Making
Magic From Scratch
by Jennifer Allis Provost
Where
do story ideas come from? Well, everywhere. The short answer is that I get ideas
from random places and events, which has led to me writing about everything
from fairy warriors to zombie romances, Scottish assassins, and the mythical
Medusa. However, a pretty specific chain of events led to my first urban
fantasy novel.
Back
in 2011, Neil Gaiman was touring for the tenth anniversary edition of his novel
American Gods. Being a huge fan of all things Neil, I had to go to at
least one of his appearances. The closest stop to me was in Portsmouth, NH,
which was a two hour drive for me. I didn’t think that was too far, especially
not for Neil, but I didn’t want to travel that distance alone. What I needed
was a co-conspirator.
Enter
Trisha Wooldridge, my always-willing partner in crime. We worked together in
publishing, and had embarked on many literary-themed adventures together. On a
sunny afternoon in July we met up and began our day with lunch; since Trisha is
a food writer, she’s always trying out new restaurants. During the drive, I
fished a bracelet out of the center console and gave it to Trisha, as a thank
you for my meal. It was green marble with a copper clasp, and I mentioned that
copper was my favorite metal.
Once
we reached Portsmouth we met up with another writer friend, Justine Graykin.
After dinner, we trekked over to the Music Hall, listened to Neil speak, read
from American Gods, and be interviewed by the local NPR affiliate. We
also scored some signed hardbacks.
After
the presentation at the Music Hall was over, Trisha, Justine and I went to a
local restaurant for drinks and dessert. We hit the bathroom before we left,
and let me tell you, that was one of the nicest ladies’ rooms I have ever seen.
It had granite counters, a terra cotta tile floor, and the most gorgeous copper
sinks and faucets. While washing my hands, I remarked again that copper was my favorite
metal.
“You
keep saying that,” said Trisha. “Maybe you should write a story about copper.”
“You
should,” Justine said. “Even Neil Gaiman hasn’t done that.”
Well
that was a great idea, but how did they expect me to write about metal? I
couldn’t just whip up a story from scratch, like magic.
The
next day found me at work, sitting in my cubicle, wondering how I’d made so
many wrong turns in my career. Spending the day with two friends who actually
made a living from their writing had simultaneously reinvigorated my own desire
to be a working writer, and shone a light on just how disenchanted I was with
my day job. Since I couldn’t up and quit, and I also couldn’t expect to make
money writing until I wrote something, I took my friends’ advice and did some
surreptitious Googling of copper and copper-related things.
I
learned that humans have been utilizing copper ore since approximately 8000 BC,
that it’s in the same elemental group as silver and gold, and that its
alchemical symbol is also the symbol for the planet Venus. Fascinating
information, all of it, but none of it was a suitable foundation for a story.
When
lunch time rolled around I went out to the parking lot to warm up in my car;
that office building’s air conditioning system was permanently set to Arctic,
and I frequently went outside to thaw my frozen extremities. I was parked in
the rear lot, next to a wooded area. Right next to the asphalt were two pine
trees whose trunks had wound around each other, as if a giant had attempted to
braid them like a ponytail. While I stared at the unusual tree, I wondered if
the tree was a portal to the Otherworld.
When
I realized what I was wondering, I assumed the air conditioning had won and my
brain had succumbed to frostbite. Then I remembered my earlier Googling, and
that copper had been a significant element for the past ten thousand years.
And
I wondered if that portal to the Otherworld was filled with Elementals, magical
beings who could wield air, earth, water, fire…and metal.
I
wondered what it would take for a human on this side to cross over to the
Otherworld, be it via a tree, an old wardrobe, or even a stone circle.
I
decided that the human in question’s name was Sara Corbeau, that she was a
copper girl, and wrote the outline for her story later that day.
That
novel, Copper Girl, was made possible
by copper sinks, a strange looking tree, and an overworked office air
conditioning system. I really had made magic from scratch.
Copper Veins
(Copper Legacy #3)
Jennifer Allis Provost
Publication date: July 26th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Urban Fantasy
Sara’s pretty sure her life is perfect.
Not only are she and Micah finally married, her father, who’d been missing since the Magic Wars, has been found. Actually, he just strode up to the manor’s front door, but whatever. Sara knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
But Baudoin Corbeau isn’t content to return to family life. He’s decided that he will be the force of change in the Mundane world, and lead the Elemental resistance to victory with his children at his side. What’s worse, Baudoin doesn’t approve of Sara’s marriage, and makes every attempt to separate her from Micah.
After a visit to the Mundane realm leaves Sara, Max and Sadie imprisoned by the Peacekeepers, Sara’s doubts creep to the surface. Is her father right? Does she belong in the Mundane realm, not the Otherworld? Is Micah really the right man–make that elf–for her?
Was marrying him a mistake?
Previous books in the series:
—
EXCERPT:
We walked all the way back to the manor instead of traveling by the much faster metal pathways. While he didn’t say as much, I understood that Micah wanted the extra time to clear his head, and I was content to while away the rest of the morning with him. “I’m still a bit… grumpy about being cheated out of our wedding night,” I muttered as we walked.
“Grumpy?” Micah repeated. We’d stopped beside a stream to relax and splash some cool water on our faces. “That is not quite the word I would have chosen.”
“Really?” I’d found a stubby branch, and was doodling in the mud while I sat on a rock, my back to the water. “And what word would you choose, General Silverstrand?”
“Hush. I have not filled that role for a long, long time.” He leaned over and nuzzled the soft spot behind my ear. “Lonely. Bereft. Frustrated. Unmarried.”
“Micah, it’s only been one night.”
“Yes, but until our marriage is consummated, we are not as one. The officiant said as much during our ritual.”
I recalled the actual words of the ceremony—at the time, I’d been too elated to dissect their meaning, but Corporal Rawson had said, “And once you know her as your wife, you are forever joined as one.” I hadn’t realized that that was what they meant, but I suppose it made sense. At least it was an easier requirement than babies.
“Are all marriages like that?” I asked. I felt Micah’s mouth curl into a smile.
“I don’t know. I have only been married once.” He nipped at my ear and added, “As for this marriage, I know that I must lie with you to seal our vows.”
“Well,” I murmured, stretching my neck for more kisses, “I guess we’d better get on that.”
“I agree.” Micah leaned forward to kiss me on the mouth, but he halted when he saw the result of my mud doodles. I had stabbed and slashed at the ground until it looked like a rabid buffalo had churned up the soil. “Sara, what is troubling you?”
Normally, I would have denied any troubles in favor of more kissing, but that’s pretty hard to do when the evidence is right in front of you. “Do… do you think it’s weird that Dad just showed up? I mean, we’ve been looking for him forever, and he just walks right up to the front door?”
Micah pursed his lips, taking a deep breath before he replied. “Weird? Perhaps. However, your father’s return is an unprecedented turn of good fortune. And on our wedding day, no less.”
“I love it when you say that.”
“What?”
“‘Our wedding day.’”
Micah took the stick from me and pulled me to my feet. “Soon, I will be telling you about our wedding night.” He tossed the stick into the stream and tugged me back toward the road and the manor. “Come, my love, my wife, and let me bring you home.”
Author Bio:
Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library). An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. When she’s not writing about things that go bump in the night (and sometimes during the day) she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction.
Author Bio: