Amy Harmon's Blog
April 6, 2024
The Outlaw is Coming . . .
There was a point in writing The Outlaw Noble Salt where I was overcome with grief. I’ve written some very sad historical novels, novels about war and loss and incredible grit, so to be “struck down” by this novel, in particular, was unexpected. I thought maybe it was me—my life, my career, the crisis of faith I seem to be continually caught in—and not the book at all. Then in the midst of a heart-to-heart conversation with a friend, the thought came loud and clear: these are Butch Cassidy’s feelings, not mine.
I resonated with this character in a way that might be surprising. Like Robert LeRoy Parker, I was raised in Utah in an empty valley just north of his, and I deeply understood his restlessness and his disillusionment, even though we were born a hundred years apart. I’ve felt the same love for the land, the people, and the history, as well as a need to find my own way. And every time I drive through Beaver River Valley, which is at least once a year on our family’s trek to the beach in California, I am overcome. It was the valley, even more than the man, that called to me.
Robert LeRoy Parker was a fascinating character, full of the contradictions that make humans remarkable and fallible. He was good even though he did bad things. He was honest even though he was wise. If it’s possible to channel characters—and research starts to feel like channeling after a while—the overwhelming feeling I got from Butch was genuine regret. He knew he’d gotten it wrong and chased a false happiness, and like his father says in the book, there are so few second chances. My goal with this novel was to give him one. Everyone deserves a love story, even an outlaw, and I hope he (and you) liked this alternate ending to an American legend.
Amy
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I resonated with this character in a way that might be surprising. Like Robert LeRoy Parker, I was raised in Utah in an empty valley just north of his, and I deeply understood his restlessness and his disillusionment, even though we were born a hundred years apart. I’ve felt the same love for the land, the people, and the history, as well as a need to find my own way. And every time I drive through Beaver River Valley, which is at least once a year on our family’s trek to the beach in California, I am overcome. It was the valley, even more than the man, that called to me.
Robert LeRoy Parker was a fascinating character, full of the contradictions that make humans remarkable and fallible. He was good even though he did bad things. He was honest even though he was wise. If it’s possible to channel characters—and research starts to feel like channeling after a while—the overwhelming feeling I got from Butch was genuine regret. He knew he’d gotten it wrong and chased a false happiness, and like his father says in the book, there are so few second chances. My goal with this novel was to give him one. Everyone deserves a love story, even an outlaw, and I hope he (and you) liked this alternate ending to an American legend.
Amy
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February 25, 2023
Prologue - A Girl Called Samson
January 3, 1827
Dear Elizabeth,
You have not been far from my mind today. It is a new year, though I suspect it will be my last. I find myself lost in thought more than I am present, and though I’ve told parts of my story, I’ve never written it all down from beginning to end.
Many of the things I will write, you already know, but this record will be for your children. And mine. And for generations of little girls who have not even been born.
A newspaper columnist named Charles Mann—he calls himself a novelist—interviewed me at length for a book, and I had hopes that he would write my story as I told it to him. But I find some things are impossible to express, especially to a stranger. The pages he has shared with me bear little resemblance to the tale I lived, and one must understand my history to understand my choices. It is better that I write it myself, even if it shocks sensibilities.
I am accustomed to that.
The records I kept during the final years of the Revolution were scant and insufficient, but the events are burned into my memory, and I relive them in my sleep. It seems like another life. I suppose it was, though the remnants of that life are with me still, in my flesh and in my posterity.
I feared the war would end, and I would miss it. As it turned out, I saw all the bloodshed I could bear. I watched boys die and grown men weep. I saw cowardice reign and bravery falter. And I witnessed what dreams cost, up close and personal.
If I’d known, I would never have found the courage to go. I would have scribbled all my patriot ramblings on pages nobody read and avoided it all, the pain in my leg and the price of independence—my own and that of my country.
But then I wouldn’t have met him.
And I wouldn’t have come to truly know myself.
People ask me why I did it. Mr. Mann kept returning to that question, and I had no simple answer. Such a question demands the entire story. All I know is that once the idea took root in me, I could not escape it. It grew and grew, until to deny it would have choked the hope from my breast. And hope is what keeps us alive.
