Author: Ally

Happy Monday, Liz! Why are you doing this interview?

I am doing this interview because my debut novel, Canopy, is due to release on October 26. I’ve also just launched my website. My lack of web design skills will become apparent if you choose to visit the site.

Tell us a bit about why you started writing?

Not sure I can really pin it down. Writing has always been something I have done. I recall tapping away on my father’s old manual typewriter as a child, which resulted in my first short story. My mother had a friend that was an author, and I mailed him my little manuscript to see if he’d give me some feedback.

Where do you write?

We live in a small townhouse, with doesn’t have much space for everyday living, let alone an office. So, my writing desk is in the only place it fits, which is the living room. While it is not the cozy little writing nook I dream of, it gets the job done.

What do you like to read? And what are the three books you’d take to a desert island?

I like to read contemporary fiction, historical fiction, mystery, and the occasional fantasy novel.

If going to a desert island I would bring: 1) Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, 2) David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, and 3) Katie Quinn’s The Huntress.

I would bring these books because each one of them does a fantastic job of transporting me to another place. They really suck me in and provide a level of connection with the characters that I would likely need if all alone on an island.

Writing is an intrinsically solo occupation. Do you belong to any groups or associations, either online or in the ‘real’ world? How does that work for you?

I am a member of both the Queer Sacramento Authors Collective, and the Bay Area Queer Writers Association. Previously these groups held meetings in person, but have adapted to virtual meetings given the current public health issues here. Both groups have been incredibly helpful in advancing my writing, and I have formed some wonderful friendships.

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

When not writing I am parenting my very busy nine-year-old son, working my day job, and exploring. I live in a beautiful town on the bay, and I like to get out and enjoy the incredible views and fresh air. I also enjoy geocaching, watching tv, hosting game night (when not in a pandemic), and playing with my cats.

Tell me a little bit about Canopy. What gave you the idea for it? How long did it take to write? What did you enjoy about writing it? What did you hate?

My upcoming release was a long time in the making. Canopy was my first attempt at a full-length novel, so I didn’t really know what I was doing. It has seen many iterations, but I am happy with the final product. All in all, Canopy took about three years to write. The main character, Vivian, was inside of me, ready to be wrestled down onto paper.

I am a “panster,” so I don’t plot my stories out in advance. I just sit down and write, so I never know what is going to happen in the story until I am typing it.

I enjoyed the feeling of how easily the story flowed out of me. That’s not to say I don’t get writer’s block, because I most certainly do, but Canopy had been bottled up in me for years and was ready to come out. What I hated was that I had a very unexpected and traumatic break up right after I finished the first draft. I had sent the manuscript out to my beta readers, but I became so depressed from the break up that I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to read their feedback or make any corrections for almost six months.

Canopy

Vivian Chastain is an adrenaline addicted veteran transitioning to civilian life in Sacramento, California. She settles into a new routine while she finishes up college and works as a bartender, covering up her intense anxiety with fake bravado and swagger. All Vivian wants is peace and quiet, but her whole trajectory changes when she stumbles upon a heinous crime in progress, and has to fight for her life to get away.

While recovering from the fight, she falls in love with someone who is tall in stature but short on emotional intelligence, and this toxic union provides Vivian the relationship that she thinks she needs. Given Vivian’s insecurities and traumatic past, she clings to the relationship even while it destroys her.

Prone to fits of rage, the spiraling of Vivian’s temper creates a turning point for her as she looks within to find the peace she seeks.

Vivian’s alcoholic brother and emotionally devoid mother serve as frequent thorns in her side, prompting her turbulent history to often bubble up to the surface. The bubbling turns to a rolling boil when Vivian’s brother lands himself in jail for drunken indiscretions, and not long afterward her partner is arrested for something so atrocious Vivian cannot even fathom it. She is left pondering whether or not to believe that the person she loves could have committed such an inexcusable crime.

