Author Interview & Book Giveaway: Katy Towell on CHARLIE AND THE GRANDMOTHERS

This week, we're pleased to welcome author KATY TOWELL with her latest middle-grade novel, CHARLIE AND THE GRANDMOTHERS, set in turn of the century Victorian England. The author will offer one free copy of the novel to a lucky visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's author interview. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Charlie and Georgie Oughtt have been sent to visit their grandmother Pearl, and this troubles Charlie for three reasons. The first is that he's an exceptionally nervous twelve-year-old boy, and he worries about everything. The second is that the other children in his neighborhood who pay visits to their grandmothers never seem to return. And the third is that Charlie and Georgie don't have any grandmothers. It turns out a visit to grandmother’s house has never been so frightening…

**Q&A with Katy Towell**

What was your inspiration for Charlie and the Grandmothers?

I love writing for the underdog. My first book--Skary Children and the Carousel of Sorrow--was about outcasts and their struggles with both supernatural evil and basic schoolyard bullies. This time I wanted to focus on kids who know anxiety and trauma. I was one of those overly anxious kids, and I saw close friends deal with devastating life experiences. We didn't really have any storybook heroes with whom we could identify. Most children's book protagonists are fearless despite everything being thrown at them, which is a nice ideal, but you can't possibly live up to it! Charlie and the Grandmothers is for kids like us. 

Why do you think it's good for kids to confront their fears?

Avoiding your fears just gives more power to what scares you, and avoidance leaves you unprepared when you have no choice but to deal with a frightening situation. Life is full of those situations, and they aren't always negative. Love can be scary, too--what if something happens to your loved ones?--but life would be incredibly sad without it. If you don't confront your fears, you could also missing out on something great!

What was the process of creating the illustrations for your book?

I'm inspired by the incredibly detailed and slightly unsettling work of late 19th/early 20th century illustrators like Harry Clarke, Aubrey Beardsley, and Kay Nielsen. Since Grandmothers is set   in the very early 1900s, I wanted to bring some of that aesthetic into the art while making it accessible for a younger audience. I probably did at least 2 or 3 complete versions of every single illustration before calling any one of them "done." I always sketch a rough version of everything, then I use a light box to trace the good parts from my rough sketches for the real thing, and then it's several hours of inking per drawing. And if I'm not happy with the final result, that means starting all over again. My fingers were stained black for days after finishing Charlie and the Grandmothers.

What do you want readers to take away from your book?

First and foremost, I want them to have fun reading it. That's the most important thing, and even fear can be fun. But I also want them to learn that there's nothing wrong with them for being scared or depressed sometimes. It doesn't make them any less capable of being a hero than those seemingly unflappable kids in other stories.

What was your biggest challenge in writing the book?

Finding a way to show Charlie's frazzled nerves and the history behind his nervous disposition while keeping the story fun and exciting was a small mountain to climb, so I'm thankful to my editor, Erin Clarke, for helping to direct me down the right path there. 

What's your favorite scary book?

I love so many! But I think Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes will always be my #1. 

About the Author

Katy Towell is the creator of the Childrin R Skary website and animated shorts ("The Mockingbird Song," "Ida's Luck," "The Little Girl Who Was Forgotten By Absolutely Everyone (Even The Postman)"). She is also a graphic designer, writer, and illustrator in Portland with dreams of one day being the scary old lady in the house about which all the neighborhood children tell ghost stories.

Connect with Katy at:
Website: scary.com  

Facebook: facebook.com/childrinskary  

Twitter: @katytowell   

Tumblr: katytowell.tumblr.com  

YouTube: youtube.com/katytowell

Excerpt Thursday: CHARLIE AND THE GRANDMOTHERS by Katy Towell

This week, we're pleased to welcome author KATY TOWELL with her latest middle-grade novel, CHARLIE AND THE GRANDMOTHERS, set in turn of the century Victorian England. The author will offer one free copy of the novel to a lucky visitor.  Be sure to leave your email address in the comments of today's post  or Sunday's author interview. Winner(s) are contacted privately by email. Here's the blurb.

Charlie and Georgie Oughtt have been sent to visit their grandmother Pearl, and this troubles Charlie for three reasons. The first is that he's an exceptionally nervous twelve-year-old boy, and he worries about everything. The second is that the other children in his neighborhood who pay visits to their grandmothers never seem to return. And the third is that Charlie and Georgie don't have any grandmothers. It turns out a visit to grandmother’s house has never been so frightening…

**An Excerpt from Charlie and the Grandmothers**

February came, and a colder, darker February Charlie could not recall. He already loathed the month as it was. His worst dreams plagued him relentlessly on the snowy nights of February. And now the sun had begun to set as early as noon while the snow fell so heavily that one had to bat the stuff out of the way in order to see where one was going. As usual, nobody found this as alarming as Charlie.