Had I been pretty and small, I might have had different dreams. I’ve pondered on that many times. Our aspirations are so often shaped by our appearance. I wonder how mine might have changed me.
I was named after my mother, Deborah, who was named after the Biblical prophetess. But I didn’t want to be a prophet. I wanted to be a warrior like Jael, the woman who slayed the mighty general Sisera and delivered her people from the fist of oppression. Mostly, I wanted to free myself.
At five years old, I was alone in the world. At eight, I became a servant to a widow who treated me like a dog. At ten, I was bound out and indentured until I turned eighteen.
It is impossible to describe how it feels to have no say in one’s own life, to be at the mercy of others, and to be sent away. I was only a child then, but being bond marked me deeply and lit a rebellion in my veins I have never quelled.
Maybe that was the moment I became a soldier.
Maybe that was the day it all began.
Release date: April 1, 2023
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Dear Elizabeth,
You have not been far from my mind today. It is a new year, though I suspect it will be my last. I find myself lost in thought more than I am present, and though I’ve told parts of my story, I’ve never written it all down from beginning to end.
Many of the things I will write, you already know, but this record will be for your children. And mine. And for generations of little girls who have not even been born.
A newspaper columnist named Charles Mann—he calls himself a novelist—interviewed me at length for a book, and I had hopes that he would write my story as I told it to him. But I find some things are impossible to express, especially to a stranger. The pages he has shared with me bear little resemblance to the tale I lived, and one must understand my history to understand my choices. It is better that I write it myself, even if it shocks sensibilities.
I am accustomed to that.
The records I kept during the final years of the Revolution were scant and insufficient, but the events are burned into my memory, and I relive them in my sleep. It seems like another life. I suppose it was, though the remnants of that life are with me still, in my flesh and in my posterity.
I feared the war would end, and I would miss it. As it turned out, I saw all the bloodshed I could bear. I watched boys die and grown men weep. I saw cowardice reign and bravery falter. And I witnessed what dreams cost, up close and personal.
If I’d known, I would never have found the courage to go. I would have scribbled all my patriot ramblings on pages nobody read and avoided it all, the pain in my leg and the price of independence—my own and that of my country.
But then I wouldn’t have met him.
And I wouldn’t have come to truly know myself.
People ask me why I did it. Mr. Mann kept returning to that question, and I had no simple answer. Such a question demands the entire story. All I know is that once the idea took root in me, I could not escape it. It grew and grew, until to deny it would have choked the hope from my breast. And hope is what keeps us alive.
Had I been pretty and small, I might have had different dreams. I’ve pondered on that many times. Our aspirations are so often shaped by our appearance. I wonder how mine might have changed me.
I was named after my mother, Deborah, who was named after the Biblical prophetess. But I didn’t want to be a prophet. I wanted to be a warrior like Jael, the woman who slayed the mighty general Sisera and delivered her people from the fist of oppression. Mostly, I wanted to free myself.
At five years old, I was alone in the world. At eight, I became a servant to a widow who treated me like a dog. At ten, I was bound out and indentured until I turned eighteen.
It is impossible to describe how it feels to have no say in one’s own life, to be at the mercy of others, and to be sent away. I was only a child then, but being bond marked me deeply and lit a rebellion in my veins I have never quelled.
Maybe that was the moment I became a soldier.
Maybe that was the day it all began.
Release date: April 1, 2023
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April 18, 2022
Author Note - The Unknown Beloved
The Unknown Beloved – Author’s Note
Amy Harmon
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As so often happens in these historical journeys I take, the sadness of the history often overwhelms me, and I wonder how I’m going to give my readers a happy ending—or even a sense of an ending—when history is messy and hard and tragic. The real Eliot Ness died of a heart attack when he was only fifty-four. He was an interesting figure for me, a man I liked, but the thing that stood out was that he was good. Not perfect. Not by any stretch. But good. He tried. He wanted to make things better. He wanted to do the right thing, and even though he had his flaws and his selfish ambitions, he was not ruled by them. Maybe that is what makes heroes of regular men and what makes regular men (and women) heroes.
