Author Elf Ahearn
A little bit about Author Elf Ahearn…
My early life was spent as a horse but upon failing to grow hooves, I turned to the theatre. Approximately 100 plays later, I pivoted to journalism, then corporate communications, and finally to writing historical novels. What I do now is feed the cats, water the garden, kiss the hubby, and burrow into the past looking for nuggets of accuracy, like the cost of a lace handkerchief in 1810, or how a rapscallion might curse should he be driven mad by a sexy and unruly maiden. I live in New York with a charming husband, two interior cats, and eight exterior cats with feral attitudes.
The truth is, I always wanted to be a writer, but I pictured myself alone in a garret, smoking cigarettes and typing fiction with the speed and flow of Niagara Falls. Unfortunately, there were obstacles.
Manual typewriters. I took a typing test on a manual for a temp job. I typed 60 words a minute with so many errors my score was actually minus-five words per minute.
Solitude. Being alone depresses me. I don’t eat meals, I nibble on snacks when I’m by myself, and I find bedtime confusing. Should I sleep now? But it’s early, yet there’s nothing on TV, nothing, nothing, nothing.
As for garrets, in New York City every inch is expensive. I couldn’t afford rent on a writer’s earnings.
The one thing I did master was smoking cigarettes, but as for text pouring from my soul like water, that was a big nope. I write slowly, painfully. Every word is produced at minus five per minute. So, I became an actress.
This is Author Elf Ahearn’s writing and publication journey in her own words…
Inspiration to start writing…
A confluence of circumstances finally made me an author. First, Macintosh created personal computers with spellcheck. Not only could I botch my typing, but it would correct it for me so I could keep my fingers tap tapping.
Second, I got laid off during the 2008 recession and there were no jobs available. Not even for receptionists. So I had lots of free time and nothing to do.
Third, my sister Jenny said she enjoyed my letters and urged me to tackle something lengthier, like a novel. The only books she reads are Regency romances, so that’s what I write.
Some of Elf Ahearn’s works…
The Baron of Bad Behavior is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and everywhere else.
Publisher’s Weekly said: “Spritely prose, a first-rate plot, and a stellar cast of supporting characters make this a treat. Historical romance fans…will devour Ahearn’s latest work.”
I’ve also got two magical realism short stories that take place on Nantucket and center on true events in the island’s history. Written in the Water, is in The Light of Love, an anthology of Yuletide stories, and Hellmouth Fire is in a Halloween anthology titled The Spirit of Love.
The Baron of Bad Behavior Blurb
As Lady Nefertiti Albright – Snap to those who don’t want a punch in the smeller – prepares for her London come out, she encounters her childhood crush, the alluring Gareth Hart. Snap impulsively decides she will marry him. Her family is horrified. So is her target.
Gareth Hart is a man with a reputation. He’s a rake, a rogue, and a thief. He also has a history with her family, and it’s not a good one. Under the thumb of his nefarious uncle, Gareth doesn’t need a problem like pretty Snap. His sights are set on escape via marriage with a rich widow.
But there’s something irresistible about a charming miss who will climb out a window or up a wall for you…
One of Elf Ahearn’s favourite scenes from The Baron of Bad Behavior…
In the first chapter, Snap escapes a stifling ballroom via a window and firmly attached ivy to search for a cooler climate.
From the far end of what she now recognized as a reflecting pool, came the patter of water pouring into water. Looping her skirt over her arm so high her thighs were thoroughly exposed Snap waded toward the sound. The silhouette of a statue of Venus came briefly into view via the flash of a small fire. A moment later, the glowing tip of a cheroot flared in the darkness. She froze, scarcely daring to breathe.
A long minute passed. The cheroot brightened as the stranger, a man no doubt because no woman would dare smoke at a Society ball, took another puff.
“White’s a god-awful color to hide in,” came a masculine voice. “Next time wear black or brown-something suitable for a hedgehog, perhaps.”
Snap dropped her gown, feeling it splash against the waterline. He saw my knees… He saw my thighs! “Have you been watching me?” she demanded.
“It’s a dark night-there’s nothing else to look at.”
“Well, it’s not gentlemanly.”
“Did I claim to be a gentleman?”
She swallowed. “If you’re not, then what are you doing at Lady Pemneux’s ball?”
“I wasn’t invited.”
She shifted uneasily. He didn’t sound like a tradesman or servant-his accent was refined.
“But you’re lurking about her garden?”
“The fact is, I’m a desperate pirate, here to steal money and jewels from the ton.” His tone was bemused, flirty.
“So, is your band of brigands hiding behind that statue?” she said, beginning to enjoy the conversation.
“No need for ’em.”
The cheroot flared, and she strained to see his face, but the night was too dark and the light too brief. She waded closer. “If you’re going to raid the ball single-handed, I’d avoid the hostess; she kills with a glance.”
He chuckled-a delectable sound, savory and rich as butter.
“Ahhh, so it’s fear of her glance that’s got you unchaperoned and standing in a pool in the dark with a pirate. A pirate, mind you, who should scare you more than any regular fellow out for a smoke.”
“Considering I’m not the least bit afraid, I’ll assume you’re like me-just a person escaping a stuffy room.”
“Then you’d be wrong.”
These words carried an irresistible undertone of danger.
“Pish,” she said, sauntering closer. “You sound as terrifying as a vicar giving his first sermon.”
He chuckled, soft and low. “Saucy as toffee pudding.”
When the cheroot glowed again, she slogged closer, but caught only a shadow that might be a mustache. “If you must know, Sir Pirate,” she said, moving ever nearer, “I’m here because it’s beastly hot in that ballroom. When you make your attack, consider stealing a lady’s fan first.”
Having got almost got to Venus’s water spouts, all Snap needed for a prime view of him was another pull on the cheroot, when a strange bird call came from the direction of the house. It sounded vaguely like a crow except crows roost at night.
“Duty caws,” he said.
The glowing tip of the cheroot floated toward chez Pemneux and disappeared with the crunch of footsteps on a gravel path.
Connect with Author Elf Ahearn
Website: elfahearn.com
Instagram and TikTok: @elfahearn
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elf.ahearn