“The days are always shorter in winter,” reasoned Mother.

“All this gorgeous snow and not one friend around to throw a ball of it at,” Georgie harrumphed.

Charlie shook his head impatiently after the umpteenth round of this and swore to himself he’d give up while wondering why he bothered at all. But he knew very well why he bothered. He bothered because he believed in every one of his bones that some evil lurked in those snowy black nights, and if he closed his eyes too long, it would come in and snatch away all that he loved. In truth, he had always felt so, but everyone told him not to let his imagination run away with him. Now that the night came so unnaturally early, and what with all the kids he knew drifting away, Charlie couldn’t be satisfied that all his years of fearful expectation were the product of his nervous fancy.

So, night after night he waited, hunched over his favorite encyclopedia volume with a candle and a mug of hot black coffee to keep him awake. Morning after morning, Mother would find him shivering under his blankets and would have to promise him that whatever threat he had perceived was now long gone with the morning sun.

But then came the darkest night of them all.

It was a distinct and almost tangible darkness that made the hair stand up on Charlie’s neck. It jolted him from his reading and compelled him to peek through his curtains where he saw, to his great alarm, nothing. No street lamps, no wandering beam from the distant lighthouse. The moon had turned black, and while he watched, the very stars went out. Soon after, the noise he usually took for granted long into the night was silenced all at once. No carts rolling on cobblestones, no chatter from late shift dock workers, no sea gulls screeching. It was as if some great awful being were cupping its hands over the world to snuff it out. Then Charlie’s lamp sputtered and died, leaving him in blackness with a thundering heart.

What if it’s me? he thought. What if I’ve gotten myself so frightened that all my senses are short-circuiting? Maybe everything is completely fine out there, and I’ve just gone deaf and blind. Oh dear. That isn’t any better at all!

Charlie’s senses were not on the fritz, it turned out, a fact soon proven when he heard the sound of voices coming from his mother’s room next door. Charlie slipped out of bed and, after stumbling about in the darkness, found the wall and pressed his ear to it.

“Yes,” he heard Mother murmur. “That… would be… lovely. Pearl. I… always… loved… that farm… of pearls…”

Farm of pearls? She must be dreaming, Charlie thought. But then he heard a sound that made his breath catch in his throat. It was another voice. A strange, whispering voice only just audible to the sort of person who makes a practice of listening for strange voices.

“See the world, the worldy worldy world,” it hissed in a childish way.

“They should… experience… the world. Shouldn’t… keep them here... all the… time…” Mother yawned.

 “Sleep now. Sleepy sleepy sleep!”

“I… have been… so very tired…”

“Happy! So happy! No need for kiddies!”

Charlie ran to the curtain that divided his half of the room from his sister’s, slipping on the rug in the process. He scrambled to his feet again, ignoring the pain in his undoubtedly bruised knee and hissed, “Georgie! Georgie, wake up! Someone’s in Mother’s room!”

He fumbled for the curtain and pulled it back. In the darkness so absolute, he couldn’t see his sister, but there was no mistaking her snoring. Georgie could have slept through a hurricane, and trying to wake her up always proved a waste of time. But there wasn’t any time to waste, and Charlie knew he couldn’t bury himself in his blankets now.

“Mother!” he shouted, and after much clattering and stumbling and knocking over of things, he made his way to their mother’s room and threw open her door.

When he looked inside, however, he saw no one in the room but Mother. The terrible darkness had lifted. All was illuminated by the hazy glow of the moon now. Through the sheer curtains on Mother’s window, the street lamps kept their usual watch. It seemed then as if all Charlie witnessed before had happened days ago, his memory of it disintegrating like the horror of nightmares by morning.

“Charlie?” Mother mumbled groggily, half sitting. “What’s going on? Are you all right? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Charlie said, feeling like a fool. “It was just a bad dream.”

Nevertheless, when Charlie returned to his own room, he peeked out his window once more, just to be sure. He saw a policeman idly pacing the boardwalk. A seagull was decimating a crab. A stray cat perched atop a barrel and cleaned its paws. All under the flames of street lamps that dotted the night’s fog like ghost lights. Everything was as it should be.

And yet something caught Charlie’s eye. Standing but a few yards from the apartment house was a very old woman in a dusty, tattered dress, her shaggy hair draping her hunched shoulders. She leaned on a wooden cart full of junk and was accompanied on either side by a pair of what Charlie supposed were small children, though their clothes and hats were so oversized that he couldn’t see their faces. They could’ve been trained monkeys for all he knew.