The mystery surrounding the Cleveland Torso Murders of the 1930s dogged Eliot Ness for the rest of his career. As he said in the story, finding the Butcher wasn’t like taking out Al Capone. Ness never talked to the papers or pointed the finger of blame, but I think Eliot Ness knew who the Butcher of Kingsbury Run was, and he did his best to bring the carnage to an end. Many believe those years in Cleveland cost him his health, his first marriage, and his career. I wish him peace.
Which brings me to Michael Malone. He was a special agent for the Treasury Department, one of the famed T-Men. But he is not at all well known. The rough sketch of his life that I use in my novel does follow the real man. His older sister Molly, a side character in this story, was a constant in his life after he lost his mother at a young age. He and his wife, Irene, were estranged for most of their marriage after losing two children, and Michael spent the rest of his life embedded in big cases, doing work that very few people ever knew about. His friendship with Eliot Ness was not documented, nor did Malone help Ness with the Cleveland Torso Murders, but I have no doubt that the two knew and worked together on the Capone case, where Michael was undercover for eighteen months and pivotal in bringing the organization down.
By all accounts, Michael Malone was a quiet, dedicated, crime fighter who never received or wanted the credit. I learned about him in a documentary on Al Capone and the mob and started digging into his story. As always happens, once you start pulling on threads, one leads to another and another. He became my leading man, mostly because I wanted to give his story an ending I felt he deserved. His love and life with Dani Flanagan is all fiction, but the real Michael Malone earned it, and part of me wonders if Dani and Malone might need to go on a few more adventures together, solve a few more mysteries, and pull a few more secrets from the cloth. I think they make a very good team.
With every book I write, I delve into the people and circumstances that create a setting. Every place has its story, but America, maybe more than any other country, has a patchwork quilt of the world layered over every city and town. It is one of the most fascinating things about writing; you uncover the identity of not only your characters but of every place you write about. Cleveland’s founding was dominated by Eastern European immigrants, mainly Hungarians, Czechs, and Poles, who brought their own flavor and color to the area. The Kos family are fictional, but their Czech heritage is not. The Broadway, East 55th part of town has tried to preserve that history and some of the original Bohemian buildings, but sadly, much of it is gone. That’s why historical fiction is so important. It brings these places, and these people, into focus.
The hardest thing for Dani in The Unknown Beloved was the fact that so many of the Butcher’s victims were never named. They died alone and unknown. The plight of the unknown was the theme of this book. Unknown people, unknown pain, unknown acts of heroism, and unknown acts of horror. Some of the Butcher’s victims were named, most were not, but I tried to make them as real as I could, if only to shine light on the sadness of their stories and the actuality of their lives.
So many of the things in this book are true that detailing them would demand a dozen lists and pages of explanation, but this story has something for everyone. Romance, friendship, courage, and crime, The Unknown Beloved is sure to send you down the rabbit hole by the time you are finished reading. Enjoy!
Amy Harmon
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July 18, 2021
The Second Blind Son
From the bestselling author of The First Girl Child comes a new beguiling romantic fantasy where a blind boy and a lost girl discover their greatest strength is their bond with each other.
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Copyright © Amy Harmon
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March 11, 2021
The Songbook of Benny Lament - A Note From the Author
I proposed The Songbook of Benny Lament to my publisher in 2019 and finished it in early 2020, right before the world was gripped in our current troubles. I had no sense of what was coming when I wrote about Benny and Esther and the world they lived in. I had no idea how complicated life would become. In some ways, it made the complicated nature of the past easier to understand.
When I told my mom I was writing a historical love story set in the 60s, she said, "The 1960s isn't historical." Meaning: "I was alive then, so it wasn't that long ago." No, Mom. It wasn't that long ago. And unlike some of the novels I've written, there was no comfortable distance from the setting or the time.
I wasn’t alive in the sixties. I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of the decade this story was set in—not the music scene, the Mafia life, the political climate, or the civil rights movement. I was not there. But when the idea for this story took root in me, it flowered quickly. Benny and Esther started talking, and I wasn't about to ignore them. I wrote their story, and I poured my whole self into it.
When I was finished, I sent it to a handful of beta readers. Sher, who happens to be a Black woman and a pianist, shared her thoughts with me after she was done. She loved the book and had great feedback. As we visited about different aspects of the music world and the story, our conversation inevitably led to the concept of identity and how my skin color is different from Esther's. We talked about the task and the test of writing a character who is not ME. That made me laugh a little, because in eighteen novels, I've never written a character who IS me. Men, women, and children from all walks of life and experiences stroll the pages of my books and tell their stories.
