Description
Find more from this author on:
About the author:
Like many who end up being writers, I've worked at many different jobs: riding instructor, horse trainer, computer programmer, and medical transcriptionist.
I began my writing career in the early 1980s with articles for several national and regional horse magazines. My friend Hazel wanted to break into writing novels, so together we wrote three: A *Star Trek* novel; a rather spicy romance; and, finally a sweet romance called *April's Christmas.*
April was the one who got us started when Avalon published that book in 1994. After that I sold my own first novel, the historical romance *Lady of Fire,* to Dorchester Publishing in 1995.
Today I am a full-time novelist, Kindle ghostwriter, and copy editor, and can often be found doing workshops and panels at writers' events and conventions.
What inspired you to write your book?
I was very interested in my family history and, especially, the origins of some familiar legends and modern traditions.
Here is a short sample from the book:
I. THE NEW LAND
AD 1848
Boston, Massachusetts
The brig Hannah, eight weeks out of Limerick, Ireland, crept slowly into the heavy fog-shrouded darkness of Boston Harbor. Down in steerage, Rose Maeve O’Connell lay on the floor in a heap of musty straw gasping out the last breaths she would ever take.
Her three-month-old daughter, Deirdre, rested close and silent beside her. Rose was vaguely aware that the ship had all but stopped. There was a solid thump that shivered through the heavy wooden decks and walls, and then another, and then the ship was still.
All around her, the sick and exhausted passengers began to stir. Slowly they got up, collecting their few poor belongings before making the dark and painful climb up the ladder to leave this terrible place forever. Men, women, children, and some babes-in-arms like her own small Deirdre all made their way up… at least, as many as were still alive and not lying dead or unconscious down here on the lowest deck of the creaking ship.
Rose's husband, David O'Connell, had never left County Kerry. The potato famine and the starvation and overwork that had come with it had taken his life a few months before.
His family had sold all they had to buy passage for Rose and Deirdre on the next ship to America. "It is the only chance for his wife and child to survive," they had said. "You must take it. You must go."
And so Rose had left the little stone cottage where she and David and Deirdre had made their home– and left, as well, the piece of land that had belonged to her family through the ages. The land sat between grassy fields for planting potatoes and the sea for catching fish, and they had lived there well enough for a short time… until the famine and the hunger and finally the death.
Rose tried to raise her head, but found that she could not. "Deirdre," she whispered, with the last of her strength, and felt the infant stir beside her.
A few moments later, two men with lanterns climbed down into the dim and silent hold. One held his lantern high and began counting: "…six, seven, eight. Well, get Father Murphy and have him make the arrangements. All of these dead were Irish. He will see that they are buried in Catholic ground."
Then Rose found that she could sit up. Her body felt light as air, with none of the terrible coughing sickness that had racked her for so much of the voyage. "Captain! Captain. I seem to be better now. If you would be so kind as to help me and my baby Deirdre go above and leave the ship, we'll be on our way."
They seemed not to hear. As they turned to go back up the ladder, Rose got to her feet and tried to catch the arm of the man nearest to her. "Captain! Sir! Please, wait one moment– let me get my child."
But the captain did not respond
Just then Deirdre began to cry. "What’s this?" said the first mate. "We seem to have missed one." The man stepped past her and leaned down to pick up Deirdre, carefully pulling the infant out from beneath the arm of the lifeless body beside her.
Rose stood very still. She touched her hands to her face and to her sides. It seemed that she stood upright, alive and whole, yet she could see her own pale and unmoving form down in the filthy straw beside her weakly wailing daughter.
"Oh, no," Rose whispered. "Oh, no, it cannot be! Not now! We are here, we have just arrived… oh, dear God, surely not now…"