Author Spotlight: Ef Deal

Welcome to my weekly Author Spotlight. I’ve asked a bunch of my author friends to answer a set of interview questions, and to share their latest work.

Today: Musician, poet, editor, video editor, and author of steampunk, fantasy, and horror, Ef Deal has been writing and composing since she was nine years old. Her short fiction has been published in numerous online zines and print anthologies including The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Dangerous Waters from Brigid’s Gate, Chris Ryan’s Soul Scream Antholozine, two anthologies from Speculation Publications, and four anthologies from e-Spec Books. She is currently public relation coordinator for eSpec Books, assistant fiction editor at Abyss&Apex magazine, and video editor for Strong Women ~ Strange Worlds. Her novels Esprit de Corpse, Aéros & Héroes, and The Order of Duval from eSpec Books are part of a steampunk paranormal romance series set in France, featuring the gifted Twins of Bellefées, who tend to show up in other eSpec Books anthologies. When she’s not writing, she plays bugle in the Blessed Sacrament Golden Knights drum and bugle corps, and is a member of the Buglers Hall of Fame and the New Jersey Drum Corps Hall of Fame, honored for her contribution to playing, teaching, directing, and arranging. She lives in Haddonfield, NJ, with her husband and her chow chows Corbin and Rory. She is a member of SFWA and HWA. Her website is www.efdeal.net.

Thanks so much, Ef, for joining me!

J. Scott Coatsworth: How would you describe your writing style/genre?

Ef Deal: It’s been described as paranormal historical fantasy, but I call it steampunk. It’s an alternate historical setting only in the sense that there are fantastical elements, but the history is well researched and grounded in the figures of the day as well as the known science. From there, the facts get “punked” with werewolves, ghosts, sorcery, vampires, and aetherical machinations. Otherwise, the details of the 1840s are very real and the events in which the historical figures play a role are plausible. I go into great detail in my research to blend my plot with the historical setting even as I tweak the noses of some revered artists, poets, and musicians.

JSC: What is your writing Kryptonite?

ED: Noise! Mayhem! Interruptions! Augh! I have never understood how some writers work to music, although I will admit on occasion using dark ambient when I need to dig into the dark inside me. It makes me feel I’m traveling a road that someone understands. But a constant stream of hit songs or alt rock or acoustic vocal… I would go crazy. As it is, my computer sits next to the tv, so if my husband wants to watch the Sixers game or a Marvel show, my workday is done whether I’m done or not. I hate noise!

JSC: How long do you write each day?

ED: I’ve never had a fixed writing schedule. In my younger days, I would spend every free minute writing, night and day. Once kids came along, I had to wait until they were in bed before I could write. Then I got a teaching position, and writing took a back seat until NJ Education laws allowed me to attend writing workshops and cons for credit. Then I would spend two hours a day writing, unless something interfered.

Nowadays, as an old lady beset with osteoarthritis along with a raft of other ailments, it’s difficult for me to spend too much time at the computer. It affects my spine and my neck, my hands burn with neuropathy, and my eyes go bonkers. Nevertheless, I’m usually here between 8 am and 4:30 pm with frequent breaks.

JSC: Name the book you like most among all you’ve written, and tell us why.

ED: The book that may never see print, Blackheart’s Song, an old-school sword-and-sorcery novel I wrote back in the early ’80s and revised in the early ’90s with guidance from Gregory Frost. The novel was followed by two more books that were collections of novelettes following the main character as she gets caught up in court intrigues in the city, then works undercover along the trade routes to take down a smuggling ring. One of those stories was recently published in Soul Scream Antholozine issue 1.

The MC of that series, Gwynna Lionshadow, was a reflection of my younger self: angry, defensive, preferring isolation, rejecting affection as a means of self-preservation. I had mapped out nine novels for her, and I’ve completed 3 ½. But, though that first novel is a knockout, I doubt it will see print in this day and age of a million epic fantasies all at once. Still, it’s a damn fine book.

