Angel on the Road

My Heart’s In The Highlands a sapphic tale of highlander romance and time travel by Amy Hoff. Coming soon June 23rd, 2020.

Ainslie reached over and hauled her up with one hand, so Jane’s face was suddenly very close to her own. “Sound carries on water,”  Ainslie whispered, dark green eyes holding Jane’s own. “Or do they no’ teach you that in the city?”

She stared at Ainslie’s mouth, those soft rose-pink lips and the white teeth barely visible behind them. Her breath caught. “Do ye ken how tae swim?” Ainslie said then, startling her. Jane shook her head. “Then ye best stay in the boat,” Ainslie said, and dropped her into the centre once again.

The year is 1888. Brilliant and beautiful, Lady Jane Crichton has fought the constraints of her Victorian Edinburgh upbringing to become one of the first women to attend university for medicine. Denied a degree because of her gender, she decides to wed Lord David Crichton in a marriage of convenience, providing him with the political and social cover to pursue his own interests, and the time and money to follow her own. Particularly her fascination with building a time machine.

Certain of her abilities, Jane is unsurprised to find that her machine works… though not exactly as expected, and soon finds herself tumbling backward through time, crash-landing in the 13th-century Scottish Highlands. There she is rescued from near-certain death by a wild, red-haired woman by the name of  Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, next in line to the chiefship of the great Clan Donald, the rulers of the Sea Kingdom of the Isles.

Thrown out of time and out of place, Jane finds herself bewitched by this land, this time and this magnificent woman who has claimed her heart. The rough and warlike Ainslie also feels the magic and revels in a passion and love neither she nor Jane had ever imagined. But Jane is hiding a terrible secret—one that threatens to tragically transform their Highland fairy tale. Can they overcome their differences and survive? Only time will tell…

Amy Dean Hoff at Port Charlotte Pier

Hey fam, we ready to talk about a Scottish lesbian time traveling romance? 

Also, just an upfront disclaimer on this one: I received an ARC (advance review copy) copy of this book from the Publisher and am writing this review voluntarily.

A Quick Summary:

My Heart’s in the Highlands by Amy Hoff is a sapphic time travel romance set in Scotland, starting in the late 1880s.  Lady Jane Crichton is a learned woman of science (based on the historic ‘Edinburgh Seven’), who has spent her lifetime railing against the restraints of Scottish Victorian life and the expectations placed upon her. Fortunately for Jane, she finds herself in a marriage of convenience (he’s gay and needed a beard to protect his political career, and she needed the financial freedom and support of a wealthy patron. They’re buds about it.) and with the help of her husband, Jane is able to fund her own research and builds a functioning time machine. 

Unfortunately for Jane her time machine malfunctions during one of its voyages, and she finds herself thrown back in time, crash landing into the 13th century. And also into Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, who is next in line to inherit the great Clan Donald. Which is one hell of a way to find out your a lesbian, but also 10/10 would willingly fall back in time and into the arms of a buff Scottish warrior woman. But Jane also holds a secret. She knows what will become of these lands, and to the people that live on them, and she must choose between her fairy tale romance, or the harsh reality of history that lies ahead. Can her and  Ainslie’s love survive? Or will they be torn apart by time? 

Review:

Okay, so for some perspective going into this review, I am a Scottish editor, and I have worked extensively in the realms of Scottish Historical Romance. Most of you have probably heard of the term ‘Britpacker,’ so if it helps, think of me as a ‘Scots Sifter’—I catch chunks of inaccuracy and gently nudge the phonetic (mis)spellings toward the realms of the accurate. And as a Scottish person who reads romance for both fun and work, it’s a breath of fresh air to read someone who knows what they are doing in this regard. The historical details many readers crave are there in spades, lovingly rendered through beautiful and flowing prose. The (accurate!!!) use of Scots and Gaelic are also masterfully included in the dialect without feeling contrived, and overall enriches the narrative. Hoff is someone who loves Scottish culture and knows it well, and it shows.

