The Story Behind the Story with Lise Mayne of Alberta, Canada.

 

Another guest who is new to the Scribbler.

 

Lise was introduced to me by another author who lives in western Canada. She has kindly agreed to share the STBS with you and adds an excerpt for your reading pleasure.

 

 

 

 

Lise Mayne, author, lives in Nanton, Alberta, Canada. Historical injustice and the search for home are central themes of her work. Her new novel Time Enough, Oprelle Publications, 2024, is the migration saga of a family from Isle of Man to Canada via Michigan in the early 1900’s. An excerpt was published by Sunspot Literary Journal in the Rigel 2022 contest. Lise’s poetry is published in international literary journals, nominated for five awards. A member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, The League of Canadian Poets and the Alexandra Writers’ Society, Lise also volunteers as a Rocky Mountain bluebird nest-box monitor, plays the harp, and cherishes her family.

 

Title: Time Enough

 

Synopsis:

In the early 1900’s, a Manx family of miners subsists on a small-hold farm; their lives are stable, steeped in routines, love and faery lore, but they are on the verge of ruin. The young family must leave forever, in search of a new life. How will a mother of six, Euphemia, and her eldest son, Henry, make a home in a totally unfamiliar place? William’s younger brother, Thomas, posts their bond for emigration to Michigan. Euphemia suspects her first lover has ulterior motives and that he will destroy her. Henry, almost a man, longs to remain and save their land. No matter. They must go. Too late, they discover they are trapped. Euphemia and Henry together and separately, must struggle to surmount betrayal, abuse and heartbreak. On a three-decade journey from Isle of Man to Saskatchewan, via Michigan and Manitoulin Island, we are immersed in this moving saga of Euphemia and Henry’s fight for independence. A sweeping novel about sacrifice, courage and the unexpected rewards of risk and resilience. Can forgiveness restore love and bring hope? Is there time to heal the past and build a future?

The Story Behind the Story:

As a child, I looked forward to Saturday visits with my maternal grandparents, enraptured by their stories of homesteading in Alberta and Saskatchewan. Starting from scratch in the wilderness seemed like an adventure to me, even though they didn't gloss over the hardship and sacrifice. They taught me about kindness, hard work and creativity, to save every scrap, grow and preserve food, how to make something out of nothing. The house was filled from attic to dirt basement with old stuff. Grandma used a wood stove and wringer washer. Grandpa would show me his collection of arrowheads, gathered during the first ploughing on his quarter section. He said these points represented the people who'd come before, whom he admired for their ability to survive on the open prairies. All this was food for my imagination. 

I believed all my grandparents, pioneers on both sides, weren’t "ordinary" people, as I saw everyone else. They'd been so brave, intrepid and dedicated to a dream bigger than themselves. Offered a chance at a better life, they took a huge risk and set off into the unknown. I could only imagine what they went through. So I did. 

Time Enough was a ten-year endeavour of research, genealogy, travel and constant writing. I discovered that my grandfather, although we knew he was of Manx descent, was born in Michigan. As I learned more about where my maternal ancestors originated, both on Isle of Man and Manitoulin Island, I began to create a fictional story of immigration to Canada. The ending, however, was told to me by my grandmother when I was a child, and was my first inspiration. The heartbreaking story of leaving the homestead in the Great Depression kept me going, all those years. I wrote my way backwards, into what might have been the beginning. I believe many people, even today, can relate to losing everything, and being forced to set out on a new path, as many of our ancestors did. Learning about their courage and resilience can bring us understanding and hope. 

 

 

Website: Please go HERE.

Buy it HERE.

 

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Lise: While working on the novel, I wrote at my dining room table, very early in the morning. I journal every day, trying to catch the blue hour before sunrise, to get my writing juices flowing. For ten years, I inhabited the world I was creating from about 6:30 to 10:00, most weekdays. Coffee was always on the go, usually ending up ice cold, as I became immersed in my work. Now that the book is published, I tend to share morning coffee-time with my husband, a luxury after so many years of focussed work. A lot of time is now devoted to marketing and networking, which is an important aspect of the writing life. I continue to work on a chapbook of poetry, which I will get back to. There’s always “time enough,” I’ve come to learn.