JSC: What does success mean to you?

When I was maybe 11 or 12, I read my first copy of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and I was blown away. I read it in the library, and I literally held it to my heart and swore that I would publish a story in that magazine one day, and I would write a book just like the books that I’d read by Asimov, Bradbury, Burroughs, Tolkien, Lewis, Cherryh, McCaffrey, and so many others.

My short story “Czesko” was published in the March 2006 issue of F&SF, and it received honorable mention in Gardner Dozois’ Year’s Best as well as an offer to have it made into a movie (an offer that came with no money, so I turned it down).

I became friends with Danielle Ackley-McPhail of eSpec Books, and while chatting with her about this steampunk series for which I’d finished 3 books and was midway through another, she said, “Send me what you’ve got.” It turned out she had just started a foray into publishing steampunk, and she accepted the first book Esprit de Corpse. It maintains a 5-star average on Amazon and Goodreads. But more importantly to me, it’s been praised by authors I consider the best in their genres and whose assessments carry weight: A.C. Wise, Gregory Frost, William J. Donahue, Mark Bergin, and others

So there it is… Two dreams fulfilled. I’m not a best-seller, and I’ve received no major awards, not even a leg lamp, but in the meantime I’ve published short stories and more novels, so I consider myself successful.

JSC: What were your goals and intentions in The Order of Duval, and how well do you feel you achieved them?

ED: I’d been researching various laws about child labor and marriage rights for women in France in the 1800s and I was appalled at some of the accounts I read, so I decided to make those the basis of my plot. On the one hand, it’s the story of how the Industrial Age slaughtered children at a mindless rate, seeing an unending resource in the poverty-stricken families where factories replaced farms, children sent to the orphanages or church homes were “hired” but their pay went to the orphanage or church, and other such abuses in labor. When I read the horrific story of the Husker mining tragedy, I knew that would be the anchor event.

I also wanted to see the young women abused by the vampire in book 2 as well as by their fathers or husbands come into their own, mentored by the untamable Twins of Bellesfées and empowered with vampire blood in their veins granting them unique abilities. Their quest across time and the aether to bring Jacqueline home to defeat the disembodied villain, the metaphor for the soul-sucking Industrial Revolution, brings each of them to a place of independence and self-awareness, giving them each a future.

JSC: How does the world end?

ED: It doesn’t. It’s been here billions of years, and it’s not going anywhere. People will continue to make bad decisions, and perhaps those decisions will lead to a meteor event that wipes out almost all the human species and few other species, but life will go on in some form, some new form, with a whole new mythos to build upon.

Or maybe bunnies…

JSC: What’s your drink of choice?

ED: Wine. Oh, how I love wine, especially a good dry French rosé or Bordeaux, or a Finger Lakes white. I camp up near Ithaca, NY, where about 40 years ago or so Cornell University began working with local farms to develop a grape that would grow in the glacial soil with a salt bed and produce a decent wine. Boy howdy, they did that. The Cayuga grape blends really nicely with other varietals or stands on its own, and there are about 200 wineries up there that prove it, our favorite being Wagner, which also crafts really great beer, probably the best triple-bock anywhere (not that I like beer). When we started camping back in the mid-’80s, the vintners did tastings on planks set across casks in their front yards. Now it’s a whole industry, with B&B wineries, wedding venues, and concerts. We come home with a dozen cases when we go.

JSC: What’s your favorite line from any movie?

ED: This is a tough one! One favorite? My whole family lives to quote movies and tv. My two daughters-in-law are always stunned when they make a comment and all four of us – my sons, husband, and I – recite a movie line in unison. For example, one said, “This is going back in the closet,” and we chimed in, “Where men are empty overcoats” from the Marx Brothers movie Monkey Business. We’re like the ghosts in Truly, Madly, Deeply or Meg Ryan and Rosie O’Donnel in Sleepless in Seattle reciting “Winter must be so cold for those without warm memories” although it’s usually that whenever I can’t get warm, my husband will say, “Well at least you have warm memories.” This goes on all the time with a lot of the Marx Brothers, the Coen Brothers, screwball comedies like Undercover Blues (“Kill the light!” or Stanley Tucci’s “My name… is … Muerte!”), epics like Star Wars, Tombstone, Lord of the Rings… How can I pick just one line of just one movie? Did you notice above I quoted the Buffy musical?

