What inspired Lily to become an author?
Lily loved reading. She lived in a world filled with
books and populated with her favorite characters. She wrote stories from early
on in her youth, and she began “Crestfall” when she was still in high school.
(Of course it changed over time, but she began it then.)
Where did Lily grow up?
Lily grew up in Washington, D.C. and she was lucky
enough to have access to all the Smithsonian programs and the Shakespeare
Theatre and all the Folger Shakespeare Library programs and summer camps. She
attended numerous plays in New York, London, and in Washington. She came into
adulthood at Muskingum University in Ohio, and worked on her “Crestfall”
manuscript as part a master’s degree in creative writing at Bath Spa University
in Bath, United Kindgom.
Is there a message in “Crestfall” that Lily wanted
readers to grasp?
She wanted young people to know that after the
rigors of adolescence there was a rich, full life waiting for them. They would
not be defined by the limited viewpoint of their adolescent world. She created
the lead character, Aria, as a model of a resilient, tough, self-confident
young woman. She hoped Aria would inspire other young women to stand up for
themselves.
What genre did Lily write in and how did she
approach it?
Lily drew from many genres in her work, which
reflects her wide knowledge and love of a variety of literature. Her book is a
mystery novel, but it also includes a love story and elements of the
paranormal. Some would consider this a coming of age story, because that’s what
happens with the lead character. Others might also consider it fantasy because
of some supernatural elements.
Is anything about the book based on events in Lily’s
life?
The book draws on a number of Lily’s own
experiences, including her time spent studying in the United Kingdom. Even
little details like the main character’s interest in the Black Death brought
out a topic that Lily was long interested in. In the book, Aria helps solve a
murder mystery and that draws on Lily’s knowledge about forensics, which she
studied in school. Some elements of Aria’s personality resemble Lily’s
personality, as do many of Aria’s jokes.
How did Lily choose the setting for “Crestfall?”
In the summer of 2010, Lily visited Newfoundland
with her family and she was captivated by the mystique of the small towns and
the beauty of the island. She was already writing “Crestfall” and was planning
to set in the state of Oregon. But after visiting and photographing Newfoundland,
she moved the book there. The photograph on the back cover of the book is one
that Lily took on that trip.
Who was Lily’s favorite author and what is it that
really struck her about their work?
She loved the work of Jane Austen and read every
book that Jane Austen wrote. Lily had a very wicked sense of humor and she
appreciated the social criticism in Austen’s books. Lily often felt like an
outsider, just as many of Austen’s characters were. They were very smart women
who were able to find their own niches in society – as was Lily.
Her other favorite author was William Shakespeare.
She began her interest in Shakespeare by loving his plots and storylines, but
over time, she also became enamored with his word craft. She delighted in the
fact that many of the phrases that are common in our language now came from his
plays. She attended every Shakespeare play produced in Washington from when she
was young child, and many summer programs affiliated with the Shakespeare
Theatre Company and the Folger Library. One of her favorite programs at the
Folger Shakespeare High School Fellowship Program. Since Lily passed away, her
family has endowed that program, and it has been named in her honor. You can
learn more about Lily and these programs on her web site: www.lilysmckee.com
Who is “Crestfall” dedicated to and why?
The book is dedicated to her college roommate and
best friend, Amy Adams, who passed away in the spring of their junior year.
In publishing the book, we are also dedicating the
book to research on ARDS, Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, and to Lily
herself. Lily passed away this March from a brief struggle with this difficult
disease.
Books give us all a window into an author’s mind,
what parts of Lily’s personality can you see in “Crestfall”?
Lily identified with people who are misunderstood
and she had a strong sense of justice. You can see both of those qualities in
the book. She also had a funny and unique sense of humor. At one point in the
book, the main character calls someone an “Asshat.” That was pure Lily. She was
also a playful romantic, which comes out in the book’s plot.
Crestfall: A Novel of Earth and Fire
Genre: young adult/paranormal
Publisher: Posterity Press, Inc.