Charlie was still puzzling over this when he noticed that the old woman was staring right at him. There could be no mistake about it. Their eyes met, and she grinned, showing teeth as gray as her hair. Charlie gasped and pulled his curtains closed.

It’s just some old rag-and-bone woman, he told himself. Isn’t there anything in the world I’m not afraid of?

About the Author

Katy Towell is the creator of the Childrin R Skary website and animated shorts ("The Mockingbird Song," "Ida's Luck," "The Little Girl Who Was Forgotten By Absolutely Everyone (Even The Postman)"). She is also a graphic designer, writer, and illustrator in Portland with dreams of one day being the scary old lady in the house about which all the neighborhood children tell ghost stories.

Connect with Katy at:
Website: scary.com  

Facebook: facebook.com/childrinskary  

Twitter: @katytowell   

Tumblr: katytowell.tumblr.com  

YouTube: youtube.com/katytowell

Guest Author: Erica Ridley

This week we're welcoming Kensington author Erica Ridley as she celebrates the release of debut novel, TOO WICKED TO KISS. Although set in Regency England, TOO WICKED TO KISS has a tasty kick of Gothic suspense to set pulses racing. Look below for details on how to win a signed copy.

His Touch Holds Her Captive...

From the ravens circling its spires to the gargoyles adorning its roof, Blackberry Manor looms ominously over its rambling grounds. And behind its doors, amid the flickering shadows and secret passageways, danger lies in wait...

To His Every Dark Desire...

Evangeline Pemberton has been invited to a party at the sprawling estate of reclusive Gavin Lioncroft, who is rumored to have murdered his parents. Initially, Gavin's towering presence and brusque manner instill fear in Evangeline...until his rakish features and seductive attentions profoundly arouse her.

But when a guest is murdered, Evangeline is torn. Could the man to whom she is so powerfully drawn, also be a ruthless killer?

***

"Snappy dialogue, passionate scenes and a dead body move the story along at a swift pace. If this debut is a sign of books to come, then I hope Ridley has a prolific career. This one is a gem!" ~ Romance Junkies

"TOO WICKED TO KISS is one of those delicious gothic-style historical romances that will have you turning pages as quickly as you can." ~ Enduring Romance

"For anyone who is looking for a great mystery and poignant love story, this is a story not to be missed." ~ Smokin' Hot Books

"TOO WICKED TO KISS is a captivating page-turner that tests one's puzzle solving skills while tapping into a whole gamut of emotions. Super love story and so much more!" ~ Long and Short Romance Reviews

***

What's so unusual about Evangeline Pemberton?

Evangeline is cursed with a psychic "gift" she can't turn off: visions of other people's memories overwhelm her every time she has skin-to-skin contact, which come accompanied by vicious migraine headaches. Or worse. She grew up without basic experiences most of us take for granted--playing with children, dancing, a hug when we need it most. Instead, more than one opportunist seeks to use her for their own gain. This is a woman who aches to reach out... and almost literally cannot.

What's so unusual about Gavin Lioncroft?

There are those who say Lioncroft has killed before, and would cheerfully do so again. (Lioncroft himself has been overheard uttering this very statement.) Unfortunately for him, the one person he'd most like to help to an early grave gets murdered before Gavin has an opportunity to do the honors--and he finds himself the obvious suspect. He must earn the trust of the one person who trusts no one, lest he find himself hanging for murder.

Have you ever been somewhere like Blackberry Manor?

Yes, in the sense that I drew heavily on my experiences and impressions of various Gothic castles and churches I'd visited. And no, in the sense that my imagination took the skeleton of an idea and ran with it. If Blackberry Manor really did exist, I would love to visit. Particularly if there were a chance of meeting a man like Gavin!

Did you get some special news this week?

Why yes, yes I did. I'm delighted and honored to discover that Too Wicked To Kiss is a March book club pick for Barnes and Noble! I'll be hanging out at the book club forums all month, so please stop by! The link is here.

That's fabulous! And you're giving away a copy to a commenter?

Absolutely. If you'd like to win an autographed copy of TOO WICKED TO KISS, just click here to get your very own Madlibs-style psychic vision, then paste the result in the comments.

***

Thanks for stopping by, Erica!

Erica will be around all week to answer questions and giggle with you over your do-it-yourself psychic visions, so please comment! I'll draw the random winner next Sunday. Void where prohibited. Best of luck!

Excerpt Thursday: Erica Ridley

This week on Excerpt Thursday we're welcoming Kensington author Erica Ridley as she celebrates the release of debut novel, TOO WICKED TO KISS. Although set in Regency England, TOO WICKED TO KISS has a tasty kick of Gothic suspense to set pulses racing. Join us Sunday when Erica will be here to answer questions and give away a signed copy. Don't miss it!