I can tell you the one line I quote many, many times is Mal Reynolds’ epic declaration in Serenity: “I aim to misbehave.”

JSC: What are you working on now, and what’s coming out next? Tell us about it!

In reverse order, Book 4 of the Twins of Bellesfées series will be out next, and it’s a walk on a very dark side as Jacqueline goes to London to confer with Isambard Kingdom Brunel on propellors for her submersible boat only to stumble upon an insidious plot by the Cohong to turn France and England into zombis, a plot initially hatched by the East Indies Company to attack China which leads her discover her lover de Guise’s secret past. Jacqueline’s life is shattered.

The trauma of Book 4’s ending leads to Book 5, which I’m working on now. Angélique takes Jacqueline to Harddwch, her manor in Wales, to heal and regain some sense of her former self while Angélique plays hostess to Charles Dickens, who is working through his plans for a ghostly morality tale that will shame the greedy industrialists perpetuating the cycle of poverty and cold disregard for children’s welfare. Wales is the inspiration for his work as the Rebecca riots around Cardiff highlight the hypocrisy of the Poor Laws and the turnpike toll system, and the concessions granted by the Crown to quell Rebecca give him hope that hearts can be turned to reason. Meanwhile, the various ghosts of Harddwch lead Jacqueline to an encounter with Gwynn ap Nudd, the psychopomp of Wales’ Wild Hunt. Wacky fun ensues, along with much steampunk.

And now for Ef’s new book: The Order of Duval:

A Family Bound by Blood, Though Not Born of Blood

Lost souls abound at Bellesfées, some found, and others only just discovered. But when Jacqueline Duval goes missing, along with a beast of a locomotive built through the sweat and blood of innocents, the foundlings Jacky has taken under her wing must rally to bring her home again.

To rescue their future, the self-styled Order of Duval must conquer the specters of the past or risk all being lost to the aether.

“An immersive fantasy novel with the perfect blend of found family and magic. The Order of Duval crackles with energy, offering up the perfect blend of intrigue, action, and magic. ~ A. C. Wise, author of “Wendy, Darling and Hooked

“Lush steampunk, creepily dark and cozily heartwarming in turns: Deal has created a heart-racing read with high stakes and a found family you can’t help but love.“

~ Beth Cato, author of The Clockwork Dagger

Publisher | Amazon | B a rnes & Noble

Excerpt

… the bright green engine with its candy-red pistons and polished brass-trimmed black smokestack and dome looked exactly like the locomotive that arrived from Paris every early afternoon and departed Orléans an hour later. Jacqueline had been on site when the first “Sharpie” engine was built several years earlier, so she was familiar with the structure. The designs Goüin had sent indicated only a few changes to the dimensions of the tiny firebox. She examined the exterior of the locomotive, her hand hovering above each line, each seam, each pipe, each bar to delineate her scrutiny. The machine was built to specifications as best she could recall. She gripped the rail and mounted the engineer’s cabin to view the firebox.

Every surface dripped with blood.

Horrified, Jacqueline swallowed her fear. “Têtue, come see.”

Têtue hoisted herself up to the cab. She uttered her quiet “huh” and explored the grisly gauges, valves, water pipes, and controls. She whispered, “More than one person, Duval. Dozens, maybe. Flesh, too.”

Têtue drew a handkerchief from her vest pocket and wiped the pressure gauge clean. Jacqueline did the same for the two steam valves, keeping the stains separated. They both jumped down again, and Jacqueline pocketed the evidence.

“Is it blood?” Goüin asked.

“At least,” Têtue said.

