Zeus gave her one simple job: Kill every human. Atropos—daughter of Zeus and the third goddess of Fate from Greek mythology —spends her eternal life snipping human lifelines when their mortal lives are over. As if being a killer doesn’t make life miserable enough, she and her Fate-wielding sisters must live amongst the humans on Earth thanks to a long-running feud between their mother and Zeus. Living on Earth means they must mingle with the mortals, attend the local high school, and attempt to fit in—or at least not stand out too much.
Killing and mingling don’t mix, which is why Atropos’ number-one rule is to avoid all relationships with the humans. Caring for the people she has to kill is a fast track to insanity. However, when Alex Morgan walks into her first-period English class, she knows she’s in for trouble. He’s the worst kind of human for her to like—one with a rapidly approaching expiration date. And he makes Atropos want to break all the rules.
The Easter Eggs of Broken Fate
People often ask, “What elements of your novel come from your personal life or experiences?” Well, I try not to base my characters on people I know in real life, simply because I don’t want to deal with the backlash. “Why did you make me into such a jerk?” is not a question I want to answer. I also don’t include actual events from my life for the same reason. I don’t want to hear from some outraged family member who’s upset that I aired our dirty laundry.
Objects and animals, though, are another story. I frequently include things from my life in my stories. Partly this is due to the fact that things I already know are easier to describe, and partly because it’s just silly fun to stick little bits of my life into a book. Here are just a few of the things in Broken Fate that were culled from my own life.
The shears. Atropos’ shears have alternating rubies and emeralds on the handles. Why? I chose alternating rubies and emeralds for my sorority pin in college. Everyone said it would be ugly and too Christmas-like, but when it came everyone thought it looked great. Several girls ordered their pins to match mine the next year and by the time I graduated, there were probably twenty girls who had pins like mine. Who knew I was so trendy? (My awesome cover artist at Clean Teen Publishing, Marya Heiman, even worked the stones into the cover.)
The car. A friend of mine had a fully restored 1959 Thunderbird that I lusted after. I begged him to give me first dibs on it if he ever wanted to get rid of it, reminding him of my interest regularly. Yet when the day came to sell it, he sold it without telling me. I’m still bitter about that. Since I’ll never get to drive it, I let Atropos enjoy it.
The dog. Maggie, the beagle-corgi mix that Alex adopts in the book, is modeled on one of my dogs. Sadly, the model for Maggie died before I could finish the book. I now have another dog that doesn’t look a thing like Maggie. However, it’s nice that “Maggie” lives on in the book.
The books/bookshelves. Alex and Atropos are both huge readers. All of the books featured in Broken Fate are personal favorites of mine, as well. You can read more about the books of Broken Fate on my website at http://jenniferderrick.com/fiction/broken-fate/books-of-broken-fate/. Alex’s bookshelves are also modeled on those in my childhood bedroom. Like Alex, it’s a wonder I didn’t die young, crushed by books.
These are just a few of the things in Broken Fate that were mined from my life. There are others. I think of them like Easter eggs in movies. If you’re ever reading the book and you find something else that you’re curious about, you can always contact me at JenniferDerrick.com and ask whether it’s real or fiction.
When he struggles to sit up, I help him. He looks down at the blood and goo splattered on his clothes and the wounds on his chest. Then he looks at me and takes in the blood splatters on my clothes. Finally, he looks toward the cave entrance and sees my sword standing at attention there. Turning to me again, he asks the only reasonable question.
“What the hell was that?”
He follows it with
the only other reasonable question and the one I’m dreading more than any other.
“And what the hell are you?”
My heart breaks a little at the betrayal in his voice. I was a fool for thinking I could keep my true self a secret.
“I always knew you weren’t normal,” he says. “Always running off, missing school, never talking about yourself except in the most general terms, never mentioning your family. I knew there was something you were hiding. But I never dreamed it would be this, this—” He falters, unable to find the right word to describe what he’s just witnessed.
“Disgusting? Frightening? Horrifying?” I try to finish for him, hanging my head in shame. “You’re right. It’s all of that and more.”
He thinks for a moment, and I see the most amazing transformation pass over his face as he processes what just happened. He actually smiles at me.
“No, no. The word I’m looking for is badass. I had no idea. I mean you were so cool with that sword. And those horses! That was so awesome.” His smile is huge now. He’s thrilled by what he’s seen, not scared.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I end up giggling a little hysterically. Here I am expecting recriminations, fear, and hatred, and he’s complimenting me? This guy is crazier than most of the gods. I force myself to stop laughing and to treat this mess with the seriousness it deserves.
“You’re not traumatized? Scared? Afraid to be in the same room with me because I might do to you what I did to the Keres?”
“No. I’m a dead man anyway. Even if you intend to kill me, it doesn’t matter, does it? But I would like to know what you really are and what that was about.”
I hang my head. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” I say, knowing the right course of action is to flush his memory immediately, not engage him in conversation.
“Hello,” he says, motioning to the still-bleeding wounds on his chest. “I’m the one with holes in me, here. I deserve to know the truth, don’t you think?”
He’s right. Even if I can’t let him remember it forever, in this moment, I owe him the truth.
“You’re not going to like me when I’m finished,” I warn.
“I’ll judge that.”
I inhale and decide to begin with the simplest yet hardest fact. The one that will turn his admiration of me into hate and fear.
“My real name isn’t Sophie. It’s Atropos.”
When that doesn’t get a reaction, I press on. “I am the third goddess of fate. I am the one who cuts human lifelines and ends your mortal lives.”
Jennifer is a freelance writer and novelist. As a freelancer, she writes everything from technical manuals to articles on personal finance and European-style board games. Her interest in storytelling began when she was six and her parents gave her a typewriter for Christmas and agreed to pay her $.01 per page for any stories she churned out. Such a loose payment system naturally led to a lot of story padding. Broken Fate, her first novel, earned her $2.80 from her parents.
Jennifer lives in North Carolina and, when not writing, can often be found reading, trawling the shelves at the library, playing board games, watching sports, camping, running marathons, and playing with her dog. You can visit her at her official website:www.JenniferDerrick.com.
