I’ve always known that I wanted to write about magic, but not the kind with a magician and a top hat. I was interested in the kind that came from within, the kind that lived in the hands and hearts of ordinary people. Maybe it was because I always wanted to be magical, or maybe it was because I always thought my grandma was a witch. And, trust me, I mean that in the best way. She was a beautiful, amazing woman with a spirit that just wouldn’t quit.
Always the embodiment of magic to me, her house was filled with mystical pieces mixed in with the usual kitsch. If you looked closely you might find a tiny copper kettle that she never used for creamer, an old wine bottle with a dripping candle that lived in it, and a triangular prism wrapped with a small blue bead hanging from a long chain. These are all things that she gave to me over the years, trinkets to carry with me, to keep me safe. And thankfully, I was never so far away from home that she wasn’t with me in some way. Even now.
When A Marked Past is published, you’ll see little pieces of her in my novel. Her dark hair, fair skin, and bright blue eyes inspired me as a kid so I gave them to Lyla. Her brooding spirit, quiet intelligence, and her undying dedication to family inspired me to write a tale of a suffering family. The Mercer family, like our own, is one who has experienced tremendous loss, one who must overcome their differences to learn to trust one another again, and ultimately one who must find the will and strength to fight to save one another. We may not actually be witches, but my grandma had the power to make each one of us feel like we were the most important thing in the universe when we were with her, and if that’s not magic then I don’t know what is.
Trust me, don't ever turn your back on these two...
Leslie, I sit here with teary eyes after reading this blog. Knowing the people you are talking about brings up those emotions. Love you!
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