Vivian’s relationships are strained to their breaking points as she continues to seek balance. She turns to her best friend for support, only to be left empty handed and alone until she finds comradery and care from the last person she would have thought.

Warnings: This book contains sexually explicit material which is only suitable for mature readers, graphic violence, self-harm, abuse of a child by a parent, abuse by a sibling, alcohol abuse, and PTSD.

Buy Canopy

Read an excerpt from Canopy

As I approached Road 27, I saw what looked like an old warehouse. It was all closed up, the metal siding rusty, the dirt lot empty and overgrown with Russian Thistle. It was perfect for a bio break.

I backed off the throttle and downshifted. The bike rapidly slowed under me. I pulled into the dirt lot and parked along the side of the structure. I killed the engine and hopped off quickly, yanking off my helmet and gloves.

My bladder was screaming for relief. I grabbed a tissue from my tank bag and jogged around to the east side of the building so I wouldn’t be seen from the road. Dropping trou, I squatted against the side of the building. The heat of the warm metal siding radiated through the back of my shirt. Once I was finished, I stood, buckling my belt as the relief washed over my body.

The building was surrounded by row crops, and a breeze blew across the fields. The distant Sierra Mountains wavered in the hot air.

It occurred to me an abandoned warehouse like that would be a great spot for geocaching and I walked slowly along the side of the building, looking for potential geocache hiding spots.

I rounded the far corner of the building and stopped in my tracks. I was startled to see a car parked about twenty feet away. It was a rusted-out old Honda Accord, its windows rolled down. The burgundy paint was oxidized, and strips of the headliner hung down, fluttering in the hot midday breeze.

Some faint shuffling sounds came from inside the warehouse, and I realized I was standing directly in front of a rusty pedestrian door. I took a few steps back. My hands tingled and I balled them into fists.

It’s just a farm worker getting some tools, dumbass.

But the hypervigilance that had kicked in would not go away. Something was off, and it made me bristle.

I reached down for my M16 sling and came up empty. I looked down at my boots on the dusty cracked ground. They were my scuffed-up riding boots, not military issue jump boots. My pants were denim, not BDU’s.

I slipped away to another hot, dusty day five years prior. A day when RPG’s and bullets filled the air rather than the sound of the breeze rustling crops. A day when blood was shed.

I took another step away from the building and forced myself to breathe. Breathe in the smell of freshly plowed soil, leather, gasoline, and the faint hint of a dung heap.

I slapped myself across the thighs, hard. Even through denim, the sound and sting of it helped bring me back. My thighs and palms burned. I did it again to make the point to myself.

The door to the warehouse opened, and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a tan backpack, whistling, and twirling a key ring on her fingertip as she walked toward a spigot near the door. Her long hair was brown and tightly permed. She was short but solid and moved like an athlete. Scanning her, I noticed that her hands and shirt were bloody. I coiled up inside, ready to fight.

The door closed heavily behind her, and she took a few more steps before looking up and spotting me. She stopped whistling as our eyes met.

I immediately shifted into a fighting stance. With no hesitation the woman charged at me. I got low and opened my arms because I didn’t have time to try a side slip. As soon as the woman plowed into me, I wrapped my arms tightly around her.

We went down hard. I wrapped my legs around her waist. Dust and grit were immediately in the air.

I had a hard time keeping a grip on her torso because of the backpack. I worked my arms up until the crook of my elbow was wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her as close as I could. She bucked and tried to roll out of my grip. I locked my right foot into the crook of my left knee and squeezed the woman’s guts. She grunted as I clamped my thighs down around her, restricting her ability to get a full breath. She was solid and strong, deep down in her core.

Adrenaline and rage surged through my body, and a clear lucidity took over. I was in my element, and apparently so was the woman I was hanging onto.

Warnings: This book contains sexually explicit material which is only suitable for mature readers, graphic violence, self-harm, abuse of a child by a parent, abuse by a sibling, alcohol abuse, and PTSD.

Buy Canopy