Interview with Alyssa Cole!
Alyssa Cole is a Brooklyn-based science editor, pop culture nerd, and romance junkie. In addition to writing, she hosts a romance book club and teaches romance writing at a local library. When she's not busy traveling, learning French, and, of course, writing, she can be found curled up in bed with her favorite books, Skyping with her fiancé, and watching cat videos on the Internet.
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How do you get an idea for your novel?
In general, I like drawing on real world situations (both present day and historical), and then fictionalizing them and adding a romantic theme. Eagle’s Heart is a combination of a few different things. My minor in college was Political Science with a concentration in post-communist democracies. I was interested in the region, and when I met someone who had grown up in Albania and blithely mentioned playing with weapons as a child, the seed for the novel took root. I eventually started reading up more on the Albanian mafia and how hard it was for the FBI to take them down, and that led to Julian and Bardhyn’s relationship. Salomeh’s story was based, in part, on a real-life situation. Someone I know was accused of something terrible and, with no other evidence, the media pounced on her. Around the same time period, there were a lot of stories in the news about teachers seducing students, and I had to wonder how many were real and how many were driven by the titillation factor.
What is your writing style? Do you just sit down and write or do you create character sketches, outlines, or notes?
Any story with me usually starts with a very vivid line of text. Something that pops up in my head when I’m in the shower or just falling asleep. That one line is the beginning of an avalanche, rolling along and picking up more mass as it goes. I create a basic outline in my head, and then I do a ton of research. I take notes that will be useful to the story, but in general I’m a pantser—I know which plot points I want to hit, so I just sit down and write and see what happens. I can draw on the research that I;ve done when I get stuck or to spice up the story.
Who is the "Writing Muse" in your life? I.E., who gets your juices flowing when you are blocked?
Google! As I said, I love to do research, and many of my ideas are sparked by random things that pop up during a search. Wikipedia is my side muse.
How many novels have you written including all work in progresses you are currently working on?
I have written three novels (including Eagle’s Heart) and one novella. They all have elements of suspense but are in varying subgenres (dystopian, Civil War historical, Irish fantasy contemporary).
Who is your "writing idol"? I.E., who do you like and what is it about their writing that captures your soul?
My writing idol is hands down Stephen King. I started my first adult novel when I was in second grade. It was Stephen King’s The Shining. Needless to say, it scared the crap out of me. When I got to the scene where Danny is going into room 237, I jumped down from my bed (I was a top bunk kid) and hid the book under a pile of clothing in my older sister’s room. A couple of years later I was reading every King book I could get my hands on. I had always loved reading, but King showed me the true power of writing. It was more than just words, it was the power to invoke deep feelings and unexpected reactions in readers.
What is your favorite plot line type?
I really love a romance where the hero and heroine have to learn to trust each other. I think giving someone your trust is much more intimate than giving them your body, and I love when a book explores that theme well.
What is a good villain?
Well, I think this is common knowledge, but a good villain really needs to be a complete well-rounded character. No one wants to read about Snidely Whiplash twirling his mustache after tying a woman to the train tracks. What motivates Snidely? Did he have a good relationship with his parents? Has he ever experienced loss? Or is he just someone searching for a connection with another human being, like everyone else?
Is there any advice you can offer to anyone who would like to write?
The advice is don’t put the act of writing on a pedestal. For so many years I saw writing as something that I would have to wait to do. There’s no need to wait because you have it in you to start immediately. The first thing you write may not be good, but just keep powering ahead and you’ll get there.
Here’s the summary:
Salomeh Jones is a Brooklyn high school teacher whose attempt to aid an abused student ruins her career and puts her life in jeopardy. Julian Tamali is a special agent hot on the trail of the Albanian mafia boss responsible for a slew of crimes, including the death of Julian’s family. When Julian finds a connection between the mafia boss and the disgraced school teacher, he sets into motion a series of events that will change their lives forever.
A night of pleasure throws them into a deadly game of cat and mouse with the man who has kidnapped Salomeh’s student and is possibly providing weapons to terrorists. Caught in a web of passion, danger, and betrayal, Julian and Salomeh must stop the mafia boss or forfeit their chance at redemption—and their lives.
Except from Eagle’s Heart:
“Not feeling patriotic?”
“What?” she squeaked, turning to face the man who had somehow crept up next to her while she was preoccupied with mentally flagellating herself.
“I was just observing that you don’t seem very patriotic,” he continued. He stood next to her, arms folded across his chest as he gazed at the fireworks. In the afterglow of the fireworks, all she could make out clearly was a head of shaggy black hair and the profile of a Roman nose and a well-defined jaw. He was tall, much taller than her five-feet-seven inches, and muscled. For a moment, fear coiled in Salomeh’s stomach. Could he be here to hurt her? Did he have something to do with Alexi?
“What are you talking about?” Salomeh snapped, irritated with him for invading her space and at herself for succumbing to distress. The jolt of anxiety segued into anger at the realization that she would have to suspect everyone until she could find Yelena, and hopefully, expose this Bardhyn character.
She took a sip of her gin and tonic and tried to rein in her annoyance, but she was tired of having her privacy invaded. All the people who had harassed her over the past weeks, the reporter with the fake card her neighbor had encountered the day before, the women across the rooftop just moments before, and now this man—all of them seemed to think it was perfectly okay to just barge into her life.