(A note for history foodie buffs: I caught one slip-up in the form of potatoes being mentioned in the 13th century when they didn’t arrive in Scotland until 1739. I am, however, willing to concede that perhaps our heroine Lady Jane is perhaps not the first time traveler to have crash-landed into the Highlands. The others were merely better supplied. EDIT: I’ve been informed this error will be corrected in the next print.) As a heroine, Lady Jane is charmingly out of time and place even before she sets foot in her time machine. A woman in her later thirties (a novelty I’ll never tire of in Romance), she holds many convictions and beliefs, both about history and herself. All of which are proven wrong the moment she is flung back in time and meets the charming (and I cannot stress this enough) incredibly buff warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill. Setting aside my more analytical interests in this text, allow me to just say, I would die for Ainslie; something which I feel secure in saying would not happen, as Ainslie would murder anyone that tried. (And I would hold her golden torque and flower all starry-eyed while she did it.) However, there were one or two things that jumped out at me, both as a reader and an editor. While some scenes are concisely eloquent, there are a areas where pacing (and grammar) fall down, and the book feels like it could use with tightening up with another pass at editing. There was very little build up to the romance itself, which is fine, the instant true love trope is a well-loved trope for a reason. But it felt out of character for Jane, who presents initially as either on the demi or ace spectrum, but then falls immediately, if not in love, then certainly in lust with Ainslie. If this was intentional, I cannot say, but her sudden switch in dynamic is jarring and could have used a little gentler development.

People who have never seen Lake Superior do not often understand how deadly and terrifying it can be. I’ve been asked many times if there is a monster legend associated with the lake, because I am an American highway legend specialist and Scottish folklorist. There are a few legends associate with the lake. For example, there is an old Anishinaabe legend that there is a sturgeon in Lake Superior that can swallow an entire city. 

However, when I have been asked this question, I often respond:

The lake is the monster.

There are old sailor’s superstitions still current among sailors and residents of the towns around the lake. I learned many of them while working on the water one summer and gaining a newfound respect for Lake Superior’s incredible power. There is a sense among the people there that the lake itself is sentient.

One example of the lake’s power is a phenomenon called The Three Sisters. This is when three rogue waves form and wash across a ship so quickly that the water does not have time to clear the decks. Many shipwrecks have been caused by The Three Sisters, most notably the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. The ship was found at the bottom of the lake split in half, and it is thought that The Three Sisters were responsible for its sinking.

source: http://lakesuperiorartgallery.com/Home/LakeSuperiorShipWreckMap.aspx

Lake Superior is also so cold that it doesn’t allow the bacterial growth necessary for dead bodies to rise to the surface. The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, as the old legend goes. There are many shipwrecks where the bodies are still there, almost perfectly intact despite having been down there for years.

The lake is a force of nature on its own, and as one explorer said, the most dangerous piece of water in the world.

The lake is the monster.

When I first came to Scotland, I stayed in a small stone cottage. This cottage was only accessed over a footbridge above a small, swift brook.

The man who owned the cottage, an elderly gentleman with a long, wise grey beard who was surrounded by sheep as he bottle-fed them, told me how he distrusted the big city now, and he never went. The big city in question was Oban.

The cottage had no insulation or double glazing on the windows. The heat and electricity were only available through a coin-operated system. Since we’d come from Hawai’i, and it was February, we froze.

The nearby castle was the site of many a prank from the locals. The pub was always busy even though it seemed like nobody lived there, and ceilidhs were frequent in the town hall. The mountains huddled close to this town, and the sun only shone into the glen at high noon. This made the valley even colder.