Esther Mine and Benny Lament are not Amy Harmon. They are my creations, but they are not me. And though my characters are born in my heart and raised with my research, the hope is that they will become real to my readers, and that they will be authentic to the actual people who have lived similar experiences. That is the test and the responsibility.
As I told Sher, I may not be the same color as Esther. I may not be Sicilian like Benny. I definitely don't play the piano like he does. But we are the same more than we are different. We may not share an entire identity--no two people do--but we share a world. I share Benny's love of music and his passion for creation. I share Esther's hopes and her fears as a woman, a daughter, and a sister. I share Benny's complicated feelings about family, and Esther's desire to be part of something bigger and something better. In truth, I had no trouble "being" Esther or Benny at all.
That is the magic of books. Of stories. We become someone else. We walk inside them. We go where they've been and where they're going. And the walls between us and them disappear. Every reader can attest to this.
Finally, this book isn't a story about trauma. It's a story about triumph. About love. About family. It's a story about music, and how it heals and holds and helps us along when everything else fails. I hope you feel every note in The Songbook of Benny Lament. I know I did.
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When I told my mom I was writing a historical love story set in the 60s, she said, "The 1960s isn't historical." Meaning: "I was alive then, so it wasn't that long ago." No, Mom. It wasn't that long ago. And unlike some of the novels I've written, there was no comfortable distance from the setting or the time.
I wasn’t alive in the sixties. I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of the decade this story was set in—not the music scene, the Mafia life, the political climate, or the civil rights movement. I was not there. But when the idea for this story took root in me, it flowered quickly. Benny and Esther started talking, and I wasn't about to ignore them. I wrote their story, and I poured my whole self into it.
When I was finished, I sent it to a handful of beta readers. Sher, who happens to be a Black woman and a pianist, shared her thoughts with me after she was done. She loved the book and had great feedback. As we visited about different aspects of the music world and the story, our conversation inevitably led to the concept of identity and how my skin color is different from Esther's. We talked about the task and the test of writing a character who is not ME. That made me laugh a little, because in eighteen novels, I've never written a character who IS me. Men, women, and children from all walks of life and experiences stroll the pages of my books and tell their stories.
Esther Mine and Benny Lament are not Amy Harmon. They are my creations, but they are not me. And though my characters are born in my heart and raised with my research, the hope is that they will become real to my readers, and that they will be authentic to the actual people who have lived similar experiences. That is the test and the responsibility.
As I told Sher, I may not be the same color as Esther. I may not be Sicilian like Benny. I definitely don't play the piano like he does. But we are the same more than we are different. We may not share an entire identity--no two people do--but we share a world. I share Benny's love of music and his passion for creation. I share Esther's hopes and her fears as a woman, a daughter, and a sister. I share Benny's complicated feelings about family, and Esther's desire to be part of something bigger and something better. In truth, I had no trouble "being" Esther or Benny at all.
That is the magic of books. Of stories. We become someone else. We walk inside them. We go where they've been and where they're going. And the walls between us and them disappear. Every reader can attest to this.
Finally, this book isn't a story about trauma. It's a story about triumph. About love. About family. It's a story about music, and how it heals and holds and helps us along when everything else fails. I hope you feel every note in The Songbook of Benny Lament. I know I did.
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April 28, 2020
Where the Lost Wander
Dearest Reader,
Never could I have imagined that a journey along the Oregon Trail in 1853 could have so many parallels with the lives we are living right now. The isolation, the unknowns, the narrowing of our worlds to our own walls, where everything becomes simultaneously simpler and a thousand times harder. I was afraid to write this book. History is always tricky. It’s ugly and hard and politically incorrect. It’s uncomfortable! But it’s beautiful too. It’s triumphant. It’s relatable. And I hope that as you take this journey with John Lowry and Naomi May you will walk in their shoes and see the world through their eyes. I hope you will gasp in excitement, and your heart will pound with dread. But mostly, I hope you will fall in love. Not just with John and Naomi and the May family, but with the real people who blazed a trail and built a foundation for our own lives. Thank you for reading, my friends. Now saddle up!
