Mother of the River The Protectors Book One by Emily McPherson - YA Fantasy - May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far. - Irish Proverb
Book Trailer:
Interview with Emily McPherson
Welcome to JB’s
Bookworms with Brandy Mulder
Mother of the River is a story about
learning that all of your town's local legends and myths–all the stories that
have been passed down for generations–could be real. There’s adventure,
mystery, a bit of romance, and of course, there are mythological creatures and
magic! But more than that, the book is about finding family, hope, and the
things that shape us as we come into our own. The heart of the story lies in
the growth that many of us experience when we realize our parents are just
people. They don’t have the answers to every question, they don’t always know
what’s best, and at some point, we all have to decide who we are apart from the
ones who raised us. Mother of the River is about family, acceptance,
forgiveness, and connection–connection to our own personal past as well as to
our lands, communal history, and our origins. It’s about right and wrong and
recognizing that things aren’t always as black and white as that.
They say Hind-sight is 20/20. If you could give advice to the writer you were the first time you sat down to write, what would it be?
So. Many. Things. (Ha!) But there
are two quotes in particular that I’ve learned since becoming a writer that I
wish I knew before I started. The first is from Terry Prattchet. He said, “The
first draft is just you telling the story to yourself.” The second quote is
from Jodi Picoult who said, “You can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a
blank page.”
I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist, and these two ideas have helped me get through the first and second drafts much quicker, which has made my overall writing more efficient. Now I think of my first draft as “word vomit.” (Mean Girls reference?) It’s a bit nonsensical, but as long as it makes sense to me, that’s all that matters. Just get the words–any words–onto the page. Make it pretty later.
What are you working
on now?
I am actually working on the sequel to Mother of the River. Ianthe will be returning, exploring even more of Ireland, meeting new friends, and discovering new–or rediscovering very, very old–Irish myths.
Is there a release
date planned?
I don’t have a specific date yet,
but the tentative plan is Spring 2024.
Who is your favorite character from your own stories, and why?
Right now, it’s a toss-up between
two characters from Mother of the River. Logan and Hazel. Logan’s character is
loosely based on my older brother, Tyler, which alone is enough for him to hold
a special place in my heart. Logan–like Tyler–is a bit intimidating when you
first meet him, but everyone who knows him knows he’s actually a big softie. He
has a huge heart, he’s very protective of his friends and family, and he’s a
bit of a goofball. Plus, Logan is Scottish while most of the characters in this
book are Irish. So it was a lot of fun to dive into the Scottish history,
language, and customs. It’s a part of my own heritage that I hadn’t previously
known too much about. So it’s always fun to write his character.
Hazel, on the other hand, is a pretty small character in Mother of the River, but she’s more important in the next book. She’s like the quirky aunt with kind of off-the-wall beliefs, completely obsessed with teamaking which she treats as a science, and I love that she and Idina can represent the LGBTQIA+ community in a non-stereotypical way. No hating-men tropes or any other harmful ideas. They’re just regular women who happen to be completely in love. As a bisexual woman myself, I love seeing that on the page, and I’m excited to introduce more characters like them throughout the series.
Most writers were
readers as children. What was your favorite book in grade school?
Hands down, Junie B. Jones. I had a lot of favorite books as a kid–The Boxcar Children, Harry Potter, Magic Treehouse–but Junie B. Jones is the first book I ever loved. I still can’t cross the street without thinking about Junie B. waiting until not a single car was coming from either direction as far as she could see, and I can’t look at shiny black shoes without wondering if they look that shiny because someone licked them.
What are your plans
for future projects?
I have a TBW (to be written) almost as long as my TBR (to be read)! Well, not quite that long, but I do have a lot of book and series ideas on the docket, all staying within the fantasy genre. I’m excited to keep exploring new worlds and new characters. The future looks… mysterious and magical!
Is there anything you
would like to add before we finish?
Is this the shameless plug portion
of the interview? (Lol.)
Mother of the River comes out March 7, 2023, but you can preorder your copy on Amazon today! Happy reading, everyone!
Good luck with Mother of the River, and thank you for being with us today.
Excerpt
“Ianthe, you could have said goodbye to your friend, you know. I didn’t mean to pull you away so quickly.”“Oh, it’s fine,” Ianthe said, waving her hand in dismissal. “You didn’t.”
“But I did interrupt something, didn’t I?” Dubheasa smirked, almost amused with Ianthe’s discomfort.
“Well… sort of,” Ianthe said, “but believe me. I might owe you a favor for that one.”