Date of Publication: November 23, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-889274-50-8
Word Count: 64,425
Cover Artist: Robert L. Wiser
Book Description:
Crestfall is a dark fantasy with a heart of love—for the earth, its creatures and plants, for people who strive, care, and face down fear.
Its young heroine, Aria Andrews, interrupts her medieval history studies to attend her sister’s funeral in a town on the rugged coast of Newfoundland.
Her estranged twin was murdered, and Aria becomes a suspect before setting out to uncover the brutal truth with the help of her brother Fynn, his girlfriend Sophie (a witch), and forthright Bennet Halfnight, a handsome detective.
All three Andrews siblings have possessed unworldly natural powers; Aria uses hers to pursue an old antagonist and confront new ones: shape-shifters and werewolves in this startling romantic novel of beastly gore and human tenderness.
CHAPTER 1: STRANGER THINGS
Myths are truths buried beneath
layers of speculation and obscurity. There are those who would disagree, but I
have seen enough of the world beneath the veneer of civilization to know better.
Legends travel in the same boat as myths. They only differ because they were
once thought to be real, but the validity of such things has been shrouded by
the passage of several generations.
These
thoughts circled in my mind as I waited to go through the long lines at
immigration and at the airport car rental. With a long drive ahead, I stopped
to stock up on the necessities – food, water, and a couple of books on CD.
In
northeastern Canada, an island called Newfoundland breaches the Arctic Circle.
Newfoundland is a strange place. The Vikings found it, but did not stay. The
Irish, English, Portuguese, Spanish and the French settled the wild land in the
18th and 19th centuries. It is a rough land, full of crags and uneven edges. The
climate weeds out those who are unable to withstand colder weather. It takes a
sturdy constitution to survive in the vicious winters and cool summers. The
temperature rarely climbs above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The water can be an
unreal shade of blue, such as one would never see north of the tropics. The
forests that line the coast are thick and green in the summer. Coral formations
sit just underwater in the coves bordered by the jagged coast. Thousands of
years of erosion are lined by watermarks that delineate the different water
levels. And this island is where my siblings have decided to live.
I still could not believe that she
finally got me to come to Newfoundland. After years of taunting me with her
shenanigans, she got herself killed. I was finally free of her. My identical
twin and I were as opposite as night and day. Though she and I were not always
like that. Something changed when we turned thirteen. She became cruel and
careless to herself and others. When we were young she was my best friend. She
was the kindest person you could ever meet. Then she began to delight in
crushing the hopes of those around her. She would take their opportunities for
herself. Sonata was an opportunist from hell. She had the ability to ferret out
my dreams, and would systematically demolish them before my eyes.
The worst
part was that Mom and Dad were oblivious to her manipulations. Only our
brother, Fynn, knew the real Sonata. When I tried to get our parents to see the
lies she was spinning, I was punished. When I turned eighteen, I left home and
never looked back. The only reason I stayed as long as I did was Fynn. My big
brother was a godsend. But when one of Sonata’s friends got her claws into him,
I could no longer trust him. So I hardly ever spoke to him in the intervening
years while I was studying abroad.
I left to
go to college on the opposite side of the ocean. I went to Cambridge and
graduated with honors. Afterwards, I decided to stay to pursue a master’s. I
was working on my master’s thesis, about the Black Death of 1348-1350, when
Fynn called with the news that Sonata was dead. The service was being held in
the Crestfall Church, in the town she called home. With everything that she had
done, she had no right to be buried on hallowed ground.
Memories of
the past flitted through my mind as the miles sped by. Before I knew it, I had
entered the outskirts of Crestfall. I had never even heard about this town
until Fynn called me. We were raised on the opposite side of Canada in
Vancouver. Nevertheless, Crestfall was a beautiful town. The houses were quirky
and painted in a riot of colors—one bubblegum pink and another the color of
purple hydrangeas. The town itself was close to the ocean, beside a large bay
with a rocky headland that made a sheltered anchorage for the dories of
solitary fishermen and the trawlers that coursed offshore for the big cod and
salmon. Sea gulls were everywhere and the townsfolk were obsessed with puffins.