Excerpt from Chapter One, Time Enough

(Place: Isle of Man, May, 1904: A grandmother and her daughter-in-law are sitting side-by-side on Faery Hill, presenting the daily offering to the faeries, as is customary amongst the Manx people. The grandmother, Nan, shares the secret that she has asked her son in America to rescue the family from disaster.)

“Whatever do you mean, Nan?” Her tone harkened back to fifteen years ago. Is she sinking into depression again, after all this time? Oh no. “You’re here, Nan. We’re all here. Our Henry’s learning from you; the others will too. There’s no rush. Don’t you always say there’s time enough: traa dy liooar, is it? I’ve learned that much, you all say it so often.” She attempted a laugh. Please, please let me bring her out of it, like I did before.

       Nan patted her hand. “Well done, my chree. You’ve an ear for Manx.” Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry to say, there is no more time.” Her muffled voice dropped the words into her lap. She pounded her fist against her thigh, then raised her head to meet Euphemia’s gaze. Suddenly it seemed the birds fell silent and the wind dropped to earth. Whatever can she mean? She seems angry, and sad, both.

       Nan inhaled, as if preparing to push a boat into the water. “The Little Ones had something important to say, t’other night. Terrible news, I’m afraid, my chree. Themselves said someone in the house will pass over. Soon. “Goll sheese ny liargagh: he’s going down the slope, fast.” Didn’t need them to tell me that. I know it. As do you.”

       “Know what?” A roar like crashing waves on the sea blocked her ears against Nan's shaky voice.

       “Please, we must be honest and face facts, dear one. I’ve suspected since New Year’s morn. Saw it plain as day, in he ashes from the chiollagh, which I spread on the floor, to foretell the year ahead, ye ken, according to the old ways. The faery footprints led out the door, not in. Luck has left our house.” Nan paused and looked past the cliffs, breathing harder than she had after mounting the hill.

       The ominous tone tempted Euphemia to laugh. Nan seemed to sense her doubt. “I didn’t want to believe it, either; I’ve watched for the signs and now I’m sure. William’s been poisoned, by the lead mine. We call it “the milk reek,” my chree. The sweats, the shakes, and especially the ill temper, so unlike my boy. He’s getting worse every day. Goll sheese ny liargagh.”

       Euphemia’s lips parted, but the protest caught in her throat, as if clogged with ashes from the hearth. She collapsed backward, nearly overturning the little cups. Nan lifted her head and held the cool flask to her lips.

       “Drink a bit, lass.”

       Euphemia jerked upright, grabbed the flask, and gulped. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

       “It can’t be,” she said, sputtering. As she tipped the flask back again, whispers whirled around her. “Yes, yes, it is. Yes, it is. Yes, it is.” The hair rose on her arms. Her head swam. Tears stung behind her eyes but wouldn’t fall.

       “Aye, doesn’t bear thinking about, my chree, I know. I tried to pretend, too. I’ve seen you do the same, seen the worry at you, when William coughs, or shouts at the boys. It’s not him. It’s the sickness, my chree. Oh God, the loss of another son to those damned mines.” She hit her thighs, as if hurting herself could ease her pain. Euphemia recognized that impulse. “So many families torn apart. So many wid—” A sob completed the awful word.

       True. Eva, Mary, Amy, others whose names she didn’t know, gone away, forced to find work in English factories after their husbands’ passing, their children left with kinfolk, or orphaned. If anything happens to William, could I leave my five youngsters, least of all my newborn babe? To be raised by their grandparents, who mightn’t live long enough to see them grown? Now tears and milk spilled freely. My milk will be spoiled tonight, curdled. Hugh will get the colic and not sleep….

       “Shh. There, there, I’ve a solution.” Nan’s voice brightened as she expelled one word: “Thomas.” Euphemia thought she detected a note of excitement, where usually Nan sounded disappointed, even angry, when mentioning her youngest surviving son…

       “And now, why, the mine’s killing my William. Well, not if Themselves and I can help it.” Her voice retrieved its headstrong tone. “Thomas brought me a daughter, and you’ve given us grandchildren. He’ll do his duty again, you’ll see. I’m awaiting his answer.”

       “No, no, please, Nan—” The last thing she wanted was Thomas to return. Well, there could be one worse thing. She fell back on the ground, damp seeping into her clothes. She yanked at the grass with clenched fists.