His Touch Holds Her Captive...

From the ravens circling its spires to the gargoyles adorning its roof, Blackberry Manor looms ominously over its rambling grounds. And behind its doors, amid the flickering shadows and secret passageways, danger lies in wait...

To His Every Dark Desire...

Evangeline Pemberton has been invited to a party at the sprawling estate of reclusive Gavin Lioncroft, who is rumored to have murdered his parents. Initially, Gavin's towering presence and brusque manner instill fear in Evangeline...until his rakish features and seductive attentions profoundly arouse her.

But when a guest is murdered, Evangeline is torn. Could the man to whom she is so powerfully drawn, also be a ruthless killer?

***

As the heavy iron doors closed behind her with ominous finality, Evangeline Pemberton came to a dead stop inside the entryway to Blackberry Manor.

Despite the tall arched ceiling with its bowed wooden beams curving at the creases like so many rib bones, the air was thick, heavy, oppressive, as if she had not stepped into the foyer of an aristocrat's mansion, but a long forgotten sepulcher untouched by anything but death.

At Lady Stanton's unveiled glare, Evangeline forced her feet further into the echoing anteroom. The cold marble floor spreading from her battered boots to the edges of every wall might have been ivory or alabaster or cream in color, had there been more light than the occasional flickering sconce. Instead, the murky pattern was a foggy, swirling gray, as though a thundercloud had hardened beneath her feet.

Were there no windows? Evangeline craned her neck to peer upward, just beneath the rafters. Ah, yes. Several. But not the kind to let in light.

The narrow slashes high above her head were the sort suited for medieval castles, for skilled archers to aim their deadly arrows at those who would trespass below, not for illuminating entryways for members of Polite Society. This evening, no archers crouched at the ready, just as no sun hung in the sky. Only the slipperiest, blackest of shadows filtered through the thin cracks to fall upon her upturned face like the cool caress of ghostly hands. The wisps of damp hair on Evangeline's neck fluttered nervously, touched by a breeze she could not feel.

Lady Stanton, for her part, was momentarily nonplused. Gone was the calculating gleam to her eyes, replaced by...not fear, precisely. Wariness. Miss Susan Stanton stood in the very center of the room, perhaps determined not to edge too near to the shadows seeping from the corners.

Whispers came from an adjacent hallway, then footfalls, followed by a beautiful blond lady, four spindly-limbed footmen, and three cowering maids.

The lady did not look at home in the mansion, despite her fancy dress. She looked frightened. After a jerking peek over her shoulder at the vacant marble staircase curving up from the anteroom's furthest shadows, she hurried into the foyer to greet them.

"That's Lioncroft's estranged sister," Miss Stanton whispered to Evangeline. "The countess."

The other two ladies beckoned to Miss Stanton, then began to murmur amongst themselves. Evangeline did not join them. A sudden chill descended upon the room and her every sense tingled with danger.

Impossibly, she felt him before she saw him.

Although she seemed to be the only one affected thus, she didn't doubt the prickling sensitivity along her bare neck for a single moment. While the three ladies conversed quietly, gesturing now and again at a maid or a footman, Evangeline lifted her gaze upward once more.

And there he was.

He stood at the landing above the spiral stair, cloaked in shadow. Tall. Unnaturally so. Was it the angle, the skewed perspective of being so far beneath him? Or was his towering stature undeniable, evident in the width of his shoulders, the muscular length of his legs, the long pale fingers curved around the banister?

The shadows made discerning features difficult. Evangeline could not tell if he were truly as savage as he appeared, or if a trick of the light--or lack thereof--caused the slatted darkness to undulate across his form. Almost without realizing it, she began to back away.

He continued down the spiral stairway, silent, sure, the leather of his boots making no noise on the cold marble. Although shadow obscured his face, his eyes glittered like those of a wolf loping alongside a lonely carriage. Thin fingers still curled lightly around the gleaming banister, he took another step forward. When there were as many steps behind him as there were before him, a brief flicker from a nearby sconce lit his face.

Evangeline swallowed a gasp.

Not because of the obsidian eyes framed by equally black lashes. Nor because of the angry slash of cheekbones, the flash of bared teeth, or the scar just above the edge of his jaw. Those things, though separately terrible, together formed a face of cold, cruel beauty. A face for statues, for frescoes, for--

Another flutter of orange light as he reached the final stair, and Evangeline could no longer breathe.

He was angry. Horribly angry. Livid. Enraged. Furious. His eyes glittered like a wolf's because he was a wolf, a beautiful, powerful, violent wolf, prowling toward his unsuspecting prey. His dark hair slid across his face, snapping Evangeline from her trance just as his long, gloveless hand fell atop the countess's shoulder.