When we waited for the bus one day, a man wearing a kilt walking an Old English bulldog passed by and said hello. We were told later on that he always dressed that way and was considered an eccentric sort of fellow. Many negative experiences followed that bus trip, and my entire first time in Scotland would color the life I would come to live there. I remember the train journey leaving that village as one of the greatest moments of relief in my life. As I watched a group of women get more and more tipsy on the bottle of champagne they had brought with them, and the train rattled its way out of the Highlands, I didn’t think I’d ever return. In the guest book of that cottage, I wrote a long, sad statement about how I never wanted to go back and my visit had broken me of any interest in the country.

Some years later, I would not only return, but come to think of Scotland as home.

Scotland has its own magic, but romanticizing a place will only disappoint you in the end. If you go to Scotland hoping for the kinds of things you have seen on television or in films, you’ll be sorely disappointed. If you allow Scotland to be what it really is, and accept it for that, you’ll soon find a kind of magic that no tartan fantasy has ever discovered.

Scotland is nights out on Sauchiehall Street with women who are more orange than white, with long bleach-blonde hair and dark roots, who wear tights instead of trousers under long sweaters and high heels even strippers won’t touch. It’s the neds in Possilpark, drowning in Buckfast and crowing with glee at any interloper. It’s Hogmanay in the islands, whisky-drunk and warm. It’s endless cups of tea and arguments about how to make it. It’s your boss buying you bottles of wine for a job well done. It’s hailing the lady on the train with her cart for an overpriced tea as you watch the countryside pass by. It’s going home on the clockwork orange with a box full of wine bottles in your lap, ready for the party.

Scotland is now. It’s today. It’s full of real people, living and breathing.

It’s not just a set-piece for tartan fantasies that have nothing to do with the real thing.

Scotland is Glasgow, and Edinburgh; Aberdeen and Dundee; Ayr and Stirling.

It’s also that little cottage in the Highlands.

Maybe one day I’ll go back, and find my entry in that book.

Maybe I’ll say that after all, I changed my mind.

One of the best things about working on board a ship is the ports of call you may never have seen on your own.

Walking through the winding streets of Salerno,a small Italian city near Naples, it’s life as usual. The sun-drenched shorefront plays host to wooden fishing boats and not much else. The place is quiet, and you can feel the old stones through your sandals.

I sat on the shoreline with a pink flower in my hair, a burst of colour to match the light pink shift I wore; it barely touched my skin. The wind, when there was any, blew soft kisses and offered a warm embrace, a lover tracing their lips along my shoulders.

I took the hand of a handsome young man and led him through these winding streets to where laughter and conversation still filled the stone passageways below. Up a narrow set of curving stairs, a doorway opened onto an outdoor patio filled with tables and chairs. A square of canvas was roped to each end of the patio to keep off the worst of the sun, but let in the moon and the stars. This is when Italy shines, in the nighttime, underneath those bright pinpoints of light.

The restaurant had a large wood-fire oven, and we ordered pizza, the unfamiliar language tripping over our tongues. The men who worked at the oven, devilishly good-looking and muscular, glowed in the heat of the fire and their dark eyes were bright as they laughed together. The pizzas were set on our table, flaky and thin with a perfect crust and the cheese of a flavour and consistency to die for. The bottles of red wine kept coming, and we talked and laughed well into the night with our newfound friends and companions. The convivial atmosphere of Italy is what brings us back again and again.

Here’s some cool stuff from the filming of Mortal Souls!

The gumiho Yoo Min (Linn) and the phoenix Nour-el-ain (Naz) chatting away under an umbrella with a fantastic height difference!

Then there’s me talking about the next shot with the DoP.

I’m checking for rain in Possilpark with Milo the ceasg merman (Elliot) and the ghosts, Claire, Stephen, Martin, and Pinar.

Then a panel of the cast at Comic Con - Dorian (Alasdair), Magnus (Christopher, also our insanely talented creature creator & set designer), brilliant head of makeup Nike, and the incomparable Naziyah (Nour-el-ain)!

My Heart’s in the Highlands, a sapphic Highlander time-travel romance from Amy Hoff, is available today, June 23rd, 2020! 

