Thank you for joining us today, Julie.
Thank you so much for having me. I truly
appreciate the time you put into this interview.
What
inspired you to become an author?
I always thought I’d be an artist, since
that’s how my father made his living. I had all these great stories in my head,
though, and I wanted to share them with others. I naively thought you just
wrote a book, submitted it, and people bought it. WRONG. It took me about ten
years to get my act together and produce a novel worth publishing.
Do
you have a specific writing style?
People tell me I do, although I
can’t really identify it. I love lyrical writing, but today’s reader demands
efficiency. I strive for a blend of both. It’s a difficult task, but possible
with proper word choices.
Do
you write in different genres?
So far, I’ve stuck to historicals, but
I’m working on a contemporary paranormal romance, and I would love to write
horror.
How
did you come up with the title for your latest book?
It was fairly easy, since my female
character recognizes Somerled, her reincarnated soul mate, by scent.
Do
you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?
The title usually comes to me somewhere
in the middle of the book.
Is
there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Yes. True love is worth fighting
for. If you find it, never let it go. Unless the other person isn’t all that
into you. If that’s the case, let it go. To do otherwise makes you a weirdo
stalker. And possibly a character in the horror novel I plan to write.
Is
the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone
you know, or events in your own life?
Several actual events served as
inspiration. The first happened while waiting to pay for gas. A man stepped
into line behind me, and I felt this unbelievable energy emanating from him. It
was bizarre, because he was not the sort of man I’d ever notice. In fact, if I
met him in an alley, I’d probably run the other way, but as he stood behind me,
I could feel the heat of him against my back. That was twenty years ago, and
I’ve never forgotten the power of it. I’ve often wondered why I experienced
that magnetism. There was nothing sexual about it—just a familiar pull, like I
already knew him somehow. Were we soul mates in a past life? Were our lives
meant to connect in some manner? I’ll never know, because I paid for my gas and
ran out of the station like my pants were on fire. It’s crazy, I know, but it
led to the question: what would happen if someone met a soul mate from a past
life? Would we recognize him/her? How?
It wasn’t until I learned about Somerled
of Argyll (while researching my ancestry) that I decided to write a novel
featuring reuniting soul mates. Although much of Somerled’s story has been lost
to time, we know he was a hero long before Robert the Bruce and William
Wallace. In fact, he’s the progenitor of many of the Highland clans so popular
in fiction today. Without him, those clans may have disappeared altogether,
since it was Somerled who wrenched western Scotland from the hands of the
Vikings.
I combined the “soul mate recognition”
idea with Somerled’s story, threw in a little supernatural scenting ability,
and SCENT OF THE SOUL was born.
What
books/authors have influenced your life?
I can’t say that any books have
influenced my life, but plenty have influenced my writing. Laura Ingalls-Wilder
awakened my love of historical fiction with her LITTLE HOUSE series, and in my
teens, I fell in love with the Brontës.
If
you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
I love Bernard Cornwell, Thomas
Hardy, Jane Austen, and Stephen King. That’s an odd combination, I know, but
truly, I have learned something from each of them.
What
book are you reading now?
CAPTIVES, 1677: THE STORY OF
BENJAMIN AND MARTHA WAITE, by Stuart Vaughan.
What
books are in your to read pile?
A lot of non-fiction titles about
Colonial America. I know, I know...B-O-R-I-N-G. You’ll thank me, though, when you
read my next title.
What
is your current “work in progress” or upcoming projects?
My second novel, coming soon from Soul
Mate Publishing, is a story of emigration and hardship. It follows two of
Somerled’s impoverished descendants as they flee Ireland with the one valuable
thing left to them—a gold torc that once belonged to Somerled himself.
Unfortunately, they land in Philadelphia at the outset of the French and Indian
War.
My third novel is in progress. It
features Somerled’s contemporary descendant, who unearths a gold torc on her
Pennsylvania farm. Curious about its origins, she travels to Scotland to
investigate—and finds more than she bargained for.
Is
there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Like most writers, I
suppose, finding the time. I have a day job, a long commute, and family
commitments. Squeezing writing time into my day means getting up early, typing
in my car during lunch, and spending every evening/weekend at the keyboard.
Do
you have to travel much to do research for your books?
It doesn’t hurt that I’ve spent a great
deal of time in Scotland and Ireland. Google Street View is only good for so
much. Sometimes, you have to slide your feet into a pair of wellies and go
walking.
Who
designed the cover of your latest book?
Leah Suttle, cover artist for Soul Mate
Publishing.
Do
you have any advice for other writers?
Run. Unless you are prepared for an
uphill climb through a storm of windblown razorblades. Then, by all means,
stick with it. But banish the image you have in your head that features you,
the published author, strutting around like a pampered celebrity. That’s a
complete fantasy. Today’s author is expected to handle at least some of her own
marketing, if not all, and that takes time, the one thing you won’t have much
of, since most authors can’t afford to quit their day jobs.