Ianthe dropped her hands into her pockets and suppressed her embarrassment for another time. They arrived at the tea shop, opting for the outdoor seating on such a beautiful spring day, and claimed a small table with chipping white paint at the edge of the patio. The proprietor, Idina, weaved in and out of tables taking orders, quick as a hurricane wind.
“What’ll you have, darlings? Oh, Ianthe.” Idina’s tone brightened as she recognized Ianthe at the table. “Evening, love. How are you?” she asked with a dip of her head. A deep brown coil fell in front of her eye, and she flipped the curl back into place.
“Hello, Mrs. Kent,” Ianthe said with a cordial nod. “Just grand, and you?”
“Fine, perfectly fine. And I’ve told you to call me Idina, haven’t I?”
“Right. Sorry, Idina.”
As Ianthe got older, more and more people in town asked her to call them by their first name, as though she was one of the adults—a concept much too odd for Ianthe to accept. Now she was expected to call Ms. O’Malley from down the road Eleanor. Mr. Wilson, who brought the morning paper, asked her to call him Norman. (Who knew he’d named his cat after himself?)
And now Mrs. and Mrs. Kent were Idina and Hazel.
“You’ve just had a birthday, haven’t you?” Idina said.
“Yes— well, it’s been a couple of weeks.”
“Seventeen now, are we?” she asked, adjusting her apron.
“That’s right,” Ianthe said, and she straightened up in her chair as a proud smile dimpled her cheeks.
“I’ll have Hazel bring you some dry herbs and teas to take home then. Now, what’ll you two have?”
“I think tea and scones,” Dubheasa said, raising her brow at Ianthe, and Ianthe nodded.
“Two cups, two scones,” Idina confirmed. “Extra butter, Ianthe?”
“Yes, please,” Ianthe said with a smile.
A loud shatter sounded from inside the shop, and Idina jumped out of her skin.
“Oh, Hazel, good grief. Slippery fingers, slippery fingers,” she continued to mutter as she hurried inside.
“I hope she remembers our order,” Dubheasa said, chuckling at the commotion.
“She will,” Ianthe assured her. “They can be a bit chaotic, but Idina and Hazel are the best around. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hazel is magic with her teas.”
“What makes you so sure she isn’t?”
Ianthe giggled at the insinuation, but Dubheasa’s eyes only narrowed.
“You’re not serious,” Ianthe said. “Tea can’t be magic.”
“Perhaps not, but people can be.”
“Pft. I was only having a laugh, Dubheasa. I know Hazel doesn’t make magic tea because magic isn’t real.”
“Here you are, darlings,” Idina said, setting the tea and scones on the table. “Enjoy!” And she rushed off again.
Ianthe slid a cup and a scone to her side of the small table and slathered butter onto the bread while Dubheasa eyed her carefully.
“Well then,” Dubheasa said, thankfully moving on to a new topic, “when did we last see each other, dear? Do you remember?”
“Um,” Ianthe paused to take a bite of her scone. “Two summers ago, I think.”
“And has much changed since then?” Dubheasa asked, stirring cream into her tea.
“Besides growing a bit taller, nothing at all.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re still here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?”
Dubheasa sipped her tea and waited for Ianthe to come to some sort of conclusion, but Ianthe stared back, lost as ever.
“Well, the Scréch Sídhe, of course,” Dubheasa finally said.
Ianthe couldn’t help but subtly roll her eyes, feeling a sliver of annoyance in her gut.
“Oh, right. Of course,” she said flatly. “How could I forget.”
“You still don’t believe in the Sídhe, do you?” Dubheasa asked, though she already knew the answer.
“No, I must admit. I don’t.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why is that?”
“You told me the Scréch Sídhe would come for me after my mother disappeared, but it’s been eleven years. Do you really believe a magical faerie would need this much time to find a person?”
Dubheasa continued to sip her tea with squinted eyes before offering another question.
“Then how do you think your mother turned to stone?”
“Oh, this again?” Ianthe said, reminding herself a bit of her dad. “My mother didn’t turn to stone.”
“I’ve seen her, Ianthe. I know she stands in the river.”
“I’ve told you,” Ianthe said, dropping her hands to the table rattling the teacups. “My father had that statue made in remembrance of her. It’s not actually her.”
“And yet, he never visits her to remember her.”
“N—no, you’ve got it wrong, Dubheasa. My mother disappeared.”
“And disappearing into thin air is a more acceptable explanation for you?” Dubheasa asked, studying Ianthe’s face.
“Certainly more acceptable than ‘cursed by a faerie’,” she said in a failed whisper, gripping the edge of the table and leaning in.
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