Happy Thursday, friend! Welcome to an interview with author Geneva Price about her Historical Fantasy novel, The Guild Master’s Daughter. I am excited to make time for it.
Get to know the author: Geneva Price
Hi Geneva! Welcome to Armed with A Book. Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!
I like to say I’ve had more of a careen than a career. I have wide ranging interests that have introduced me to fascinating people and led me to some really unique experiences. Today, these things are the source of my inspiration but early on my inability to niche was a problem. Having too many options without a singular passion caused serious analysis paralysis. In college, I tried on majors like you might try on shoes. The two things that were most constant was my love for writing and art, which I had thought to pursue for their own sake, but I met with surprising resistance. Particularly when it came to art, the refrain was ‘that’s a lovely hobby but don’t you think you’ll need a real job?’ The challenge to writing, which any English major can attest, was ‘what are you going to do with that, teach?’
Consequently, I stumbled through different departments in search of the key that would unlock the mythical ‘real job’ and discovered wonderful treasures along the way, such as the biblical archaeology collection that was housed in the religion department. Ultimately, I graduated with a degree in psych, a minor in religion, and still no clue what I wanted to do when I grew up. Egged on by a roommate, I applied and got a scholarship to law school. It was about as undecided as you can get and still go to grad school, they were paying for part of it, and law was definitely a ‘real job’, so I went. While law was an intriguing academic study, I quickly discovered that the constant contention of practice was not for me.
A bit more floundering later, I volunteered on an archaeological dig (this time Spanish Colonial since I was in Southern California) and finally found a groove. Well, actually a very dusty but precise hole in the ground, but you get the idea. For the next couple of years I worked as a dig supervisor at several of the missions and enjoyed it immensely. Then, plot twist, my husband’s job got transferred and I was pregnant.
At first, life with children is dense and non-porous. It allows little in from outside. But as they grow you grow with them and, as the challenges transition from logistical ones (when to sleep) to psychological ones (who said what to whom), space opens back up in your life. As you try to help them figure out who they are, you can’t help but learn who you are. Over the last fifteen years or so I have slowly and unapologetically been filling the emerging gaps with all the things that light me up. This includes gardening, landscape design, dog rescue, a diploma in Egyptology (which started innocently enough as research for a book), and, of course, lots of art and lots of writing.
What inspired you to write this book?
Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson. It is an old and simple children’s book about a boy who navigates a world he creates with his purple crayon. He indulges his whims, scares himself with his own creation, thinks quickly to save himself from his mistakes, and, when he decides it is time to go to bed, has to figure out what home looks like. Not only do I approve of his crayon choice, but it ends with a charming pun.
I had been teaching elementary school art at my kids’ school and liked to read it to my classes. One of those days, the idea of a magic medium that brought the imaginary world to life just exploded in my imagination. I thought of the chalk pavement pictures in Mary Poppins (my favorite part of the movie) and the chase in Night at the Museum II where they pop in and out of the paintings. Even elements of the Matrix got mixed in there. How would it work? What would it feel like? What would I create and could I control my creation? The Ink was born.
At first, my idea was to set the story in a magic school with an alternate timeline dedicated to a disgruntled artist from the past who was messing with the imaginary world as the kids were learning to manipulate it. As I researched the potential villain though, I found that the plight of artistic women in the early 1800’s resonated with my experience regarding a career in art. It was a charming pastime but not a respectable pursuit. I changed my villain into my heroine, focusing on the themes of self-discovery and self-agency, and it just bloomed from there.
How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?
Six years. Much of that time was interrupted by two major household moves and then that pandemic thing, during which it sat in a drawer while I worked on other art and writing projects. One of those projects was launching my own art business, Phantasia Studio, which was directly inspired by the name I use for the imaginary world in the book. About a year ago I pulled the manuscript back out, did a major rewrite and was thrilled finally to release it in November 2023.
What makes your story unique?
When you write historical fantasy, you have choices to make about how much history and how much fantasy. I made a conscious decision to set my story firmly in historical reality. I filled in the gaps of history so that the fictional elements are consistent with reality. I did this because it seemed silly to fabricate great artists and their artworks that no one could check out for themselves. The only fictional character is the heroine, Faith. And the Guild. Or at least that’s what the Guild would want you to think.