       “Come, lass, the dew’s falling. You’ll catch your death. We’d best get back or they’ll think we’ve been fetched away. Not a word to William, mind. I’m prepared for a battle with him. Quick, there’s the first star. Help me up,” she said, patting Euphemia’s knees.                             

       “We mustn’t be caught here after sunset or the Red Caps will take us, sure. The way down is much easier. I can almost run, like a young girl. Ah, was, was,” Nan expressed her customary wistfulness for times past. “Here’s the basket, my chree. Let’s see who gets home first.”

Five Star Review.

Buy it HERE.

 

Lise: Thank you for taking the time to visit and read about my new novel.

I hope you’ll leave a comment below. We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with S.D. Miller of Nova Scotia, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome another newcomer to the Scribbler.

 

 

Scott’s stories are sure to please. He was introduced to the Scribbler by one of our popular guests and we are happy to have him join us this week.

Read on my friends.

 

S.D. Miller is an author and educator from Nova Scotia, Canada. His non-fiction writing has been featured in EdSurge and his debut novel, Nekonikon Punk: Ctrl Break garnered critical acclaim, winning Best Sci/fi Action Adventure of 2024 from Indies Today. His stories balance action and social commentary inviting readers to explore technology, power, and resistance.

 

Title: Nekonikon Punk Trilogy

Synopsis:

Nekonikon Punk is a near-future science fiction series where corporations formed townships that ended up seceding from the USA, establishing their own city-states along the Pacific coast. When originally forming the townships, people were promised jobs, comfortable homes, and a good quality of life, so they flocked there in response to the cost-of-living crisis. However, after a war called The Great Secession, these city-states became increasingly authoritarian as they competed with each other, and within their own territories, for ever more power. Nekonikon is one such city-state.



The story picks up long after the war is over and Nekonikon is established. The main character is a young guard-in-training named Juan who wants nothing more than to protect what he holds dear. As graduation nears he is exposed more and more to the corruption of his home and finds himself sympathizing with the oppressed, especially a rebel punk band known as Corpslayer.



From there we launch into a fast-paced adventure, following a colourful cast of characters with competing philosophies on morality, power, and personhood.

The Story Behind the Story:

Anger and frustration at our current world order.

Ha ha, it’s true! I find it frustrating to see how the middle class has dissolved over the past 40 years, and there is an ever-increasing wealth gap between the haves and have-nots. I’m not against people being wealthy, but there is no excuse for a person to have more money than their grandchildren could ever spend existing in the same world where children die every day of malnutrition. Of course this has always been the case to a degree, but with the post-COVID cost-of-living crisis we are facing worse conditions than any time in my memory. Canadians are carrying more personal debt than ever before just trying to make ends meet and food banks across the country are struggling to keep up with demand.  This is heading nowhere good.

As an educator, I worry about young people and wonder what their futures will look like. And, when I’m honest with myself, I don’t see things getting better for them. How will they ever afford a home? What will the climate be like? Who will pay for their social assistance when they are older?

The more I think about it, the more my scenario of corporations sweeping in and creating old-fashioned townships seems inevitable. It’s not hard to imagine some tech bros deciding that they know better how to run a society than elected governments. So, they invest their money (which is more than some nations have) and establish their own working towns, providing people with homes and jobs. Then slowly, as costs rise, they creep back the benefits ever more or require more of your personal information in order to continue living there. They would eventually tire of paying taxes to state and national governments who they see as doing nothing but interfering with their prosperity. A secession movement also seems likely, and it would be supported by their loyal denizens.

Power corrupts and eventually these places would morph into authoritarian states. Once I had this history in my head, I decided it would be a great jumping off point to create a narrative about resistance and the importance of freedom and self-determination.

I chose cyberpunk as a genre because it hit a number of themes I wanted to explore. For example, one of the main characters is an aboriginal woman calling herself Penny Fame. For her, the battle didn’t begin with the Great Secession, it began with the colonial settlers taking her people’s land in the 1850s in the Rogue River Wars. She refuses to acknowledge Nekonikon as a legitimate state and refers to it as the original pronunciation Necanicum. The idea of history echoing itself is one of the themes and we can see through Penny how colonial patterns are not all that different from capitalist patterns.

