Woman" in the titles. So I turned to self-publishing and I find I like the control. I like the challenges that come with it—the learning curve is very steep. I might daydream about being "discovered" by a publishing house but I'm not sure I could relinquish that control. And I have been blessed with people like you, Dawn, who have offered advice and support along the way. In my acknowledgements for Blood Moon Magic, I say it's not a village but a 'coffee shop' that helps raise up writers. Once I wrote one novel, I thought, "Maybe I can do another." And suddenly I have a series with three books. Amazing.

3. What can you tell me about your latest book? (Feel free to include an excerpt.)

Blood Moon Magic is the third in The Eldritch of Hallows series. There's a magical sanctuary in North Carolina with shapeshifters, trolls, Fae, and mages, hiding from humans and fighting with each other. Hidden Magic explored Hallows through the eyes of Sasha, a woman who didn't know she was magical. Scorched Earth Magic was about Julia, a mage, returning to Hallows, and forgiving her former lover for betraying their love. With the third book, I wanted to look at the magical village from the point-of-view of a human trapped inside. In Blood Moon Magic, Huck Radcliffe finds himself in Hallows, the victim of a vaguely remembered car accident. The locals are hostile but he's strangely drawn to Gwen, his new landlady. But he doesn't know that he's also the victim of a communal plot to hide the supernatural nature of Hallows from him and in constant danger. When Huck learns the truth about Gwen, their history and the lies his friends have been telling him, can he forgive?  Meanwhile, two teen murderers have also inexplicably found their way to the area. What is their connection to Hallows and its violent past? And what do they want with Gwen?

EXCERPT:

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Here you go.” Mary, the elderly waitress at Hetty’s Diner, smiled as she slid the plate in front of Gwen Highgarten. “Stack of blueberry waffles. Bacon, extra crispy and a mocha cappuccino. The maple syrup dispenser is by the silverware. Enjoy.”

I will. Gwen tucked her napkin around her neck. I deserve this. Being an earth mage unable to use my magic has been hard. And having an ex-lover, who is magically unable to remember you, who’s moved into the other side of the house—excruciating.

She had tossed and turned all night—not because of her hand; she’d healed that last night with more earth magic but because of erotic dreams about Huck Radcliffe and her making love on the big deck under the stars.

It’s Huck’s fault—that C-Clamp, his gorgeous sun-caressed body and my stupid libido.

By dawn, she’d given up trying to sleep. A note sent magically to Xander warned him not to pick her up. Then she’d flashed to the diner to enjoy a rare treat before opening Three Sisters.

Hetty had rolled her eyes at the violation of the magic ban but the restaurant was empty and Gwen scored a booth by the large front window. She poured syrup over the waffles, leaving them like rafts in a sweet lake. When she was Outside, she’d been stunned to learn some women regularly avoided sweet baked goods because of something called carbs.

Why deny yourself such joy?

A rasher of bacon gave a satisfying snap when she bit into it. She’d also discovered bacon Outside didn’t always mean meat and milk didn’t always come from cows. Sugarless and diet everywhere—she hadn’t realized that magic consumed so much energy: she’d never worried about her weight. But she’d been unable to use her gifts like normal since Huck’s arrival and probably even less with him living next door.

 Had she picked up a few extra pounds?

She defiantly added another spoonful of sugar to her cappuccino. No, she would not become a calorie-obsessed dieter.

“Morning, roomie!” As if summoned by her thoughts, Huck slid into the opposite bench seat. “I didn’t hear you leave, but fortunately, Xander said you might be here.”

Unlike her, he looked fully rested. And very sexy. Under a faded jean jacket, he wore a pale t-shirt the color of his eyes. It stretched over his muscular chest and she fisted her hand around her fork to fight the urge to run her fingers over it.

“A coffee for me, please,” he called to Mary.

“I’m enjoying my breakfast by myself.” Gwen gestured to her waffles.

“So I see. I wanted to check on your fingers.” He turned her hand and ran his finger over where the burns had been.

Gwen stifled a gasp at the jolt of desire that soft caress caused. “I told you yesterday I was fine. Stop grabbing me.”

She pulled away and let the smooth metal of the fork’s handle cool the heat his touch left.

“I’m still amazed the burns healed so quickly.”

“It was an allergic reaction. A little antihistamine and I’m fine,” she lied again. For Eldritch like her, iron tools like the C-Clamp were dangerous. “Hey, that’s mine!” she cried as he filched a couple bacon strips from her plate.