I also think this story sits in a liminal space in the fantasy genre. It’s higher stakes than cozy, but more personal than epic. It has drama and emotion but isn’t dark; it’s empowering but not fluffy, meaningful without being somber. There’s romantic tension but it’s not a romance. It’s historically grounded but also fantastical: there are mythical creatures, a floating island, and a unique magic system. And, while I can guarantee there will be more books involving the Ink, this is a standalone in a sea of series. The perfect escape between big commitments.
Who would enjoy reading your book?
Anyone who enjoys an historical setting, particularly Regency era, art as magic, and realistically flawed but ultimately strong female leads. And a villain you’ll love to hate.
Did you bring any of your experiences into this book?
Oh so much. Obviously, my passion for art was fundamental to the concept. My religious studies helped with the biblical imagery that would have defined much of Faith’s world before she creates her own. And of course, the themes of answering one’s calling when society pushes back, and confronting your own fears and doubts to break through, are ideas that mean a lot to me.
What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?
At minimum, that the story was an imaginative and entertaining escape, along with some historical curiosity. If they feel inspired and empowered to hear their own calling, then I’ve really done my job.
Do you have a favourite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?
The only limitation is what you believe to be impossible. It really sums up the theme of the book.
What is something you have learned on your author journey so far?
Everything. Every step from the first tentative plotting to publishing and marketing has been a learning curve. As a lawyer and an academic, I researched every step before I took it and still made a bazillion mistakes. But, with each of those comes clarity, so they’ve (mostly) been worth it.
Where can readers find you on the Internet?
GenevaPrice.com, Facebook, Instagram and TikTok.
The Guild Master’s Daughter
Historical Fantasy, 2023
In 1816 New York City, there is no place for women in the world of art, especially not for Faith, the gifted step-daughter of a renowned artist. Her step-father expects young women to be dutiful, reserved, and respectable, traits utterly incompatible with Faith’s innate nature and the attention her extraordinary talent would attract. Faith masks her feelings, holds her tongue, and hides her drawings.
But when her step-father draws an apple that Faith can pick up off the page and hold in her hand, she can no longer deny her calling. The mystical Ink he uses to bring the imaginary to life offers freedom and power she can never have on this side of reality. It may not get her out of an arranged marriage, but it might keep her from suffocating in it.
Denied access to the Ink by the Guild that guards it and the Guild Master, her own step-father, Faith finds a way to train in secret. As she learns to manipulate the imaginary world where fantasy and fear are equally real, she discovers that even her reality is not what it seems. As the lines between real and imagined blur, Faith’s quest for self-agency may cost her everything she holds dear in both worlds.
Content notes: Sadly, the range of human trauma is so diverse that it is hard to give a definitive answer to what a reader might find upsetting. The Guild Master’s Daughter does not contain any material that would fall within the usual triggers of violence, sexual or otherwise, suicide or death. There is interaction between the Colonel and Faith that some might consider emotional abuse. There is a shipwreck and other water related scenes that might trigger a fear of drowning.
Book Excerpt from
The Guide Master’s Daughter
Context: Faith has discovered the Colonel working at his desk, the mysterious writing box open next to him. The owl carved into its lid is identical to the seal on a secretive letter he had received a few days before. The Colonel seems to be writing in pencil- an odd choice for letters. Burning with curiosity and hoping to get a closer look, Faith offers to bring his dinner on a tray and he accepts…
Faith kept her steps measured until she was across the hard floored foyer. From there she fairly flew to the kitchen. She danced impatiently from one foot to the other as the cook assembled the tray, shooting skeptical looks at Faith all the while. Faith stuffed a roll in her mouth to appease her own stomach, earning another look. Just as she was thinking the cook was moving slowly just to spite her obvious impatience, the red cheeked woman handed her the tray. Faith walked back to the study as quickly as she could without spilling and pushed open the door that she had left ajar.
With relief she saw that he was still writing and with enough focus that he did not take notice of her in the doorway. She paused to settle herself into a more disinterested attitude and carried the tray to his desk.