The Nekonikon Punk series needs to be three books because ultimately I have a hopeful message I want to convey. But to get there, I need to take the reader through the dystopian realities of such a system in order to arrive at what I think is an optimistic vision of the future. Books one and two are finished, and I hope to have the third book finished by next spring. I also have plans to write a prequel called “The Great Secession” once the trilogy is complete.

Website: Please go HERE.

Scribbler: 

Where is your favourite spot to write? – At my desk in the basement. No one bothers me except my cat, and it allows for long periods of focus once I’m in the zone.

Are you messy or neat?- Very neat.

Your beverage of choice?- black coffee in the AM, water in the afternoon, Forty Creek whiskey for the nights.




An Excerpt from Nekonikon Punk: Ctrl+Break: A conversation between Penny and Juan:

“So why bother? You told me sometimes you don’t even do it for payment.”

Looking down at her drink, Penny gave a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, Mela hates it when we do that.” She finished her Tecumtum’s Revenge in a gulp. Nodding to his empty glass, “Another?”

“One more…if you answer my question.”

She was silent for a few seconds, then pointed to her RRW tattoo. “You know what this stands for? Rogue River Warrior. You know what that is?

“Ahh, no. I can’t say I do.” Something about her tone made his chest tighten.

She stood, walked to the other side of the bar, and started fixing the drinks, “It’s where my people are from, south of here. Many generations ago, the Americans spread further and further west, eventually settling all around these parts.” She paused, staring blankly into the glass. “When they found gold in the mountains, they decided it was worth more than my ancestors.”

“What happened?” His chest was tighter.

“What always happens.” She slid him his drink and cupped her own in her hands looking down at it as she spoke. “My people fought, held out in the mountains for quite some time, but the industrial machines of colonialism wore them down. The earth went bad.”

She looked up from her glass, “Do you know that I can’t even tell you exactly which people were my ancestors? Too many groups were moved together to an area further north. The people jumbled together, over the years we lost our land, our languages…” she met his eyes, “…our history.”

“Penny, I…” She had struck a chord deep within his chest. He didn’t have the words.

“I know. It’s OK, we’re good.” She sat next to him and patted his leg. “If we weren’t good, I wouldn’t bother telling you this.” She looked him in the eye and smiled before looking back down at her glass. “You asked why we bother. Because it’s the same today. The Americans displaced my people, moved us to a region useless to them. Then when they wanted that land, they moved us again and again, further north.” Anger rose in her voice. “Eventually they stopped, but only because the megacorps wanted the land.” She looked at Juan, this time with steel in her eyes, “Necanicum was my home first…” She pointed to her RRW tattoo, “…and I’ll be damned if they move me without a fight.”

Juan nodded. He reflected on one of Wagner’s lessons, “The state monopoly on violence.”

Penny’s interest piqued, “You’ve read Weber?”

Confused, Juan shook his head, “Who? No, just what you said made me think about one of Wagner’s lessons. That the state’s monopoly on violence was the greatest modern invention.”

“You might be surprised, but I don’t entirely disagree.” Her demeanor changed, she was lively and engaged. “A legitimate state should have a monopoly on violence. It gets us away from family blood feuds, revenge killings, all that kind of stuff.”

“Never thought I’d get you to agree with Wagner.”

“I agree with Weber, who actually created that argument. Not Wagner who uses it for propaganda.” She sipped and took Juan’s silence as an invitation to elaborate. “Nekonikon is not a legitimate state. The Five are essentially figureheads controlled by dictatorial megacorps. They exist to hold us down– you included– for their own benefit. All the while, they hand out scraps and feed lies to their faithful. Those of us who aren’t loyal end up here in the Row. And I don’t need to tell you how their guards treat us down here, do I?”

Juan’s face flushed with shame. He had seen it with his own eyes. Participated in it with his own fists.

Noting his reaction, Penny gave him some time to think before continuing, “You ever hear of the veil of ignorance?”

“Ahem, ah nope. I don’t think so.”

“It’s a thought experiment. One that helps a person envision an ideal society. It asks you to think of a world in which you would want to live. But there’s a catch. You have to envision the society with ignorance as to what role you will have in that world. Maybe you will be a CEO, maybe a prisoner in a jail, maybe a guard in the security force, or maybe even a punk rocker. With that veil of ignorance, would you create Nekonikon or something different?”

Juan didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They sat in silence as they finished their drinks.