Also, you will have to develop a thick
skin. You know the book that you ate, slept, and bled out of your very pores
for the guts of a year? There will be people who hate it, and some will be
downright caustic about it. You’ll have to somehow take it on the chin, allow
the good reviews to feed your muse, and ignore the voices in your head that say
you suck so much you should do the world a favor and jump off a bridge—with
your laptop in hand so there’s no chance more of your horrible work could blight
the world.
If, after reading that, you still want
to be an author, then get your butt in the chair and start writing. And do like
James Scott Bell says and buy a mug. Not just any mug, but one that says, “I’M
A WRITER” on it. Of course, you need to study your craft, read extensively,
etc., but you must first buy that mug, and you should drink out of it every
day. When “I’M A WRITER” is in your face long enough, you’ll start to believe
it. Even if you don’t, enough people will ask you about it that you’ll write
something just so you aren’t a total fraud. Hold yourself accountable. Few will
believe in you until YOU believe in you.
Scent of the Soul
Julie Doherty
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication: February 11, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-61935-705-1
ASIN: B00SZ0SKUE
Number of pages: 288
Word Count: 91,000
Cover Artist: Leah Suttle
Book Description:
In twelfth century Scotland, it took a half-Gael with a Viking name to restore the clans to their rightful lands. Once an exile, Somerled the Mighty now dominates the west. He’s making alliances, expanding his territory, and proposing marriage to the Manx princess.
It’s a bad time to fall for Breagha, a torc-wearing slave with a supernatural sense of smell.
Somerled resists the intense attraction to a woman who offers no political gain, and he won’t have a mistress making demands on him while he’s negotiating a marriage his people need. Besides, Breagha belongs to a rival king, one whose fresh alliance Somerled can’t afford to lose.
It’s when Breagha vanishes that Somerled realizes just how much he needs her. He abandons his marriage plans to search for her, unprepared for the evil lurking in the shadowy recesses of Ireland—a lustful demon who will stop at nothing to keep Breagha for himself.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/dBuB3WC3FGU
Available at Amazon Amazon UK Amazon Canada
Excerpt:
As Godred’s
oarsmen shoved off from the jetty, Somerled wondered if there was any man less
suitable to deliver a marriage proposal. Godred of Dublin was coarse,
marginally Christian—indeed, marginally sane—and easily riled. Nevertheless,
King Olaf liked him, and for that reason alone, Somerled had selected him as
his envoy.
“No side trips,”
Somerled shouted before Godred was too far away to hear. “Ye have three places
to go and that’s it: the Isle of Man, your clan, and back here.” Godred was
prone to unscheduled detours.
Unless bad
weather or the scent of easy plunder pulled Godred and his thirty oarsmen off
course, Somerled would have Olaf’s answer in a few days. If Olaf agreed to the
marriage, Somerled would add a wife to the items decorating his new castle at
Finlaggan and eventually, the Isle of Man to his expanding area of influence.
The nobles would
respect him then. Half-breed or not.
Behind him, a
door squealed on one of the two guardhouses standing sentinel over the Sound of
Islay. The small building spat out Hakon, his chief guard, another man of
Dublin birth and temperament. Hakon strode the length of the jetty to join him.
“I have every confidence the Norns will weave Godred a successful journey, my
lord king,” he said, his words puffing white clouds above his tawny sheepskin
cape.
“If your
goddesses have woven anything, it’s an unfortunate headwind,” Somerled said.
“Godred is forced to tack.” He closed his cloak and secured it at his throat
with a brooch he once plucked from a Viking who no longer needed it. “The wind
promises hail. My proposal will be delayed.”
“Aye, likely,”
Hakon said, his hair and beard whipping into copper clouds, “but it will hasten
Olaf’s reply. Do not despair, my lord. Ragnhilde will marry ye soon enough.”
Despair?
Somerled stifled a laugh. Did Hakon think he had feelings for a lassie he had
never met? He was about to tease his guard about being a romantic when Hakon
stiffened.
“Another ship,”
Hakon said, looking past Somerled’s shoulder.
Somerled spun
around to inspect the northwestern waters of the channel separating Jura and
Islay—the jewel of the Hebrides and the island that served as the seat of his
burgeoning kingdom. “Where?” he asked, squinting.
Hakon thrust a
finger toward the fog bank blanketing the horizon. “There, at the promontory,
in that pale blue strip of water. See it?”
At first,
Somerled saw nothing but swooping terns and ranks of swells. Then, an unadorned
sail appeared. It crested on a wave, dipped low, and vanished.
“Should I sound
the horn?” Hakon asked.
Somerled raked
his fingers through the coarse, wheaten mess slapping at his eyes and held it
at his nape while he considered his response. Behind them, the signal tower on
Ben Vicar was smoke-free. Across the sound, the towers on the frosty Paps of
Jura were likewise unlit, although clouds partially obscured their peaks. The
Paps had a commanding view. If a signal fire blazed anywhere, the men stationed
there would have seen it and lit their own.
“My lord king,
should I sound the horn?” Hakon impatiently palmed the battle horn dangling at
his broad chest.