Sincerely,
Amy Harmon
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Never could I have imagined that a journey along the Oregon Trail in 1853 could have so many parallels with the lives we are living right now. The isolation, the unknowns, the narrowing of our worlds to our own walls, where everything becomes simultaneously simpler and a thousand times harder. I was afraid to write this book. History is always tricky. It’s ugly and hard and politically incorrect. It’s uncomfortable! But it’s beautiful too. It’s triumphant. It’s relatable. And I hope that as you take this journey with John Lowry and Naomi May you will walk in their shoes and see the world through their eyes. I hope you will gasp in excitement, and your heart will pound with dread. But mostly, I hope you will fall in love. Not just with John and Naomi and the May family, but with the real people who blazed a trail and built a foundation for our own lives. Thank you for reading, my friends. Now saddle up!
Sincerely,
Amy Harmon
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October 11, 2019
A New Historical from Amy Harmon
Where the Lost Wander, an epic and haunting love story set on the Oregon Trail is available for pre-order on Amazon in e-book, paperback, and audio.
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From the New York Times bestselling author comes an epic and haunting love story set on the Oregon Trail, where a family and their unlikely protector find their way through peril, uncertainty, and loss.
The Overland Trail, 1853: Naomi May never expected to be widowed at twenty. Eager to leave her grief behind, she sets off with her family for a life out West. On the trail, she forms an instant connection with John Lowry, a half-Pawnee man straddling two worlds and a stranger in both.
But life in a wagon train is fraught with hardship, fear, and death. Even as John and Naomi are drawn to each other, the trials of the journey and their disparate pasts work to keep them apart. John’s heritage gains them safe passage through hostile territory only to come between them as they seek to build a life together.
When a horrific tragedy strikes, decimating Naomi’s family and separating her from John, the promises they made are all they have left. Ripped apart, they can’t turn back, they can’t go on, and they can’t let go. Both will have to make terrible sacrifices to find each other, save each other, and eventually … make peace with who they are.
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Copyright © Amy Harmon
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From the New York Times bestselling author comes an epic and haunting love story set on the Oregon Trail, where a family and their unlikely protector find their way through peril, uncertainty, and loss.
The Overland Trail, 1853: Naomi May never expected to be widowed at twenty. Eager to leave her grief behind, she sets off with her family for a life out West. On the trail, she forms an instant connection with John Lowry, a half-Pawnee man straddling two worlds and a stranger in both.
But life in a wagon train is fraught with hardship, fear, and death. Even as John and Naomi are drawn to each other, the trials of the journey and their disparate pasts work to keep them apart. John’s heritage gains them safe passage through hostile territory only to come between them as they seek to build a life together.
When a horrific tragedy strikes, decimating Naomi’s family and separating her from John, the promises they made are all they have left. Ripped apart, they can’t turn back, they can’t go on, and they can’t let go. Both will have to make terrible sacrifices to find each other, save each other, and eventually … make peace with who they are.
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Copyright © Amy Harmon
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August 20, 2019
The First Girl Child
The First Girl Child, a romantic fantasy is now available on Amazon in e-book, paperback, and audio.
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From the New York Times bestselling author comes a breathtaking fantasy of a cursed kingdom, warring clans, and unexpected salvation.
Bayr of Saylok, bastard son of a powerful and jealous chieftain, is haunted by the curse once leveled by his dying mother. Bartered, abandoned, and rarely loved, she plagued the land with her words: From this day forward, there will be no daughters in Saylok.
Raised among the Keepers at Temple Hill, Bayr is gifted with inhuman strength. But he’s also blessed with an all-too-human heart that beats with one purpose: to protect Alba, the first girl child born in nearly two decades and the salvation for a country at risk.
Now the fate of Saylok lies with Alba and Bayr, whose bond grows deeper with every whisper of coming chaos. Charged with battling the enemies of their people, both within and without, Bayr is fueled further by the love of a girl who has defied the scourge of Saylok.
What Bayr and Alba don’t know is that they each threaten the king, a greedy man who built his throne on lies, murder, and betrayal. There is only one way to defend their land from the corruption that has overtaken it. By breaking the curse, they could defeat the king…but they could also destroy themselves.
