Welcome, Isobella Cate!
What do the words ‘writer’s block’ mean to you?
Writer’s block is when I have the words in my head but
cannot put it to paper. It’s when I’m stumped as to what happens next and my
mojo is quiet. Writer’s block can also be self-doubt – when you compare
yourself to other writers and think your writing isn’t good enough – and you
lose the zest for writing.
Writer’s block is like a death knell if it doesn’t lift.
Do you read your book reviews? If yes, how do you process
negative reviews?
I used to and I am fortunate to have more good reviews than
negative ones. At first it stung when I read a negative review; then I grew to
accept that not everyone will like my books. There will always be people who nitpick
and if I allowed their comments affect me, I won’t get any writing done.
Eventually, I’ve stopped reading them and just keep writing. It’s more
productive to write.
If you could time travel, would you go back or forward in
time?
In one word, describe yourself.
Complicated. 😉
Do you find yourself getting emotional when you write? Is
there a scene that sticks out as being the most emotional to write?
Yes, lots of times! The one that made me emotional was a
scene in my paranormal romance novel, Midnight’s Paradox, when Cynn Cruor
warrior Blake Strachan met his nemesis Scatha Cruor Herod D’Argyle.
What are you working on now? Can you give us a sneak peek?
I’m working on Firebinders: Fleur. It’s the second book of
the Firebinders series which is a spin off from my more popular Cynn Cruors
Bloodline series. The Firebinders are mortals with long life spans whose blood
heals or kills.
Here is the prologue:
New Year’s Eve 1904
Times Square, New York
Ellery
Mellisande led his family through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd in Times
Square, trying to find a gap where they could regroup. It was not the best of
places to make arrangements that would forever change their lives but they had
no choice.
It was their turn to be hunted down.
He glanced over his
shoulder. Genevieve held his hand tightly, giving him a short reassuring smile
belying the fear and anguish swimming in her dark blue green gaze. Behind her,
their daughter, Angelique, was breathing through her mouth, her head thrown
back staring at the dark sky. Taking the rear, her twin brother, Alain, had
taken off his flat cap, his face grim as perspiration dripped from his temple
even in the freezing cold.
“Papa.” Angelique’s voice was faint, her skin pale
under the kaleidoscope of fireworks.
Ellery didn’t need further prodding. Despite the curses
surrounding them, he and Genevieve pulled Angelique to the front of the line.
“Over there,” he shouted as they all inched their way,
stepping on shoes and trekking at a turtle’s pace until they reached an alley
miraculously devoid of revellers waiting to welcome January 1st, 1905.
Angelique stumbled into
the open space as Ellery pulled his wife and son through the bodies forming a
barrier between claustrophobia and the open air.
Genevieve rushed to her
daughter who was leaning and gripping the wooden crates stacked by the side of
the brick building.
“Are you alright?” Genevieve asked above the sound of
revellers, her white linen and lace dress rumpled and stained with dirt and
sweat. Her hair was unpinned from the Gibson girl bouffant chignon atop her
head.
Ellery looked at his
family all of them taking huge amounts of slightly ammonia smelling air. But it
was better than being trapped in between bodies that he, too, had felt the
threatening invasion of swooning.
Swooning was for women.
They all looked at each
other. Angelique had lost the pale blue satin ribbon that kept half of her
golden-brown hair tied at the back of her head.
“This is the only place we can talk,” he said. “A safe
place and time to decide what needs to be done.”
“No,” Genevieve cried, vehemence and anger mixing with
the tears forming in her eyes.
* * * *
She was going to
collapse.
She felt her hand being
tugged forward but in a sea of bodies jostling for a place to watch the first
ball drop on New Year’s
Eve from the Times Building. She was only vaguely aware that her right hand was
in her mother’s grip, while her left held the strong and reassuring hand of her
twin brother, Henrí.
“Angelique, not long now.”
Her mother’s voice floated about her, crossing the heads and
faces of New York. She could hardly feel the cold air and her thick cot was
making her over heat.
Immaru
help me.
She looked up at the
starlit sky, hoping to catch a clear pocket of air she could drag into her
lungs. To her right, the top of the Times Building rose to the sky, its stark
white façade made dirty by the
smog that was becoming the fixture of the city. The number ‘1905’ remained dim,
only illuminated by the street lights. Soon it would be ablaze from the
fireworks promised by the New York Times’ owner, Alfred Ochs.
“Papa…I don’t…” Tried as she might Angelique couldn’t
get air into her lungs. The crowd crushed into whatever minute space around
her.
Suddenly, Henrí and her mother pushed her forward to her father and
they hauled their way forward amidst the curses and glares of some of the
revellers.
“My daughter is about to collapse,” Ellery roared
above the grumblings. That declaration caused a narrow path to appear ahead of
them. They all rushed through before the bodies closed behind Henrí.
They were free.
Angelique stumbled into
the dark alley, walking like a drunk to the crates stacked one after the other.
She never suffered from claustrophobia; but the dense New Year’s Eve crowd and the reason for why they had departed
their home in a hurry had triggered the panic attack that had led to this.
She gathered her skirts
when she sat, careful not to let it fall on the piss-ridden floor.
“Are you alright?” Her mother helped her straighten up
then cupped her face. Genevieve brushed the damp tendrils away from her face.
“I’ll be fine, Mama,” she said as she inhaled. It
wasn’t the purest of air but a cold wave passed through and she was able to
breathe more. Neither was she overheating.
Neither were her family.
Henrí’s face, ruddy while they traversed through the crowd
regained his colour. And just like Angelique, the fire he had inside him
settled down.
The rest of her family
took a crate and sat down. Just like Angelique, Genevieve raised the hem of her
skirts above their laced-up boots.
“What’s happened?” Henrí asked, wiping his brow with
the back of his hand before putting his flat cap back on. “I have to get back
to the hospital.”
Angelique saw the
anguish flicker between her parents. Her stomach plummeted.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” she asked in a small voice
almost unheard over the voices of New York. Fear and heartache tightened her
chest.
Her father looked at
her, his eyes filled with despair. Her mother covered her face with one hand
while her other hand was locked with her father’s.
He nodded. “It’s time.”
At the mouth of the
alley, people began chanting.
“Ten!”
They all stood.
“Nine!”
Angelique flung herself
against her parents, her heart breaking into a million pieces.
“Eight!”
Alain embraced her, and
his arms wrapped around his parents’
shoulders as they all huddled together one last time.
“Seven!”
“We haven’t got much time.” Ellery pulled away from
their family embrace. Henrí, Angelique, take care of each other.”
“Six!”
Her father glanced
furtively at the crowd.
“Five!”
“We will meet up in the lodge on Catskills in a year’s
time, to the day. Is that understood?”
“Four!”
Angelique and her
brother nodded vigorously; their fingers tightly entwined.
“Three!”
“Go straight to the new house. Here’s the
key.” Her father removed a chain around his neck. “Follow our plan to the
letter and we’ll be fine.”
“Two!”
“We have to go.”
“One! Happy New Year!”
Angelique's
face crumpled; her sobs lost in the cacophony of joyous shouts. Her arms
tightened around her father, mother, and Henrí. They all embraced each other once more,
her father whispering one phrase as they huddled for the last time.
“Find Marek Bannach!”
Firebinders: Fleur
Copyright © Isobelle Cate 2021
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