Links: Amazon Publisher’s website Ebook

She laid her head on Jane’s lap and reached for her hands, clutching them with a strength Jane had forgotten she had. “And I will never leave again,” Jane whispered. “I love you, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill.” The tears were flowing down Jane’s cheeks before she realised it, and Ainslie was shaking; after a while, Jane realised that Ainslie was sobbing. She leaned forward and held her, their figures in front of the fire entwined like Celtic knots on the edge of Jane’s bed.

The year is 1888. Brilliant and beautiful, Lady Jane Crichton has fought the constraints of her Victorian Edinburgh upbringing to become one of the first women to attend university for medicine. Denied a degree because of her gender, she decides to wed Lord David Crichton in a marriage of convenience, providing him with the political and social cover to pursue his own interests, and the time and money to follow her own. Particularly her fascination with building a time machine.

Certain of her abilities, Jane is unsurprised to find that her machine works… though not exactly as expected, and soon finds herself tumbling backward through time, crash-landing in the 13th-century Scottish Highlands. There she is rescued from near-certain death by a wild, red-haired woman by the name of  Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, next in line to the chiefship of the great Clan Donald, the rulers of the Sea Kingdom of the Isles.

Thrown out of time and out of place, Jane finds herself bewitched by this land, this time and this magnificent woman who has claimed her heart. The rough and warlike Ainslie also feels the magic and revels in a passion and love neither she nor Jane had ever imagined. But Jane is hiding a terrible secret—one that threatens to tragically transform their Highland fairy tale. Can they overcome their differences and survive? Only time will tell…

My friend Nusrat Jahan went missing in July 2017. We miss you, Nusrat, and we hope you are safe and happy wherever you are. We will keep a light on for you. <3 If it is safe for you to do so, please get in touch.

This is genuine, please read details here, and thank you for reblogging:

https://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/tag/nusrat-jahan/

In the darkness of the bunkhouse, the conversation had taken a turn. 

Desdemona’s exasperation with Robert had kindled into a bright fire. It was not so long ago that she had cleaned her neck and arms of blood.  And there was Robert, forever Robert, like the dolorous clanging of a bell. 

They circled each other, cautious like animals. Robert’s expression was, as usual, mournful. 

“I wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” he said. 

“Well, I wish you’d stop staring at me like a kicked dog, but we don’t always get what we want, do we,” Desdemona retorted. 

“Des.” 

“I’m not human, Robert!” she shouted, “When are you going to understand this? I am not human!” 

Robert blinked at her. 

“Neither am I,” he said. 

“You’ve been human,” she explained. “I’m not even a woman! Or a man! You had a human life.” 

“I don’t care what you are,” said Robert, “you can still be lonely. I think God is lonely and he’s older than us all.” 

“If there is a God, Robert – “ 

“There is.” 

“ – you have no more idea what he or it thinks or feels any more than you do with me!” 

“Then tell me.” 

“What?” “Tell me what you think and feel. In all the years I have been with you, never once!” said Robert. “I haven’t heard you once actually tell me anything.” 

“Aside from go live your own life Robert and what are you doing here Robert and?” 

They were moving closer now, still in circles, a centripetal motion drawn in. Leah, still along for this ride, but off in the background, suddenly wished she had popcorn. 

“I don’t know what you are, Des,” Robert was saying, “but I loved you the day I saw you and I thought you were a man. I don’t know what that means but I never doubted it once.”  

And here, here he was, so close, close enough to touch her, like at the dance when he had held her in his arms. This was another kind of waltz, but no less familiar. 

“I have never doubted when I loved.” 

Arrested there, like frozen time, he moved to capture her lips with his own. Finally, and she didn’t move away, and it seemed like she would let him, this time.

 - from Burns Night, available on Amazon

I fell in love with the first book a while ago, and then the second. It’s the most Glaswegian paranormal crime series I’ve ever read and it’s a Delight.

So you can only imagine my inhuman GLEE at being asked to edit for the third installment “Burns Night”.