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Copyright © Amy Harmon
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From the New York Times bestselling author comes a breathtaking fantasy of a cursed kingdom, warring clans, and unexpected salvation.
Bayr of Saylok, bastard son of a powerful and jealous chieftain, is haunted by the curse once leveled by his dying mother. Bartered, abandoned, and rarely loved, she plagued the land with her words: From this day forward, there will be no daughters in Saylok.
Raised among the Keepers at Temple Hill, Bayr is gifted with inhuman strength. But he’s also blessed with an all-too-human heart that beats with one purpose: to protect Alba, the first girl child born in nearly two decades and the salvation for a country at risk.
Now the fate of Saylok lies with Alba and Bayr, whose bond grows deeper with every whisper of coming chaos. Charged with battling the enemies of their people, both within and without, Bayr is fueled further by the love of a girl who has defied the scourge of Saylok.
What Bayr and Alba don’t know is that they each threaten the king, a greedy man who built his throne on lies, murder, and betrayal. There is only one way to defend their land from the corruption that has overtaken it. By breaking the curse, they could defeat the king…but they could also destroy themselves.
🔯️ "By far, my favorite book of 2019. Addictive, engrossing, completely unputdownable. Amy Harmon’s The First Girl Child needs to be at the top of everyone’s reading list."
~ Penny Reid, New York Times bestselling author
🔯️ "The First Girl Child is a unique and lovely read set in a world that is both familiar and strange. Rich, fast-paced, and romantic, this book will thoroughly satisfy fantasy readers craving a story with meat on its bones. It’s going on my shelf next to Robin Hobb and Patricia McKillip"
~ Jared Garrett, bestselling author of Lakhoni
🔯️ "Utterly brilliant. A sprawling tale of love and magic, of leadership and the sacrifice that comes with it. I cannot recommend this book enough."
~ Staci Hart, bestselling author of the Red Lipstick Coalition series
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Copyright © Amy Harmon
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January 7, 2019
Author Note - WHAT THE WIND KNOWS
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the summer of 2016, after doing a little research on my family tree, I traveled to Dromahair, Ireland, to see the place where my great-grandfather, Martin Smith, was born and raised. He emigrated to the States as a young man; my nana said he got involved with the local IRB, and his parents sent him to America because they didn’t want him getting into trouble.
I don’t know if that’s true, as Nana has been gone since 2001, but he was born the same year as Michael Collins, in a period of reformation and revolution. Nana had written a few things on the back of a St. Patrick’s Day card one year about her father, my great-grandfather. I knew when he was born, I knew his mother’s name was Anne Gallagher, and his father was Michael Smith. But that’s all I knew. Just like the main character in What The Wind Knows, I went to Dromahair with the hopes of finding them. And I did.
My parents and my older sister took the trip with me, and the first time we saw Lough Gill, my chest burned, and my eyes teared. Every step of the way, it felt like we were being guided and led. Deirdre Fallon, a real-life librarian—libraries never let you down—in Dromahair directed us to the genealogical center in Ballinamore. We were then directed to Ballinagar, a cemetery behind a church in the middle of fields. When I asked how we would find it, I really was told to pray or pull over and ask someone, just like Anne was told to do in this book. I won’t ever forget how it felt to walk up that rise among the stones and find my family.
The townland where my grandfather was born was called Garvagh Glebe, just like in the story. But Garvagh Glebe is not a manor, and it is not next to Lough Gill. It is a rather barren and rocky stretch of land, a true “rough place” up in the hills above Dromahair where there is a wind farm now. When I saw those big windmills, the title was born. What the Wind Knows was inspired by these events and by ancestors I’ve never met but feel like I know.
I couldn’t give my main character my great-great grandfather’s name (Michael Smith) because Michael Collins was such a central figure in the book, and I didn’t want two Michaels. So Thomas Smith was named for two of my Irish grandfathers, Thomas Keefe of Youghal, County Cork, and Michael Smith of Dromahair, County Leitrim. We also have a Bannon branch that I can’t get a lock on. Maybe there will be another book about John Bannon.