“And it’s done the way I like it. Thanks, Mary.” He nodded as the waitress slammed the cup down beside him. “I was also thinking about what we discussed before we went to bed.”

Mary stumbled at Huck’s words. Hetty, in the kitchen, leaned into the pass-through. 

Gwen reddened and furiously clarified, “When I hurt my hand. Before we retired to our own places. Alone.”

“Semantics. We were talking about our relationship.”

“Our purely platonic landlady-tenant relationship.” She cut into her waffles and began eating, hoping he’d take a hint and leave.

Instead, he swiped another rasher. “We discussed your dismal choice in lovers and how soon we should take things to the next level.”

She held her fork threateningly, ready to defend her food. “I believe you mulled over moving out. Not such a bad idea, come to think of it.”

“Indeed, I offered to move into your place. You were undecided, though. I respect your hesitation to act on the undeniable attraction between us. You’re a woman who doesn’t throw herself into bed with someone she’s just met—”

“Because you just moved to Hallows.” Not exactly a lie. He just couldn’t remember they’d met and fell in love in Boston.

“We’ve had a few dates—”

“We’ve had one dinner together—” Here, at least.

He reached for more bacon. “And are living together—”

She slapped his mooching fingers away. “In separate apartments—”

“Under the same roof.”

 Gwen tried again. “I’m your landlady. If it didn’t work out….”

“So if I’m a poor lover, you’d evict me?”

“I’d be justified. But, no, it’d be uncomfortable seeing each other afterwards.”

He snorted. “I’m sure someone as beautiful as you has a string of broken-hearted lovers that you meet every day, so don’t give me that.” He hailed a fascinated Mary. “Another order of bacon like this, please?” Turning back, he pinned Gwen with his bright blue gaze. “Point is you’ve given me reasons why we shouldn’t date.”

“I think I’ve been pretty clear.”

 Sipping his coffee, he smiled over the rim of his coffee. “But you haven’t said ‘Huck, I’m not interested’ or ‘Huck, it’s you, not me’ Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the teasing and sexy innuendos, the romantic ‘give and take.’ But I’m an old-fashioned guy. I want to know if your intentions are honorable.” When she didn’t say anything, his voice softened. “Take all the time you need. Meanwhile, I do want you and until you warn me off, I’m going to pursue you. Woo you. Give you a proper courtship. Seduce you with my charm, my sexual magnetism, and my Fettucine Alfredo. You’re as sexy as hell, and you and I would be awesome together.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” She smirked even as she silently acknowledged the truth of his words. Oh, Goddess, how awesome we were. And when he’d kissed her, he hadn’t needed any magic to draw her willingly into bed and into love with him.

Me and my foolish heart. If you only knew, Huck, how much I want this and how hard it’s getting to keep you at bay. To prevent you from remembering how much we were in love. Even knowing the danger—and how I will ache when you leave—I am so tempted. 

He grabbed the last rasher of bacon. “We should have a safe word.”

She blinked at his mercurial change of topic. “Safe word?”

“Or phrase. For when we do have sex. Because consent and all.”

“How about ‘leave my food alone’?” She pulled her plate closer to her.

“That might be hard to remember in the throes of passion. How about ‘pineapple’?”

Gwen blushed to see Hetty and Mary listening, fascinated. “Please stop.” 

He shook his head. “Too confusing. That could mean, ‘Please, don’t stop giving me multiple orgasms’. Jokes aside, you need to be upfront and direct.”

He leaned back against the bench, an eyebrow raised. He couldn’t know she was struggling with memories of them together. His lips on her pale skin. His long, elegant fingers touching her intimately, bringing her pleasure. The feel of him pressing against her softness. Her welcoming him into her, wrapping her legs around his hips. His hips pounding against her, as he buried himself so deep, they would truly be one. Her clutching him desperately, trying to pull him deeper. And then finally, her body arching, rocked by an elemental explosion so intense, she could only hold onto his shuddering body as he spent himself inside.

 Hetty’s dumping his order of bacon on the table startled her out of her reverie.

When the waitress reluctantly left them, Huck added, “Tell me to back off, and I will.  Don’t worry—I’ll leave you alone, keep out of your way.”

“I’m not worried.” She wasn’t. Even without her powers, she’d never be afraid of him.

Satisfied, he rose. “Good talk. Meanwhile, let me pay for the bacon.” He dropped enough money to cover both their meals, plus a sizeable tip.

She was about to protest when she saw the side of his jacket. “What happened?”