Everywhere I looked stores had “puffins” in their names. Also, on the docks
were many boats advertising whale watching tours and trips to see these comical
seabirds.
I would have preferred that Sonata
be cremated, so that she could never come back. I never could tell with my
twin, she might be having a big joke on me, forcing me to come here for her
funeral only to show up and mock me. But it was not my call. It was Fynn’s,
since our parents’ death in a freak accident had made him our guardian of sorts,
even after we became adults.
My
car squealed to a stop in front of the church. I paused to straighten my
outfit: a black skirt that stopped just short of the knees, knee-high stiletto boots, a black and white V-necked shirt,
and a black jean jacket. Finding nothing amiss, I walked up the steps and into
the church. This was going to be hard, but I was not grief-stricken. I was sad
that my sister was dead. After all, she was my second half, but I only mourned
the loss of my childhood half, my womb-mate.
I
had not seen Fynn for seven years and it scared me to think about seeing him so
soon after Sonata’s death. I would have preferred being invisible and I dreaded
the thought of being the focus of every irritated and stunned eye as I walked
toward the pew designated for family. But it could not be helped. I had been
traveling for so long, I could not remember what I was doing when I got Fynn’s
call. I waited until the last minute to book my flight. It was not as if I
wanted to come.
The
service was almost over—I hadn’t thought I was that late—and my entrance caused a slight commotion as I
interrupted the minister’s eulogy.
Head
held high, I walked down the aisle searching for Fynn. I found him seated in
the front row. He looked stoic as always, but thinner than I remembered. He
must not be eating right. I made a mental note to restock his fridge before I
left and to create a list of things he should continue to get. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw a young woman with black hair, with streaks of pink,
purple, green, and blue threaded through it. Her eyes were a strange amber
color. I reached Fynn and took a seat next to him. I could hear the whispers
from those who had come to mourn. I was unsure whether this had been a good
idea.
When
the minister did not resume his speech, but rather stood and stared at me, I
felt a twinge of unease and said, “apologies.”
“Would
you like to say something?” the minister asked.
I
thought for a moment and stood. I turned to the congregation and said, “My
mother once told me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say
anything at all.” I nodded as if that
was final and sat back down.
The
young minister continued to stare at me.
Sighing,
I waited for him to regain the ability to speak.
“I
thought Mother told that to Sonata,” Fynn whispered to me. It echoed in the now
silent church.
“You
only thought it was Sonata,” I whispered back.
I
saw a muscle in his jaw tick and he nodded. Fynn had changed a bit over the
past seven years. He was still tall, but his lanky frame had filled out. His
grey eyes held a sadness that hadn’t been there before. I could see the
outlines of some of his bones and that scared me. I always remembered him as
being strong and healthy looking.
The
minister cleared his throat, jerking me out of my reverie. “Into thy hands we
commend thy servant Sonata, a sheep of thine own flock, a lamb of thine own
fold, a sinner of thine own redeeming. Amen.”
As
we walked out of the church to go stand by the gravesite at the far side of the
cemetery, Fynn took me aside.
“Aria,
it’s great to see you. I’ve missed you.”
He looked sincere and my gut twisted with guilt. I hadn’t talked to him
since he told me our parents had died in my freshman year of college.
“It’s
great to see you too, Fynn.” I struggled
to think of something else to say.
We
shared a rather awkward hug.
“I’m
glad that you could make it. I didn’t think you would come.”
“Thanks. I almost didn’t. I am supposed to be working on my
thesis.” I would not lie and say I was
glad to be here. I never wanted to be anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of
Sonata.
“All
the same, it’s great to see you.”
We
stood awkwardly until we realized that everyone was waiting for us. I could
feel their eyes on me and it was slightly unnerving.