“I’ll analyze it to verify, but it seems to be, yes,” Jacqueline said. “What about the noises you mentioned?”

Goüin shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything myself, but my men are so terrified, they won’t work on the thing. What can I do? Systems still need connecting, and I have deadlines to meet.”

He handed her his own handkerchief, and she wiped her hands.

“When did this phenomenon manifest itself?” she asked.

“When we put the final bolt on the firebox,” he said, “about five days ago, when we got that last crate in from the Marteau factory. I wrenched it myself for a bit, and I had no trouble, but my workers swear—”

“Let me talk to them,” offered de Guise, “have them describe it.”

Têtue folded her arms. “Got a better idea. Let us finish the work.”

Jacqueline beamed. “Excellent.” She loved watching the fire of industry grow in Têtue’s quick mind. “We can sort this out for you.”

Goüin looked from one woman to the other with consternation. The pounding of engines around them could have been his pulse. “You’ll want some assistance, surely.”

“Oh, they have assistants,” Llewellyn said with a grin.

Goüin rubbed his hand up his high forehead and blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I’d rather—which is to say—”

“You’d rather work on it yourself? Or you’d rather the mystery had not presented itself?” Jacqueline drew out her watch to check the time. “Têtue and I can begin the work now, and Llewellyn and de Guise will round up our assistants, who can be here this afternoon.” Jacqueline snapped the watch closed and met Goüin’s dubious gaze. “Or we can leave you to your deadlines.”

De Guise said, “After we collect the others, I think I’d like to nose around the quarter and see if any other factories have been disrupted.”

“That’s a good idea, de Guise,” Jacqueline said. “I’m especially curious about the new ironworks. And look into this Marteau manufacturer as well.”

“Ah,” Goüin said, “they are one and the same.”

Llewellyn growled. “I will wager that’s also the source of the pestilential exhalations.”

Jacqueline exchanged worried glances with de Guise. He nodded, and the two men left.

Within the hour, Jacqueline was brought the remaining necessary specifications, parts, and tools. Têtue hoisted these to the cabin.

“I’m going to take a look inside first,” Jacqueline called down to her as she tugged her welding cap on and placed her gogglers, affixing the secondary loupes for further magnification. She opened the tiny firehole door and peered down the coal chute.

“Need a lamp?” Têtue handed up a lit Mueseler.

Jacqueline passed it into the chute and set it on the base sheet of the firebox. She pressed closer to peer down the chute, but the door was too narrow. Reaching her arm down, she groaned.

“It’s everywhere,” she said. “Coating the whole bin. Let me see…”

She patted herself down but couldn’t find a spare cloth in her pockets. She dropped her coat off the cabin and checked her waistcoat pocket.
“Got an extra handkerchief?”

“Sorry.”

“Fetch a rag for me?”

Têtue trotted off.

Jacqueline again tried peering into the chute, and to her surprise she found she could fit her head snugly inside. The door suddenly gave way to her, and she went head and shoulders through the firehole door to get a better view of the front flue sheet. Grimacing, she set her hands down onto the bloody bottom sheet.
A low moan rose up. It sounded like Têtue.

Jacqueline froze. “Was that you? What’s wrong?”

No answer.

“Têtue?”

When Jacqueline tried to back out, she found her hands stuck fast, glued in blood. Her heart pounded and beads of sweat broke out on her brow as she called again. The wolf in Têtue would hear her call, would sense her growing fear.

The moan repeated, louder this time. It was Têtue!

Then a second voice joined in, then a third, then—

More. Many more. Quiet moans of uncountable numbers of children in agony, muted as if across a vast distance.

“Who are you?” Jacqueline murmured. Then she called, “Where are you?”

Their answering cries broke her heart. They grew louder and louder. Children groaning in pain, wailing in distress, weeping in deepest grief. Jacqueline tried to shake the sound of their cries from her head as the echoes reverberated through her.

“How can I help you?” she shouted.

As if seized by a thousand hands, she lurched into the firebox, and the firehole door slammed shut.