After some time, Penny patted his leg again, “You should sleep here. Tred and Kara will have their patterns ready in the morning and then we can continue our training. The couch in the green room is all yours.”

“Thanks Penny.” He remained seated as she stood up and made her way to the back rooms, halting halfway when he called out, “Penny?”

Looking over her shoulder, “Yeah Juan?”

“Umm, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She nodded to herself. “I know. I see you.”

His eyes welled up, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Juan.”

Buy it HERE.

Thank you for sharing that intriguing excerpt and for being our guest. We wish you the best of luck and success with your writing.

And another BIG thank you to all our visitors and readers.

The Story behind the Story with Author Eve Koguce of Latvia, Europe.

 

Let’s welcome Eve back to the Scribbler!

 

I’ve had the chance to read Eve’s work and she is a talented author with captivating stories.

She’s been featured here before and if you missed her visit, please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

I’ve been blessed to be born in the best place on the planet. My hometown, Jurmala in Latvia, is a seaside town on the coast of the Baltic Sea with an endless sandy beach. Riga, the capital of Latvia, is a city rich with history and extraordinary architecture. Riga has the largest number of splendid Art Nouveau buildings in the world. After quitting my relatively successful career as a civil servant in a vibrant field of internationally funded cooperation projects, I dedicated my life to my family and writing. Since then, as an independently published author, I’ve published six books: a high-concept fantasy trilogy, two novels set in Latvia (crime noir and coming-of-age), as well as a women’s fiction book set in the United Kingdom.

 

Title: “Broken Chances”

Synopsis:

A young wife. A much older husband. Is it only the age gap that threatens to ruin their marriage?

When Margo marries Michael, she believes that her life will change forever. And it really does, only not in the way a young girl from a small country in Northern Europe thought it would.

Latvia, a dreamy land with rich historical heritage and endless beaches stretching for miles, for Margo, is a gloomy place where she would have to struggle for years to have a decent life. All she knows is her hometown – a depressing place built for the needs of the factory workers – dull commuting to the capital Riga, and a bar in the Old Town where she works, always full of loud and often unceremonious tourists.

Skipping a chance to explore her home country and the opportunities it might offer, Margo accepts Michael’s proposal and moves to a dramatically picturesque island in England.

A small, tightly-knit community, where everyone knows everyone and where nothing ever happens, is not particularly welcoming to a newcomer. Unfamiliar with local traditions and quirks, Margo often finds herself in awkward situations. Still, with each walk she takes along the coastal path on the small island she now calls home, Margo falls deeper in love with the stunning landscapes of the Jurassic Coast in Dorset. Alas, with each day she spends with Michael, she realises more clearly that her marriage is falling apart.

Margo keeps asking herself why what she thought was a chance of a lifetime turned into a disaster. Will she find the answer? And will she love again after having been bitterly disappointed in marriage and relationships?

Set against the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes of the Jurassic Coast in Dorset, England, “Broken Chances” is a self-discovery journey with a dash of cosy mystery and clean romance.

P.S. Expect to be smitten by charming dogs and majestic horses.

Literary awards:

* Finalist award in the Pacific Book Awards contest 2025 / Best Women’s Fiction category;
* 3rd place winner in the DBT Literary Awards contest 2024 / Fiction category;
* Finalist award in the Global Book Awards 2024 / Contemporary Fiction category.

The Story Behind the Story:

“Broken Chances” is set in beautiful Dorset in the United Kingdom, on the fictional island of Southbay. I’ve chosen this setting for a reason. I spent a couple of years living in the region, and, like Margo does in the book, fell in love with the Isle of Portland, where my office was located and the magnificent Jurassic Coast.

During the time I lived in the UK, my lack of knowledge of local customs got me into some awkward situations. So, writing “Broken Chances” was a great chance to share these funny stories. When you read an episode where Margo has no idea she is walking straight into the trap by saying the most innocent thing, please know that it was actually I who had to blush and feel like an ignorant foreigner.

I met many wonderful people while living in Dorset. Before moving there, I’d heard that people in Western countries generally keep to their own business and do not show much interest in other people’s lives. Instead, I found kindness, support, and a genuine wish to get to know me despite the cultural differences. People were open and did not hesitate to help me, even when I did not ask for it. I wanted to share this experience through a book, and that is why you will meet a bunch of secondary characters in “Broken Chances” who play a significant role in Margo’s life.