*
I
drove to Fynn’s house after the burial. He lived on a rambling estate, in a
mansion with huge bay windows, set back from the road. It was nothing like the
house we grew up in. I realized that I did not even know what Fynn did these
days. Whatever it was, it paid well.
The
door had been left open for mourners to come and go as they pleased. I was
awestruck by the extravagance as I entered his foyer. There was crystal, gold
and dark wood everywhere. The place looked slightly less extravagant than
Versailles. There were waiters carrying trays of champagne and canapés. Seeing
the champagne made me cringe.
I
found Fynn talking to a tall young man whose broad shoulders tapered to a lean
waist. He wore Ralph Lauren black trousers. From the back, the man’s dark brown
curls were slightly longer than the current fashion. I immediately had the
sense that he was powerful.
“I
know,” Fynn was saying as I neared. “We should have told you that Sonata had an
identical twin. But I didn’t expect her either. I thought she wouldn’t arrive
until tomorrow. It was awkward what she said.”
For
a moment I froze. Lord. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear that. I hesitated
for just a second until my eyes narrowed,
“Fynn,”
I said. “Are you talking about me?”
Fynn
looked slightly abashed. “May…uh…er—”
“Yes,”
said the man beside Fynn. “We were talking of you.”
I
looked the stranger in the eye. His eyes were a strange mixture of brown and
grey. I believed he was expecting me to flinch, but I knew better. To hide my
shaking hands, I clasped them behind my back. I wouldn’t be undone by him.
“Well,
I think it’s safe to assume that it was not good things that were being said
about me,” I said.
“No
indeed” the man said. “But there is an explanation.”
“Really? I would be happy to hear it.”
“Actually,
I believe the explanation lies in your corner.”
His eyes raked me over from head to toe. My skin felt like it would like
to crawl right back to England.
“I
do not have to explain myself to a complete stranger, nor do I have any wish
to.” I would not defend my existence to
this ass-hat.
“I
have a right to know why someone would be so crass as to come late to my
girlfriend’s funeral, and then refuse to speak.” The man squared his shoulders, and then
looked away.
I
wanted to laugh. “Why would you think I have anything, nice or otherwise, to
say about Sonata?”
“Because
you are an exact replica of her!”
The
laughter died in my throat. A replica?
Was he serious? Who was this
guy?
Fynn,
who noted the high color in my cheeks, spoke up. “Aria, why don’t I show you to
your room?”
It
was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m staying here?” I said it slowly, trying to grasp the meaning
of this. I had not been under the same roof with Fynn in years and he assumed
that I would stay with him.
“Yes,
I think that would the wisest choice, don’t you?”
I
got his meaning instantly. He wanted me to stay so that we could talk. Apparently
there was more to Sonata’s death than I knew.
“Sure,
I would love to stay here.”
As
we walked up the stairs, the entire room froze. Everyone and everything in it
stopped moving. People stopped in midsentence, in mid-action. Only I was still
able to move. I had never experienced this before—someone was freezing time
around me! I let out a yelp of surprise
and fear. Acting on instinct I dropped to the stairs and placed my hands over
my head, expecting an attack that never came.
“Sonata
Andrews, back in the flesh.” A derisive
voice sounded behind me.
I
jumped at the hostility, and turning slowly I beheld a young woman about my age.
She was tall and had a willowy build. Her long curly black hair streaked with
color hung to her waist in a riot. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a
brilliant amber. She was the woman I had spotted in the church earlier.
“You
are incorrect,” I said. “I’m Aria. She was my twin.” My eyes kept searching the room. Panic was
settling in under the surface of my skin. I tried to keep a cool mask on my face
so as not to display how totally weird this all felt—a place and its people
frozen in time.
“I
don’t believe you.”
“Believe
whatever makes you happy.” My voice had
no trace of panic, thank God.
“You
should,” her voice held a promise of some sort.
“I
should what?” I countered, feeling as if
she was continuing a conversation that she had started with someone else,
perhaps Sonata.
