Becky Doughty is the author of the award-winning Elderberry Croft series and the voice behind BraveHeart Audiobooks. "I write fiction, mainly because nonfiction is hard! Yes, I've tried. Let's just say I like to color outside the lines when it comes to sticking to facts...or anything else, for that matter. I write Women's Fiction with strong elements of romance and Young Adult/New Adult Fiction. Some of my fiction is written from a Christian worldview (and labeled as such), and some of it is not. My stories, however, are all categorically "clean" or "sweet" (light on language, violence, and sex), so if you're looking for a book you don't have to shove under the couch cushion when visitors stop by, you've come to the right place.
Tell us about yourself!
I’m part chameleon. Not because I can change colors on demand (which would be AWESOME!), but because I can move my eyes independently of each other. It gives me a serious eye-strain headache, but it’s entertaining. I may post a video one day ….
I live in Southern California, but I can’t stand the sun. It burns my eyes and makes my skin turn glittery–er, I mean, red. I should live somewhere like Ireland or Scotland where it rains a lot. Or Forks.Speaking of Ireland, I ran The Dublin Marathon in Dublin, Ireland, in the year 2000, to celebrate the new millennium. It rained the whole 26.2 miles. Chafing and blisters commenced.
I am adopted. It’s pretty cool. I come from nowhere, anywhere, and everywhere.Speaking of being adopted, one of my favorite pastimes is people-watching. In airports, and waiting rooms, etc., I pretend to read, but really, I look for people who might be my long-lost birth relatives, then I write reunion scenes in my head. Someday, I might publish those reunion stories.I still read aloud to our 20-something year-old married children after dinner during our weekly Family Night. We like all things Middle Earth, Otherworld, Time-travel, and non-Muggle. We keep it real, baby.I have a secret that I can’t tell you.My children have some incredible tattoos.Book stuff: I love to read historical fiction, but I usually write contemporary fiction. I keep threatening to put out a nonfiction book … but I kinda like the whole … ahem … ‘creative license’ thing with fiction.
Baby, I was BORN TO LIE! (Bumper sticker, anyone?)I grew up in the boonies, so we had no television. But one of our supporting churches sent a shipment of all the Nancy Drew books ever published to us for Christmas one year. No, I wasn’t Nancy. I was George.
Another of my favorite novels while growing up was Louis L’Amour’s Down the Long Hills. I first read it because my dad loved Louis L’Amour, and I wanted to be like him. (Dad, not Louis. Except for the writing a gazillion books and making a living at lying part.) I still have that original hard-back copy in my library.
Speaking of Louis L’Amour, I’m what would be considered a “Pantser” – I write by the seat of my pants. I usually start with a general story or plot idea, but don’t map much out until I’m actually writing the book, and even then, my characters usually take off on their own. I’ve never written a book that ended up the way I originally thought it would. So what does that have to do with my buddy, Louie? This is from his memoirs: “One day I was speeding along at the typewriter, and my daughter—who was a child at the time—asked me ‘Daddy, why are you writing so fast?’ And I replied, ‘Because I want to see how the story turns out!’”
An Excerpt from Becky's Book
I hated Sebastian almost the first moment I saw him.
But then I started to love him while I still hated him, which made things a little complicated.
Him and that guitar.
When he played, I think I could actually feel his fingers caressing the strings, almost as though those strings were attached directly to my heart. He didn’t play gently, but I wasn’t looking for gentle. He didn’t have the finest setup, either; just a doctored-up Fender Mexican Strat in an old-school maple sunburst. But oh, how he made that baby sing under his touch.
And my heart thrummed with a jealousy so intense I thought my head might explode. I was looking for a rhythm guitarist, someone to back me up, not someone who owned the instrument like it was an extension of his body, his soul.
I was front man. Woman. My band. My songs. My way.
But when he let the last chord linger in the air between us, all I could hear were my songs… his way.
It didn’t help that he had those tortured artist eyes. Brendan Urie meets Kellin Quinn kind of tortured. Robert Pattinson in all his glittery-skinned, golden-eyed, smoldering glory days. Like the music coming out of him was a sacrificial offering of severed nerve endings, and he was feeling every single one of them. Desperate for me to feel them, too, and quietly raging at me for making him care what I thought.
My band. My songs. My way.
But as much as I hated him, I knew that I needed him. And that guitar. And I also knew if I was going to have him, it would be our band, our songs, our way. Maybe not at first. Deep in my heart, though, I knew it was inevitable. Bring him on and my world would change.