Please tell
us a bit about yourself:
I’m a retired scientific generalist and an applied mathematician
with multiple advanced degrees and journal-published research that’s been
downloaded around the world. My research might be interesting to Sci-fi writers
since it provides an analog for the number of planets of various sizes that
might be expected to form in accretion disks orbiting distant stars (Trappist
1, for example, with its 7 Earth-sized planets).
At the moment I’m publishing my second SFR series, AGES OF
INVENTION, which honors women scientists and those women who funded European royal
societies of science in the past.
Tell us
about your book:
My latest book, FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, a
non formulaic, sci-fi, time-travel, steampunk romance introduces an alternative
science history. It’s a story of forbidden love where only the lovers can stop
a world-obliterating timequake by determining if Franklin’s Kite
Experiment—ushering in the electronic era—is a go/nogo.
What inspired
you to write this particular story?:
This
is the second book in the AGES OF INVENTION series. What started me writing the
first book, ENTANGLED, was the paucity of women named as great scientists of
the past. I, too, like the women in the movie, HIDDEN FIGURES, had to learn and
work as the only woman in my graduate courses and the world of corporate
science. As I investigated the controversity about who discovered calculus, I
noted that it was the royal wives who encouraged their husbands to establish
the European Royal Societies of Science which funded the great scientists of
the past.
Please
share a favourite snippet from your book:
Just welcomed into her home, was
a man she barely recognized as her father’s associate, John Vaughan… and his
footman. They stood speaking with her father.
She would analyze Vaughan’s
features to see how he’d aged from the younger man she’d remembered. Vaughan
and his man motioned toward her father, and then in the direction of the
painting.
Looks as
if they’re discussing it.
Well, she had her own opinion about such gifts and would not to be left out.
She also wanted to alert her father about the giant bird she’d seen the hawks
attacking, but then she remembered how his eyes glazed over anytime she spoke
eagerly about the nesting hawks. Hard metal and angular things interested him
more than the natural world.
Flowing effortlessly down the
stairs like the well-brought-up lady she pretended to be, Samantha wondered
about the artist who created that canvas, why anyone thought such a scandalous
gift would be appreciated, let alone hung on a wall in her household.
Crossing the foyer, she
approached the men. They faced away from her, gazing at the painting. Vaughan’s
man stood a little behind the others, dressed all rudely informal as one of her
father’s livery stablemen might.
Disturbingly
tall.
His exposed hands, forearms, and neck were tan. Yes, very tan indeed. He’d not bothered to tie his shoulder-length
hair back, And it was black, very black, almost the blue-black of the night
sky, just like the brave in the painting her father, Vaughan, and this savage
were now viewing.
“I wonder who painted it?” she
said aloud to no one in particular
Her father and Vaughan, closer to
the painting, hadn’t heard her, but Vaughan’s man turned and she forgot to
breathe. He’s the model, subject of the
painting, the Indian brave surrounded by those sex-crazed maidens. He’d
dressed somewhat differently this time, she admitted. Clothed. Yes, and it was strangely troubling to her that he was.
Had she just seen a twinkle in
his eye and a twitch of his full and naughty lips? Yes, definitely a twitch. He bowed to her, never taking his eyes
from where—she reminded herself— she’d forgotten
to close her shawl and don her bodice lace. She squinted to see her appearance
in the mirrors above the wainscoting and noticed her breasts were dangerously
close to popping out of the scooped neck of her gown—or was that in her
imagination, the effect of her disrobement by his eyes?
How
rude.
How could her father allow the savage to look at her that way? How could her
aunt?
Her aunt’s negligence wasn’t
difficult to figure out. Before Samantha descended the stairs to view the
painting, the room to her guardian’s door had been opened by maids attempting
to prepare for the guests. Her aunt rested on a chaise—pickled.
“Do you like the painting?
Horrible. Horrific. Is it not?” the savage said. “I thought you might recognize
me, and I can see from the way you’re looking at me you do. I told Davies to
destroy it. Instead, he finishes the painting and sends it to my father by way
of yours. I couldn’t be more embarrassed.”
He didn’t look embarrassed. Not
as embarrassed as the brave in the painting being fawned over by those young
women. Not as embarrassed as she, with him examining her chest.
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“Wait?” What could he mean?
His eyes squinted, sparkled. “Go
on up now and finish dressing.”
Was he laughing at her? Meaning to instruct me about my own business?
Samantha scrunched her face,
giving him the meanest look she could muster. Wrapping her shawl around her
more tightly, then clutching it, she wondered why she’d decided to leave her
lace behind, her breasts open to all his scrutiny. Looking down at her
slippers, because she couldn’t force herself to look up into his smug face, she
stifled a retort and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. Behind and below, she
heard a confusion of men’s voices, perhaps chastising that rude man.
She hurried into her room, closed
the door, and rested back against it. With uncomfortable awareness, she knew
that man had been Vaughan’s half-breed son, Migizi. She vaguely remembered his
visits. When we were much younger.
Opening her shawl to assess the
problem, she almost expected herself to be naked. At least she felt naked, and
something else, some other part of her body, down there between her thighs,
beat as rapidly as her heart.
Samantha knew where the throbbing
came from. She wasn’t that naïve. She’d read about it while viewing the medical
illustrations in her comparative anatomy texts.
Which comes
first for you – a character's looks, personality or name?:
Honestly, looks and names are not as important to me as personality.
And for that, as mostly a pantser, I let my characters find themselves. Of
course, I do lots of historic research of those mathematicians and scientists
of the past before I give them voices.
Any tips
for aspiring authors?:
Don’t worry about your first words. You have a committee in time just waiting to help you out.
They’re the you of tomorrow and the next day, and the next day. All the me(s) who edited my books for me wish
all the you(s) great success.
Questions
for fun:
If you had
the power of time travel, is there anything you would go back and change?:
No.
Why/why
not?: As a fluid mechanics person, I choose a real, existing, physical
parameter called The Flow. My time-traveling Native American, Migizi, in FLY
LIKE AN EAGLE, calls this flow by its Algonquin name—Bimijiwan. So my philosophy might be, Go with the flow.
Here’s a
quote that starts off the novel, FLY LIKE AN EAGLE:
“Faith does not need to push the river because
faith is able to trust that there is a river. The river is flowing. We are in
it.” Franciscan Father Richard Rohr
As you
can see, I like to blend science and spirituality in my books. I believe them
to be two major aspects of existance.
What
super-power would you choose?: A creative mind has got
to be the greatest superpower, because no matter what life brings, in some way,
it can always be seen from a positive perspective.
If you
could have three wishes, what would they be?: To love
the universe—cubed.
What is
your favourite book?: SECOND FOUNDATION (I love
Arcady, and, of course, Asimov)
Favourite
genre and why?: Romance, because it’s the best genre to
learn about character development from both male and female points of view.
Upcoming
news and plans for the future?: My critique partner,
Jackie Leigh Allen, will know more about that than I would. Each year, I get so
exhausted going to RWA Conferences around the States. Not to worry—Jackie has
already reserved the hotel rooms for us, so I’ve got to go!
Thank you
so much for taking the time to talk to us!:
Pippa and SFR BRIGADE, You are so very much welcome.
Everyone, have fun reading and writing SFR.
SFR rocks!
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