The
woman stared at me, her eyes seeing things that only she could comprehend. Most
unsettling was the feeling that she was not something I could understand. The
ability to manipulate time was foreign to me. I had not ever thought about its
existence. That is what most unnerved me.
“What
are you?” I asked.
“I’m
a witch,” she acknowledged. “What are you?”
“I
don’t know,” I said in all honesty. Mom and Dad never explained to me how I was
able to do the things that I can do. If they knew, they never said. They kept
that information to themselves.
The
woman appraised me. “You say that you are Aria Andrews?”
I
sighed, “Yes, that is what I said.”
“Sonata
knew what she was—a witch. She had figured it out a few years ago.”
“Bully
for her.”
“That
is not the answer I was expecting.”
“Too
bad.”
“How
come you have no idea but your sister knew?”
She asked.
“Perhaps
because I have not spoken to her in years.”
“Why—”
“I
don’t know.” Exasperated, I wanted her
to be gone. For her to just disappear and let Fynn show me to my room.
Then
she broke the spell and everyone began talking once again. The sudden noise
nearly deafened me. I looked around as I saw that conversations were continuing
as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Stunned I tried to catch up to what
had just transpired. It was so unreal…
“You
okay, Aria?” Fynn asked.
“Yeah,”
I resumed walking up the stairs. “I think.”
Still shaken, I was unwilling to divulge what had just happened. The
woman had melted back into the crowd.
Fynn
nodded and I knew that we would talk about it. We entered one of the suites. I
was not surprised, given the grandeur of the rest of the house, to see a
walk-in closet, a full bath; there was a small sitting area and a large
four-poster bed. Soft colors were mixed with bold accents. It was decorated
exactly how I imagined a room of mine would look like if I had the choice. There
were pinks mixed with browns and purples and random bold blues. It was
beautiful.
Fynn
eyed me with a grin. “I thought you would like this.”
“Indeed,”
I told him. I wondered if he designed this room for me, but I was afraid to
ask.
“I
had this room made up for you when I built the place,” Fynn confessed,
answering my unasked question. “I wanted to make sure that there would be a
space for you if you ever wanted to…” He trailed off and stared uncomfortably at
the floor. He probably thought I wouldn’t believe him.
“I’m
truly touched,” I said, and I meant it. “Wait, you built this?”
“I
bought the land, designed the house and hired a contractor to do the actual
building. And of course Sonata was furious when she found out about the room. I
tried to cover it up by saying it could be a guest room, but she saw right
through it. She tried to burn it.”
“I
am glad it survived.” I didn’t tell him
I wasn’t staying long. Not right now. I wanted to make sure everything was in
order first.
“Look,
I wanted to apologize for the things you overheard. Archer is just…well. I
don’t really know how to describe him.”
“Was
he really in a relationship with Sonata?”
The idea of her being steady with anyone seemed laughable.
“Yes,
she was sweet and kind with him. The way she always was with men that she wanted
something from, or to anger their women.”
“Still
pulling the wool over their eyes?”
“Of
course. Herding sheep was her favorite pastime,” Fynn said with obvious disgust.
I thought of Sonata’s friend, Morgana, who had turned him into the
untrustworthy person I left behind.
“What
happened to Sonata?”
“I
honestly don’t know. The police have been pretty tight lipped about it. I do
know that her death was no accident…the police are investigating it as a
homicide. I think Sonata was murdered. I think you’d better get ready to be
questioned.”
About the Author:
Lily St. John McKee was born November 24, 1987, in Washington, D.C. Finding refuge in books from childhood challenges, she graduated cum laude from Ohio’s Muskingum University in 2011 and earned a master’s degree at Bath Spa University in England. She traveled widely—to Costa Rica, Iceland, Patagonia, Egypt, and Newfoundland, the setting for her novel Crestfall, which she finished in the autumn of 2014.
In the winter Lily McKee fell ill and passed away on March 19, 2015.
https://twitter.com/lilymckee
Complete form to enter to win a free ebook or print copy of Crestfall-
print copies available US Shipping Only
0 comments:
Post a Comment