Even though this book has a strong dose of the fantastical, I wanted it to be a historical novel as well. The more research I did into Ireland, the more lost I felt. I didn’t know how to tell the story or even what story to tell. I felt like Anne when she told Eoin, “There is no consensus. I have to have context.” It was Eoin’s response to Anne, “Don’t let the history distract you from the people who lived it,” that gave me hope and direction.
Ireland’s history is a long and tumultuous one, and I did not wish to relitigate it or point fingers of blame in this story. I simply wanted to learn, understand, and fall in love with her and invite my reader to love her too. In the process, I immersed myself in the poetry of Yeats, who walked the streets my great-grandfather walked and who wrote about Dromahair. I also fell in love with Michael Collins.
If you want to know more about him, I highly suggest Tim Pat Coogan’s book, Michael Collins, to gain a deeper appreciation of his life and his place in Irish history. There is so much written about him, and so many opinions, but after all my research, I am still in awe of the young man who committed himself, heart and soul, to his cause. That much is not in dispute. Of course, Thomas Smith is a fictional character, but I think he embodies the kind of friendship and loyalty Michael Collins inspired among those who knew him. I did my best to blend fact and fiction, and many of the events and accounts I inserted Thomas and Anne into actually happened.
Any mistakes or embellishments to the actual record to fill in the historical gaps or to further the story are well intentioned and are completely my own. I only hope when you are finished with What the Wind Knows, you have a greater respect for the men and women who came before and a desire to make the world a better place.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
In the summer of 2016, after doing a little research on my family tree, I traveled to Dromahair, Ireland, to see the place where my great-grandfather, Martin Smith, was born and raised. He emigrated to the States as a young man; my nana said he got involved with the local IRB, and his parents sent him to America because they didn’t want him getting into trouble.
I don’t know if that’s true, as Nana has been gone since 2001, but he was born the same year as Michael Collins, in a period of reformation and revolution. Nana had written a few things on the back of a St. Patrick’s Day card one year about her father, my great-grandfather. I knew when he was born, I knew his mother’s name was Anne Gallagher, and his father was Michael Smith. But that’s all I knew. Just like the main character in What The Wind Knows, I went to Dromahair with the hopes of finding them. And I did.
My parents and my older sister took the trip with me, and the first time we saw Lough Gill, my chest burned, and my eyes teared. Every step of the way, it felt like we were being guided and led. Deirdre Fallon, a real-life librarian—libraries never let you down—in Dromahair directed us to the genealogical center in Ballinamore. We were then directed to Ballinagar, a cemetery behind a church in the middle of fields. When I asked how we would find it, I really was told to pray or pull over and ask someone, just like Anne was told to do in this book. I won’t ever forget how it felt to walk up that rise among the stones and find my family.
The townland where my grandfather was born was called Garvagh Glebe, just like in the story. But Garvagh Glebe is not a manor, and it is not next to Lough Gill. It is a rather barren and rocky stretch of land, a true “rough place” up in the hills above Dromahair where there is a wind farm now. When I saw those big windmills, the title was born. What the Wind Knows was inspired by these events and by ancestors I’ve never met but feel like I know.
I couldn’t give my main character my great-great grandfather’s name (Michael Smith) because Michael Collins was such a central figure in the book, and I didn’t want two Michaels. So Thomas Smith was named for two of my Irish grandfathers, Thomas Keefe of Youghal, County Cork, and Michael Smith of Dromahair, County Leitrim. We also have a Bannon branch that I can’t get a lock on. Maybe there will be another book about John Bannon.
Even though this book has a strong dose of the fantastical, I wanted it to be a historical novel as well. The more research I did into Ireland, the more lost I felt. I didn’t know how to tell the story or even what story to tell. I felt like Anne when she told Eoin, “There is no consensus. I have to have context.” It was Eoin’s response to Anne, “Don’t let the history distract you from the people who lived it,” that gave me hope and direction.
Ireland’s history is a long and tumultuous one, and I did not wish to relitigate it or point fingers of blame in this story. I simply wanted to learn, understand, and fall in love with her and invite my reader to love her too. In the process, I immersed myself in the poetry of Yeats, who walked the streets my great-grandfather walked and who wrote about Dromahair. I also fell in love with Michael Collins.