Huck lifted his arm to look at the slit which ran diagonally from the armpit seam to the hem. “Shit, I  liked this jacket.”

“You didn’t notice this when you put it on?”

“Too busy thinking about you,” he teased. “I passed a bunch of guys earlier who were doing roadwork. I probably caught it on one of their tools or something.”

“It looks like someone cut it.”

“Cut it? Nah, it’s ripped.”

He stumbled as Gwen pulled the fabric closer. The edges were too clean, the slice too straight to be a mere snag. Something sharp had done this—like a knife.

Huck had been lucky. The gash started near his heart and ended where his kidney would be. This was no accident.

He saw her concern. “Gwen, it’s nothing.”

She grabbed his arm. Lightly, she touched the black leather bracelet she had given him in Boston six years ago and reinforced the protection spells on it. “Watch yourself out there.”

When she released her grip, he gently tidied a loose lock of blonde hair. “Hey, you better watch yourself, too. You wouldn’t want people thinking you care about me.”

“Just making sure my tenant comes up with next month’s rent. Leave your jacket on the deck when you get home. I’ll get someone to mend it.”

“I’ll toss it. It’s old; the fabric was already pretty threadbare.” He snatched a last piece of bacon. “I better get to work. Glad your hand’s okay. See you later.”

He strode out of the diner. Gwen lifted a rasher of bacon from the plate. This morning, she’d only had her feelings about Huck to consider. Now, she had something else to worry about.

4. What sort of methods do you use for book promotion?

I wish I had the secret to promotion. I use Twitter and Facebook primarily. And I'm beginning to look at Threads.

5. Where do you get your ideas for stories?

I started to write an epic fantasy story, with contemporary elements, full of orcs and swords and tragic sacrifice. But it morphed into a story about a tiny village full of supernatural peoples. The more I wrote, the more it became a reflection of our world. That's where some of my ideas come from--and usually surface in the shower or during yoga class. Like many of us, the Eldritch deal with pain and intergenerational trauma, except it comes from the witch hunts of the 1600s. They have the same rivalries and suspicions we do, except theirs isn't based on religion and race but on the type of Eldritch they are. But underneath, they also struggle with their emotions, suffer when relationships fail and ultimately hope for love everlasting. There is always a happy ending. Blood Moon Magic is about what it's like to be human in love with a supernatural being, in a place where humans are considered only half an Eldritch. The secondary plot was inspired by a murder spree in Northern Canada by two teenagers a few years back. But I love who it actually tied together elements in my previous story. It's so good!!!

6. What are you working on right now?

I would love to say that I'm hard at work on the fourth and final book, but I'm stuck. Writing is hard!! I have pieces of the plot. I have the characters. I know the emotional issues that Abby faces, but there are large holes. No, not holes—Gulfs. Caverns. Craters. So for the first time, I'm not pantsing the story. I'm actually writing out the story like a summary. And praying for inspiration. Maybe I need to shower more often or do more yoga. Worse, I have the beginning ideas for a second series. And that's also stuck. So I'm currently raging at my computer.

7. Any advice for other authors?

Advice? It's based on my limited experience. But I would tell myself the following--

* Don't wait. Write now. Don't put it off.

* Writing is hard. Power through and have faith.

* Writing is a craft. Yes, you have ideas. But take those writing classes, to learn about the structures of fiction and to get feedback from others. I wish I'd done that sooner.

* Writing is solitary but you need people to run ideas by, to offer suggestions, to improve your stories. I am a better writer because of my sister, and friends in real life and on social media who read and commented on what I wrote. And take their advice. They are your first audience. Listen to them.

* Ask. Learn. Keep asking. Don't get discouraged. Keep at it.

ABOUT ELANA:

Elana McDougall was probably born with a book in her hand. A voracious reader, her tastes ricochet between mysteries, fantasies and historical thrillers. Since retiring from teaching rambunctious thirteen-year-olds, she enjoys travelling to places like Guatemala where she eagerly practices her appalling Spanish.

When it comes to her writing, she loves to create intricately detailed fantastic places where magical beings quarrel, where murder, mayhem and mystery abound, and where strong-willed heroines and fierce heroes surrender to their passions and fall in love.

If you enjoy her books, she appreciates your comments and reviews.

You can follow her on Twitter: @ElanaMcdougall. Her website is www.elanamcdougall.com

Her eyes are blue and her hair, thanks to her tenacious hairdresser, remains red; all else is in flux.