All pretense at composure was lost when Faith saw what had been hidden behind the folding mirror.
In a single moment Faith took in several details. The instrument in his hand was indeed like a polished pencil at the top end, but the end beneath his grasp was a quill nib. The ink that filled it, although the inkwell on his desk was firmly capped, was peculiarly pearlescent while the letters that it scratched upon the page were instantly absorbed, matte black and dry. And then there were the letters, if they could be called letters. The Colonel was writing from right to left in some bizarre cipher.
Faith gasped in shock. In turn, the Colonel started as someone woken from a dream. His shoulder hit the tray. The tea splashed, overtaking the saucer, and dripped upon the nearest letter. With rising horror, Faith anticipated a black pool of fresh ink where the strange marks had been. Instead, the marks stayed fixed while the tea darkened the paper in an expanding stain, the edge of which seemed to scintillate with all the colors of the rainbow. She gaped in astonishment.
The Colonel turned on her, his face twisted with anger, his eyes bright with fury. Faith shrank away, cowering behind the raised tray as behind a shield. The tea splashed again. The Colonel’s arm pulled back. For a moment she thought he might strike her. Instead he pointed to the study door and roared “Get out!”
Faith crouched and set the tray on the floor, the half empty teacup rattling with the trembling of her hands. She offered the Colonel the napkin from the tray.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just startled… the writing… the pen…” her voice wavered and died. He ripped the napkin from her and ordered her out once again. Faith muttered another apology as tears sprang to her eyes. She ducked her head and ran to the door. Her hand had just touched the handle when the Colonel said, “Wait.”
Faith stopped and turned slowly, hand still on the door handle. The Colonel was looking down at his desk as he pressed the napkin to the puddle of tea. A muscle moved in his jaw as he visibly gathered his temper. He seemed to be considering something. At last, he decided. He let out a breath and his fist unclenched.
“Come back. I have something to show you.”
Faith took a few tentative steps towards the desk. She clasped her hands in front of her and kept her head low, afraid to look in the direction of the box or the strange letters. Or to let him see the tears brimming on her lashes.
“It is as much my fault as yours that you have seen what you have seen. Since that can’t be undone, I will explain in order to set your mind at ease,” he began. “You are familiar with the artistic guilds of the Renaissance?”
“Yes,” Faith answered hesitantly. After days of wild speculation about what the seal could be, guilds had been top of her mind. She had also spent days admonishing herself that there was no such thing any longer. To have him mention it right off was either a triumph or a trap. She was caught between wanting to impress him with her knowledge and not wanting to appear to have considered it at all, unsure which was more likely to stoke his anger. Faith tried to walk a middle path. “My understanding is that the guilds controlled the training and employment of artists in order to protect the integrity of the craft.”
“Exactly so. They guarded the secrets of the trade and controlled who could practice it, which, in turn, protected the prestige and the value of the artists’ work. What you have seen here are the trappings of its last and most powerful guild, the Guild of Athena.”
Athena. That explained the owl, but little else. “I thought the Freemasons were the only remaining guild. I’ve never heard of a Guild of Athena.”
The Colonel snorted.
“That is intentional. The Guild of Athena’s power, indeed its very purpose, is founded on its secrecy. It is also still a true art guild. The Freemasons may have begun as a craft guild but is now just a social fraternity,” the Colonel said with a hint of disdain, though he hastened to add, “Don’t misunderstand, there are a great number of honorable men who are Freemasons- General Washington, Dr. Franklin of course, I have painted a great many of them!- but there is hardly a one of them that could lay a brick wall if called upon to do so. The Masters of the Guild of Athena remain the top of their craft. Only a select few are ever apprenticed and fewer still become Masters like myself. And unlike the Freemasons, none would even know of the Guild’s existence until they had received an invitation.”
“I don’t understand. You say the Guild is so selective, and yet it seems there are a great many artists who are practicing.” Faith ventured. Timid at first, her voice grew bolder as the questions mounted one behind the other. “Are they working outside of it? If so, what would keep patrons from employing them, particularly if the Guild is so secretive? How would patrons know whom to patronize?”