“Broken Chances” is a story about a woman struggling in a marriage that turns out not the way she thought it would be when accepting a man’s proposal. In books and movies, we are usually presented with an exaggerated version of such situations. I wanted to show that domestic violence isn’t always about broken bones and apparent bruises. In real life, we often don’t see any visible marks on the people who suffer from mistreatment by their family members. It is also because those with oppressive personalities aren’t always prone to use physical cruelty. A lot of people who ‘feed’ on diminishing others and making them feel inferior, prefer more subtle methods, such as emotional pressure, which, stripping the victims of self-respect and confidence in their abilities, tie them to the aggressor.

Through “Broken Chances”, I have shared my admiration for the unique part of the world, the memories of which I still cherish, even after the two decades that have passed since the days when I called beautiful Dorset my home.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Eve:

Scribbler: Where do you draw creative energy from?

Eve: For as long as I can remember myself, stories written on the pages fascinated me. I loved listening to my parents read to me before bedtime. I loved nothing better than reading a book after school and before I had to leave for the music school. Spending time with fictional characters – the ones created by others and of my own imagination – always held more allure to me than running about with my friends. So, I’d say that generating creative energy is a natural part of who I am. Still, any energy needs a source of nourishment and replenishment. It really is motivating that my husband and my son are my greatest supporters. Some days, I can be grumpy and distracted, and it is enough for them if I say, ‘My characters won’t stop talking, so, sorry guys, I have to listen to them and not to you today.’ They don’t tell me that I must always put them first and write only when they don’t need me, in the wee hours of the morning or after everyone is asleep.

I always feel refreshed and ready to continue writing the story I work on at the moment after a long walk along the beach or in the forest. I am lucky to have both literally on my doorstep.

An Excerpt from “Broken Chances”

During our meetings before we got married, even the look in his grey eyes was different. He looked at me with warmth and treated everyone, including waiters in the restaurants he took me to, with a fatherly kindness. Benevolence and content emanated from him. Now I know that the things that drew me to him weren’t his natural traits. They came in a package with the king of the world role. After he lost it, I found myself married to the man who Michael Birkett actually was underneath those layers of gloss. A man whom I wouldn’t have married, or followed thousands of miles from everything I knew and loved, if I’d seen the truth of him before I’d said yes.

I stare at Michael as he’s changing into his casual clothes. It is difficult to gather the courage to ask him even the simplest question. I’ve learned what usually triggers him into snapping at me. Still, I’m not sure I’ve discovered all the ways to displease him.

“Should I change into jeans then?” I finally ask, touching my dress. I stopped wearing dresses after Suzie asked me if it was my birthday when I came to her café dressed in a jeans skirt. The dress I put on for the funeral today is a simple black sheath midi affair that I bought on sale in Topshop in Eastpoole. It cost ten pounds but looks like it belongs on a catwalk. It’s not too form-fitting, and I feel confident in it.

My husband gives me a fleeting glance. I haven’t heard a compliment from him since our wedding. “No, leave it on. George is used to the women around him looking like Moulin Rouge dancers.”

I almost dash to the wardrobe, but then we hear the car horn. “Let’s go.” Michael leaves the room, having not cast a look my way.

Buy it HERE.

This story sounds like one I need to have a look at.

Thanks for being our guest this week, Eve. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a special thank you to all our visitors and readers.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Erika LeClair of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

A new author for you to discover.

I met Erika at the recent GMRD Book Fair last Spring where she was an eager participant.

She has kindly accepted my invitation to be our guest this week.

Her novel has received rave reviews and she’s going to tell us about it.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

Erika LeClair is a dystopian science fiction author and editor from Fredericton, New Brunswick, where she lives with her husband and cat. When she isn’t working on her next book, Erika often spends her time reading horror, science fiction, and fantasy. Her debut novel, The Quarantine Drift, was released in 2022, with a sequel on the way.