If you want to know more about him, I highly suggest Tim Pat Coogan’s book, Michael Collins, to gain a deeper appreciation of his life and his place in Irish history. There is so much written about him, and so many opinions, but after all my research, I am still in awe of the young man who committed himself, heart and soul, to his cause. That much is not in dispute. Of course, Thomas Smith is a fictional character, but I think he embodies the kind of friendship and loyalty Michael Collins inspired among those who knew him. I did my best to blend fact and fiction, and many of the events and accounts I inserted Thomas and Anne into actually happened.
Any mistakes or embellishments to the actual record to fill in the historical gaps or to further the story are well intentioned and are completely my own. I only hope when you are finished with What the Wind Knows, you have a greater respect for the men and women who came before and a desire to make the world a better place.
February 13, 2018
Amy Harmon's The Smallest Part
The Smallest Part, a contemporary friends-to-lovers romance is now LIVE on all platforms, and available in e-book and paperback.
BUY NOW: AMAZON PAPERBACK | AMAZON KINDLE | BARNES & NOBLE | iBOOKS | KOBO
“In the end, only three things matter. How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
- Unknown
It was a big lie. The biggest lie she’d ever told. It reverberated through her head as she said it, ringing eerily, and the girl behind her eyes—the girl who knew the truth—screamed, and her scream echoed along with the lie.
“Are you in love with Noah, Mercedes?” Cora asked. “I mean . . . I know you love him. You’ve been friends forever. We all have. But are you in love with him?”
If it had been anyone else—anyone—Mercedes would have stuck out her chest, folded her skinny arms, and let her feelings be known. She would have claimed him. But it was Cora. Brave, beautiful, broken Cora, and Cora loved Noah too.
So Mercedes lied.
And with that lie, she lost him. With that lie, she sealed her fate.
She was the best friend, the bridesmaid, the godmother, the glue. She was there for the good times and the bad, the ups and downs, the biggest moments and the smallest parts. And she was there when it all came crashing down.
This is the tale of the girl who didn’t get the guy.
BUY NOW: AMAZON PAPERBACK | AMAZON KINDLE | BARNES & NOBLE | iBOOKS | KOBO
Copyright © Amy Harmon
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | AMAZON | BOOKBUB | NEWSLETTER
BUY NOW: AMAZON PAPERBACK | AMAZON KINDLE | BARNES & NOBLE | iBOOKS | KOBO
“In the end, only three things matter. How much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
- Unknown
It was a big lie. The biggest lie she’d ever told. It reverberated through her head as she said it, ringing eerily, and the girl behind her eyes—the girl who knew the truth—screamed, and her scream echoed along with the lie.
“Are you in love with Noah, Mercedes?” Cora asked. “I mean . . . I know you love him. You’ve been friends forever. We all have. But are you in love with him?”
If it had been anyone else—anyone—Mercedes would have stuck out her chest, folded her skinny arms, and let her feelings be known. She would have claimed him. But it was Cora. Brave, beautiful, broken Cora, and Cora loved Noah too.
So Mercedes lied.
And with that lie, she lost him. With that lie, she sealed her fate.
She was the best friend, the bridesmaid, the godmother, the glue. She was there for the good times and the bad, the ups and downs, the biggest moments and the smallest parts. And she was there when it all came crashing down.
This is the tale of the girl who didn’t get the guy.
❤️ "This isn't just a romance. It's a solid story of friendship and family, but it's knotted with unpredictable twists and turns, with bombshell revelations, with mesmerizing characters, with soul shattering emotional uncertainty." ~ Jessica Sotelo, Angie and Jessica's Dreamy Reads
❤️ "The Smallest Part is an UNFORGETTABLE and EMOTIONALLY-WOVEN love story that makes you want to grab onto every opportunity, take risks, open your heart to love, and live life to the fullest." ~ Karen McVino, Bookalicious Babes Blog
❤️ "6 STARS! Absolutely phenomenal. It's the BEST book I've read this year by leaps and bounds. A story so packed with angst and heart, I can't even gather my thoughts. It was everything!" ~ Angie McKeon, Angie's Dreamy Reads
BUY NOW: AMAZON PAPERBACK | AMAZON KINDLE | BARNES & NOBLE | iBOOKS | KOBO
Copyright © Amy Harmon
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | AMAZON | BOOKBUB | NEWSLETTER