“You are right that the vast majority of artists today practice outside of and in ignorance of the Guild, but again, that is by design. The Guild has never concerned itself with the banality of art intended for commerce. Indeed, the work of most self-proclaimed artists is below the Guild’s notice, just as the work of the Masters is above the appreciation of the common man. The common artist may serve the common interest, but the Masters of the Guild are dedicated to art that transcends the ordinary man’s comprehension. We have inherited the secrets of the Old Masters. Protecting those secrets is the single-minded focus of the Guild.”
The Colonel’s great grandfather, John Robinson, had been a famous clergyman. Faith could not imagine that man’s sermons were preached with more reverent intensity than the Colonel speaking of the Guild. But for all of his lofty speech, Faith had far more questions than answers about what she had seen. The commitment to secrecy explained the cipher and the seals, the invocation of Athena explained the owl, but why Athena? And why such secrecy? Faith could not imagine what artistic secret could be so important, or so well hidden. She had seen lesser artists draw and paint employing exactly those techniques which she had seen the Colonel use. The only difference in the outcome, she had thought, came down to skill.
Was there more to it? Was there some special weave of canvas or formula for pigment? Perhaps there was some way of applying the paint, some brushstroke or type of bristle. Maybe it was a trick of perspective. She had often heard geometry elevated to a sacred plane. Faith scanned the oddities on his desk. Her gaze stopped upon the chimera of a pencil. Did the secret have something to do with that?
Faith had little hope that he would answer, but burning curiosity made her bold enough to ask. “What kind of secrets?”
The Colonel followed her gaze to the half pen, half pencil lying on his desk. He was silent for a long moment. Sap in the logs popped and cracked. The clock ticked softly from the hall.
“I will show you if- look at me.” Faith raised her eyes to meet his. “If you swear upon pain of death and eternal damnation that you will not speak of this to anyone.”
Faith recoiled under the fierceness of his gaze but managed to whisper, “I swear.”
The Colonel pulled a clean piece of paper to the center of his desk and took his chair. He picked up the strange pen which, as it hovered above the page had become entirely a pencil. The dark polished wood now extended from top to writing tip, except where the graphite core was exposed. It was finely sharpened even without knife or sandpaper. Faith pressed her fingers to her temples. She wondered if she were quite sane.
The Colonel began to draw. It was a simple round shape that was quickly recognizable as an apple. When the contour was complete, he began to fill it in. Instead of shades of graphite, the strokes were suddenly burgundy red. Faith covered a gasp with her palm. As he worked his way from shadow to highlight, the pen or pencil, or maybe now it was a brush, laid down ever lighter and warmer colors of red upon the cheeks of the apple. It changed to green-tinged yellows at the base of the stem.
Faith’s hand fell to her throat “How is this possible?” she whispered.
The Colonel did not answer. When he was done drawing, he sat back and pushed the page toward Faith. As she stepped forward to look straight down on it, the apple seemed simultaneously flat and rounded. For a moment the two images battled and Faith felt a wave of dizziness. A heartbeat later, they resolved into one that looked as though a real apple sat upon the page.
“Go ahead, touch it.”
Faith looked at him, then back at the apple. Tentatively, she reached out a finger, expecting her hand to pass through what must be an illusion. To her astonishment, her fingers met a solid object. A jolt of electricity tingled up her arm. She recoiled, but only for a second. Faith reached out again and stroked the fruit with her fingers, feeling its smooth hard surface.
“You can pick it up,” he said.
Glancing at him questioningly, Faith cupped the apple with both hands. Gently, she lifted it. Without a flutter, it separated from its page. Faith found herself holding an apple that moments before had been nothing but a drawing. And before that, nothing at all. She put it to her nose. It even smelled like an apple. She dug a fingernail into its skin, which burst with a satisfying pop. Clear juice swelled and trickled down the apple’s cheek.
“It’s perfect!” Faith exclaimed. The Colonel looked pleased. “It looks good enough to eat!”
“No! You may not eat it!” he said with startling force. His next words were softer, if enigmatic. “As convincing as it is, one should never feast on illusions. You never know what they disguise.”
Interested?
Find The Guild Master’s Daughter on Goodreads, StoryGraph, IndieStoryGeek and Amazon.
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