 

Title: The Quarantine Drift

Synopsis:
Sixteen years ago, an alien ship crashed into Carina Linderoth’s home.
Sixteen years ago, she saw her twin sister for the last time.
Since that night, Carina has spent every waking moment searching for answers. What happened to her sister? Why did the aliens take Sonja and not her? And why do people keep telling her she never had a twin sister—that Sonja isn’t real?
Now, sixteen years later, Carina is approached by a mysterious genetic research company. They want her to work on a top-secret project, genetically engineering the human race with Eluridan—alien—DNA.
For any geneticist, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.
For Carina, it’s something more.
This is her chance to return to Mount Desert Island, the scene of the crash, home to the stranded aliens. Back to the place where this all began. This is her chance to finally learn what happened to her sister.
If Sonja ever existed.

The Story Behind the Story:

When I first had the idea for The Quarantine Drift, I was studying biology at UNB and drawing a ton of inspiration from my classes. Everything was so interesting, and I couldn’t help thinking of ways I could use what I was learning in a story. In my third year, I latched on to an idea I felt good about. I knew I wanted a dystopian setting, something dark and spooky and gory and set here on Earth, but with a more flexible, imaginative element—like aliens—that I could have fun with. Studying environmental sciences can give you a bit of a bleak outlook on the future, so that naturally wormed its way into the premise in the form of a global water crisis. I’m also a sucker for characters with heaps of emotional baggage (sorry, Carina), so that was an inevitability. That was also the year I joined my first writing group, which changed everything. Sharing my work and exchanging feedback with other writers finally broke my cycle of starting projects and not knowing how to finish them. It also gave me the perspective I needed to really study my writing and understand how I could improve. I eventually graduated and started working in laboratories, and those experiences gave me even more ideas I could use. Between the constant stream of scientific inspiration and my fellow writers pushing me to improve, the story kept transforming, and that was exciting as hell. I eventually left lab work to pursue writing and editing full-time, but this book feels a bit like a time capsule of those seven years of my life.

Website: Please go HERE.

Buy it HERE.

A question before you go, Erika:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Erika: My favorite spot to write: I have an office lined with bookshelves, a big desk, and a window with a view of the trees outside. At every opportunity, I have the window wide open to let in the breeze and listen to the birds chirping. It’s a great setup, but I sometimes get restless, so when the weather is nice, my favorite spot is outside on my balcony with my laptop. The fresh air and lack of distractions from my cat (who is almost always pawing at the glass, demanding I come back inside) make for the perfect writing environment. It’s also nice to get a bit of sun and feel like I’m sort of outside, since working from home means I don’t leave the house as much as I probably should.

My beverage of choice: My fun answer is an iced chai latte with oat milk, with a little sprinkle of cinnamon on top. My honest answer is water—no ice, no flavoring (I know, I know, I’m a monster, but at least I’m a hydrated one).



An Excerpt from The Quarantine Drift

“To start, I’d like to discuss your doctoral thesis.” Dr. Sarian leaned back in her seat comfortably and tented her hands. “I’ve read it twice, and I have to say that your vision for the future of genetics is exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Future?” Carina had to laugh. “I work in a government-run medicinal genetics laboratory. Not much hope for the future there.”

“True. A waste of your talents and a far cry from the content of your doctorate. Your focus was on the use of gene therapy to enhance human tolerance to changing environmental conditions.”

“Yes, but—”

“The climate continues to change, Dr. Linderoth. Humanity has struggled for decades to overcome increasingly uninhabitable conditions. In the last fifty years, over four billion people have died globally of illnesses related to a simple lack of water. The time for tinkering with medicinal therapies is long past.”

She’d waited years to hear another scientist utter those words. “If the government stopped restricting our research, we could solve the water crisis within the decade, without making changes to the environment.”

Dr. Sarian smiled. “I won’t dance around it. Genidex conducts genetic research—among other fields of study—not unlike what you’ve mentioned. In fact, we’ve already taken your idea quite a few steps further.” She smirked, her eyes searching Carina’s expression.

“What do you mean, further?”

“We’ve been working on the exact avenue of research you’ve been proposing for the last seven years. We’ve begun genetically engineering human DNA with that of other organisms. The organism we have in mind, however, is more advanced than anything you’ve proposed. What we aim to recombine with human DNA…” Dr. Sarian’s eyes flashed, and she grinned. “…is Eluridan.”

 

Buy it HERE.

 

Thanks for sharing an excerpt with our readers, a real teaser.

Your story sounds intriguing and I’m anxious to know how it goes.

Thanks for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with your writing.

 

 

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