Men began to
gather on the jetty.
“Let us wait. It
is only one ship, and it looks to be a trader. The signal fires would blaze by
now if it were someone worthy of our concern.” Somerled glanced back at the mud
and thatch cottages shouldering against one another. At their doors, the bows
of half his impressive fleet rested on the shoreline, a sandy slip extending
well into the distance. The rest of his ships sheltered at the far side of
Islay, in Loch Indaal. A signal fire would deploy them quickly and, perhaps,
needlessly.
“Alert the
village. Have Cormac ready Dragon’s Claw,” he said, “but send only the nyvaigs
for now.” The nyvaigs were smaller, but no less deadly. They would be out and
back quickly.
Hakon sprinted
through the gathering crowd and past the guardhouses. He leapt over a pile of
rocks with surprising agility for a man of his years and size. In no time,
specialized warriors and oarsmen were boarding the boats. A pony thundered
inland, its rider instructed to warn, not panic, the people of Finlaggan.
Though Somerled
carried his mighty sword, he had dressed for warmth, not battle. His mail
shirt, aketon, and helmet hung in his bedchamber, two miles away in Finlaggan.
He singled out a boy in the crowd. “Lad, find me a helmet and a shield, and be
quick about it.”
The boy shot
like an arrow toward the cottages.
Somerled held
his breath as he watched the nyvaigs head out. At the first flash of steel, he
would blow the battle horn. His men would light the towers and he would board
Dragon’s Claw. The foreigner would be sorry he entered the Sound of Islay.
The ship’s
features were barely discernible, but he could see that its high prow lacked a
figurehead. He was trying to identify the banner fluttering on its masthead
when the ship’s sail dropped and scattered gulls like chaff in the wind. His
heart hammered against his chest as he waited for the foreign vessel to sprout
oars; it didn’t. It stalled—a sign its crew had dropped anchor.
Dragon’s Claw
bobbed next to him at the jetty, her top rail lined with colorful shields and
her benches holding sixty-four of his savage warriors. Cormac gripped the
tiller, but he would move aside when Somerled barked the order to do so. He
would serve as his own shipmaster in the face of an enemy.
Low and curvy
with a dragon’s head exhaling oaken flames from her prow, Dragon’s Claw was his
favorite vessel, not because she was new or particularly seaworthy, but because
he had wrenched her from the last Viking to leave his father’s lands.
The memory of
that battle warmed him and occupied his thoughts while the nyvaigs swarmed
around the foreigner. Then, they swung about, furled their sails, and rowed for
home like many-legged insects skittering on the water’s surface.
When the boats
reached the beach, Hakon jumped from his nyvaig and jogged through ankle-deep
water, apparently too impatient to wait for his men to haul the vessel’s keel
onto the sand. “Well, my lord king,” he said, “it seems to be the day for
marriage proposals. It is an envoy from Moray, who comes at the behest of
Malcolm. He asks to speak with ye regarding Bethoc.”
“Malcolm MacHeth
. . . the Malcolm MacHeth . . . wants my sister?”
He had met
Malcolm MacHeth only once, at King David’s court, on a night spoiled by
ill-bred lassies who had mocked his foreign garb and speech. Malcolm, a bastard
nephew of the Scots king, had observed his humiliation and pretended not to
notice.
Yet here was
Malcolm of Moray, a claimant to the Scottish throne and a known rebel, seeking
Bethoc’s hand in marriage. Tainted bloodline or not, Somerled was apparently
worthy of notice now.
About the Author:
Something magical happened in the musty basement of Julie Doherty’s local courthouse. She went there intending to research her ancestry, not lose herself in a wealth of stories, but the ghosts of yesteryear drew her into the past and would not let her go. The trail left by her ancestors in those yellowing documents led her from rural Pennsylvania to the Celtic countries, where her love of all things Irish/Scottish blossomed into outright passion.
She became particularly interested in Somerled, self-styled "King of Argyll" and progenitor of the Lords of the Isles. In 1164, he led a fleet of 164 galleys up the River Clyde in an all-or-nothing attempt to overthrow the Scottish crown. What would lead a man of his advanced years to do such a thing?
Of course, history records he did so because the king demanded forfeiture of his lands. But the writer in Julie wondered ...what if he did it for the love of a woman?
Those early ponderings led to SCENT OF THE SOUL, Julie’s first novel, coming soon from Soul Mate Publishing.
Readers will notice a common theme throughout Julie’s books: star-crossed lovers. This is something she knows a bit about, since during one of her trips to Ireland, she fell in love with an Irishman. The ensuing immigration battle took four long years to win. With only fleeting visits, Skype chats, and emails to sustain her love, Julie poured her heartache into her writing, where it nourished the emotional depth of her characters.
Julie is a member of Pennwriters, Romance Writers of America, Central PA Romance Writers, The Longship Company, Perry County Council of the Arts, and Clan Donald USA. When not writing, she enjoys antiquing, shooting longbow, traveling, and cooking over an open fire at her cabin. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, who sounds a lot like her characters.
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