A huge burst of purple and yellow fireworks lit up the night sky, and from other parts of the roof, she could hear people clapping and whistling at the elaborate display. The man turned to her then, and in the glow of the fireworks she could see bright green eyes shining from under the fringe of his hair. His olive complexion provided a contrast that made his eyes seem even more brilliant. A smile touched his full, rosy lips. He was definitely handsome, although that didn’t change that fact that he was a nuisance. A very well-built and overly confident nuisance.
Salomeh watched surreptitiously as he reached up to run a hand through his hair. A thrill went through her at the way his biceps flexed and his pectorals tightened as he moved. His raw power was apparent even in this most casual of motions. Part of her wondered what it would be like to have all that strength concentrated on touching her. That same part, located between her legs, suddenly clenched when he shifted slightly closer to her.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, his accent still unfamiliar to her. It had the melodic but dolorous tone of something not quite European. “It’s just that it’s a beautiful night, the sky is filled with lovely fireworks, it’s the anniversary of your country’s independence, and you seem…unimpressed with it all.”
Salomeh rolled her eyes, although she was fairly certain the action was hidden by the shadow of the water tower. “I wasn’t aware that Homeland Security would be doing patriotism spot checks,” she deadpanned. He stiffened, as if she had offended him somehow. Good, she thought viciously, the scent of elderberry tickling her nose as she took a sip of her drink. “That’s what this is right? I mean, you’re not just some creep who roams the rooftops of Brooklyn, sneaking up on unsuspecting women for no reason, are you? Because that would be kind of weird.”
He raised his eyebrows at her, which she noticed only because the thick locks of hair hanging over his eyes shifted upward.
“You’ve seen through my disguise,” he said with mock severity. “We’re always on the lookout for suspicious characters. A woman lurking in a strategically isolated position such as this during a party merits an investigation. There must be something driving her away from everyone, no?”
He leaned in slightly just as a shower of white light exploded in the sky. Salomeh could see that his eyes were narrowed, his gaze entirely focused on her despite the world-famous light show occurring just above their heads. She had become used to scrutiny since her story had graced the covers of the tabloids. People had looked at her with disgust and disbelief and pity. But the look this man gave her was different. It was teasing and friendly and, most of all, interested.
She felt her cheeks warm. His face was close to hers, and the way he regarded her was comforting and seductive at the same time, somehow.
She’d told Marta she didn’t want to meet anyone. She told herself she had come out tonight just to prove that she could, but under this man’s watchful gaze, she felt that both of those things were lies. She had come out because she wanted to forget, and he seemed like someone who could help her to do just that if only she would allow it.
“I don’t fit the description of a sleeper cell agent, do I?” she asked, the irritation leaving her voice in increments.
“Not necessarily,” he murmured, his eyes still keen and evaluating. “But you are hiding in the shadows as if you’ve done something wrong. Why is that?”
Salomeh mused that the stranger didn’t know how right he was, couldn’t possibly know, or he wouldn’t be talking to her. Tears stung her eyes, sudden and embarrassing, but she blinked them back. She was so easy to read even a stranger could tell she didn’t fit in.
He leaned to his side so he was closer to her ear. “How about this? I won’t reveal that you’re a terrorist sending secret dispatches from this water tower if you promise to start enjoying yourself.”
His breath smelled of sweet dark rum, of summer abandon.
“That sounds like blackmail,” she said, starting to take another sip of her drink and realizing she’d already finished it. The stranger moved closer to her, and Salomeh felt another emotion start simmering in her belly. It wasn’t the fear that had become her everyday companion, but something unfamiliar and infinitely more welcome: lust.
His head dipped toward hers again, and this time when the smell of rum wafted over to her, she allowed herself to wonder what it tasted like on his lips. Her tongue dragged over her bottom lip at the thought, as if engaging in its own private roleplaying session, and she saw his gaze linger on her mouth.
“If I was going to blackmail you, I think I’d have something more interesting in mind than that,” he said drily.
Salomeh thought of Marta’s words to her the previous day.
You can do this, she thought, tugging at her dress absentmindedly. One night of fun.
“I’ve added another clause to our deal,” the man said, and when Salomeh looked at him, he reached out slowly and plucked her hand away from the dress. His touch was no more of the laying of his fingertips on her skin, but her entire body heated in response. “No more pulling your dress down. That hemline is quite perfect right where it is.”
Salomeh laughed at his ridiculous bargain. The sound startled her, as she hadn’t genuinely produced it in weeks. She marveled at the giddy feeling it inspired in her. She had thought she was forever incapable of feeling carefree, but here she was laughing. He hadn’t released her hand, and his rough warmth provided her with an odd sense of protection. It was ridiculous that a stranger should make her feel this way, but the who’s and why’s didn’t matter. She just wanted the sensation to last.
The finale of the fireworks show had started, and the loud bursting of the display nearly drowned out the cheers of the partygoers. The cacophony built and built, each boom resulting in larger bursts of colored light. The beauty of millions of shimmering specks raining down from the sky finally sank in, and Salomeh withdrew her hand from his to clap along with the crowd as they shouted their appreciation. As the raucous celebration quieted and the last embers of fireworks drifted down like tiny shooting stars over the city, she looked up at the stranger beside her.
“So, are you going to have fun, or am I going to have to call in reinforcements?” he asked with a mischievous smile.
“Secret agent man, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
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Revealing the truth of the prophecy sets off a chain of events that will change the very foundation of what she knows. She will enjoy every moment she has with her mate and to hell with what is to come.
