Last Car to Annwn Station started life as The Phantom Streetcar Novel. Actually, it started life as the The Phantom Streetcar short story, but it took on a life of its own and morphed into a novel. It became The Dark Urban Fantasy Relationship Driven Paranormal Romance Revenge and Redemption Supernatural Horror Novel with Fairy Tale and Mythological Overtones and Lesbian Protagonists Featuring the Ghost of the Defunct Twin Cities Streetcar System and was eventually titled Last Car to Annwn Station. In many way it was written as two different books: a short urban fantasy/paranormal romance novel with Mae and Jill as the protagonists and a long horror novelette in diary format featuring Fay.

It was my second novel written and is my first one published. With Last Car to Annwn Station I had a lot more seasoning as a writer, with several pieces of published short fiction behind me and a whole load of shiny new things in my Writer’s Toolbox. The novel has phantom streetcars, Minneapolis / St. Paul magic, and Welsh mythology. This was also the novel where I learned about tight plotting and really digging in and doing deep rewrites, and it was good.

And there were rewrites. Before I ever submitted the novel to Carina Press, I worked on it diligently. I rolled a few characters together and cut others completely. There was a consensus from my early readers that it started too slowly and in the wrong place. It fell apart at the end and at no point had I explained why the phantom streetcars were helping Mae. When my editor at Carina (Melissa Johnson) handed me the developmental edits, there was even more rewriting and tightening, including trimming some excess play-by-play, making the point-of-view consistent, and bringing a character that had been hovering near the edges closer to the center of the story.

I discovered on a closer read all the unintentional echoes of early Arthurian myth and stories from Mabinogion. There is bit of the Mabon ap Modron myth, heavily disguised, but it is there. A champion receives a sword from a Gwaragedd (a female lake spirit) to aid in the rescue of her love. No one received wisdom from a salmon, but they did receive wisdom from a fey-creature, so I get partial credit. There’s a kidnapping, stolen identities, talking to animals, dark betrayal, and a descent. There’s a triple death that ends with the character hung from a tree. All I really needed was a cattle raid, symbolic or otherwise, to round it out. I even accidentally named my main character after a Celtic warrior-queen.

I had a blast writing it, and I hope you have as good a time reading it. I really can’t thank everyone at Carina Press enough. I’ll leave you with a little taste.
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Jill’s eyes lit up. “You said there was a story.”

Mae looked down at her half-eaten cheesecake. “I think it might be more of a—”

“Third date story?” Jill supplied. “Because if that’s the case, then what say we go out to dinner tomorrow night and you can tell me all about it.”

Mae frowned. “I was going to say it was more of a ‘one year into the relationship’ kind of story, and did you just ask me out?”

“That must be some kind of story and yes, I did.” Jill scooped up another huge bite of cheesecake on her fork. She paused before popping it into her mouth. “So?”

Mae rested her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together in front of her. She settled her chin on top of her fingers and tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. She thought Jill was interested in her, but Mae also knew she was lousy at reading signals. “I thought you liked the ‘hot, hot boys’ down at the Fine Line.”

Jill swallowed her cheesecake and gave Mae a little smirk. “I do.”

Mae sat up straight in her chair in an attempt to, as a friend from college once said, “Get the girls up where they can draw attention.” Mae was not sure if the effort was having the desired effect, but it was the best she could do short of taking off her blouse. She could not stop a slight smile from forming on her lips.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a boy. I mean, I realize I’m a little—”

“Waif-like?”

“I was going to say ‘boyish’ but that works as well. However, I am not a boy.”

Jill rolled her eyes and took a drink of her coffee. “Yes, Mae, I realize that. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like hot, hot girls as well?”

Mae’s posture relaxed and she leaned back on the table again. “Oh. Well, then…”

“Or maybe I like hot, hot lawyers.”

“I could introduce you to some, if you’d like.”

Jill reached across the small table and placed her left hand on top of Mae’s right one. “Maybe I like hot girl lawyers named Mae.”

Mae gave her a soft smile. “Jill—”

Jill released Mae’s hand and leaned back. “This is the part where you tell me you’re not interested in me as girlfriend material, and I get to feel like a damned fool, right?”

“Actually, this is the part where I tell you I’m terrible at relationships, and that right now may not be the best of times for me to start something new.”

Jill’s face broke into a wide grin. “So you are interested!”

Mae looked straight into Jill’s pale blue eyes. “Jill, I’m not going to lie to you. There is a lot of—weirdness—going on in my life right now.” Mae sighed. “There are things I’m not sure I can talk about, not without sounding like a complete loon.”

Jill crossed her arms. “Try me. I’m into weird.”
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Purchase Last Car to Annwn Station at the Carina Press website!

Ah, I thought that would get your attention. It certainly would mine. And it’s true. Carina Press is giving my novella, Photographs & Phantoms away free as a special promotion for Steampunk Week. It’s a real honor to be part of such a great lineup, and I urge you to check out the other great steampunk titles available.

My Gaslight Chronicles series is a mash-up of steampunk, romance, and fantasy.  It’s England in the 1850’s but not the way our history books remember it. You see, in this world, computers, driven by steam and clockwork, already exist. Imagine Dickensian London with robots and dirigibles. Oh yeah—there’s also magick, and the vampyres here aren’t the sparkly kind. They’re gross and smelly, and they want you dead.

To combat evil wizards and vampyres and other things that go bump in the night, a venerable British institution still exists, undercover, but charged by the crown with protecting the realm from all threats mortal and otherwise. The Order of the Round Table is still mainly composed of the descendants of Lancelot, Merlin, Tristram, Kay, and all the others. They’re trained to fight with pistol, sword, technology and magick. And sometimes, they fall in love.

If you enjoy your free taste of the Chronicles, I hope you’ll also check out book 1: Steam & Sorcery.  Now here’s a little excerpt of Photographs & Phantoms whet your appetite.

Excerpt (PG):

They wove among the tourists and barrows and tents. “Sergeant Peterson built me a steam barrow to carry my equipment and a small canopy. It even has feet rather than wheels to accommodate the steps.”

“Very thoughtful of him.” Kendall’s tone was utterly neutral. “Are you and the sergeant…an item, perhaps?”

“What? No, of course not.” While Michael Peterson was a nice enough young man, and relatively attractive despite his missing arm, he was far too…traditional for Amy’s taste. He’d hinted in that direction a time or two, but she knew he’d never tolerate a wife or even a lady friend with a profession of her own. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Just something in his demeanor. Whether you believe so or not, the man has a definite interest in you, Amy.”

“I’ve never given him any reason to. I’m not looking for a husband—or a lover, for that matter. Certainly not unless I find one who understands my need to work.”

“Your photography is a part of you—not just the way you make your living—is that what you mean?” He spoke as if he actually understood. “I’ve a cousin who’s a concert pianist. She feels much the same way. Her husband has learned to cope, so I imagine there are other males out there who can adapt.”

“If you happen across one, send him to Brighton,” she replied. “But I’m not going to hold my breath. I’m happy with my life the way it is.” Except—in the last few hours, she’d realized there were parts of the male-female relationship she wouldn’t mind exploring further. Kendall Lake did something funny to her insides in a way no other man ever had. He made her think of things, wish for things, that could certainly never be. He was a marquess, for heaven’s sake, and the heir to a dukedom. No good could come of imagining herself in his arms, his lips upon hers.