The Origin of Perishing Hill

from Origins First Press

As a writer, I know backstory can be a slippery slope. Readers want to know what’s happening in the ‘now’—the unfolding tension, the action, the secrets. And yet, as a reader myself, I’ve always been curious about where stories begin—not on the page, but in the writer’s imagination. What flicker of a moment gave life to hundreds of pages? What image, place, or phrase wouldn’t let go?

Perishing Hill began with one of my favorite tropes: the locked-room mystery. I’ve always loved the kind of story where a group is isolated, tensions simmering, nerves frayed; where escape is difficult and secrets inevitably find light. I wanted to write a novel like that—one that was claustrophobic, expansive.

First, I needed the right setting. I studied maps, tracing the eastern coastline until I found it: Ocracoke Island, at the southernmost point of the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Remote. Mysterious. Surrounded by water and flooded with ghosts dating back well before the island’s most famous specter, Blackbeard. It was perfect, with lots of large homes offered up as vacation rentals and a ferry system that carted visitors to and from the mainland. Dune Dweller was born, rising from a location no house on the island holds. All I had to do was fill it with couples, old friends, hidden resentments, and brew up a storm, both literally and figuratively.

But the title? That came from somewhere entirely different.

Many, many (many!) moons ago, I wrote my first novel, Wild Byrds. It was my first real attempt—messy, imperfect, yet full of heart. It never made it past my book club and now lives in the back of a closet, where it’s likely to stay. At the time, I didn’t know much about publishing, but I knew I loved writing. That dream was put on pause however, when I chose to go into teaching, wanting to be on the same schedule as my kids and save for travel. I enjoyed teaching, but writing was always my first love, and I couldn’t let it go.

After finishing Wild Byrds, I began querying agents in hopes of publication. I knew the process was arduous and time-consuming and took the advice I’d seen from others—I began working on outlining a new novel. The title came to mind long before I had a single scene: Perishing Hill.

A new neighborhood was under construction just around the corner from where we lived at the time. I passed it daily,  driving my boys to school. That subdivision was called Pershing Hill, but my writer-brain—always prone to twisting things—morphed it into Perishing Hill. I couldn’t shake it, and while I didn’t use a single plot point from that early idea, the name stuck.

Years passed. I wrote four more novels, including Fate Falls Hard. And then, finally, the stormy, secret-filled world of Perishing Hill came into focus. A house. A storm. A group of people with history. And a name I’d been saving for nearly two decades.

Now it’s time to let it go—into the hands of readers who, like me, love suspense, secrets, and stories that began long before the first page.