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 Targeted Age Group:: 13 – 55+
The key to the survival of an entire race lies in her genes, and she doesn’t know it.
Ryan Jones is a gifted archeologist plagued by questions about her past and lucid dreams about Atlantis, the ancient civilization lost to history. When a mysterious gift arrives from her long-dead parents, Ryan abandons the stable life she has fought to create to cross the globe in search of answers. Fierce secrecy is literally in her DNA, but she must place her trust in strangers and her unique abilities to find her way home.
Her quest leads her deep into the heart of darkness, where the centuries-long search for the lost city finally ends. There, she finds that the secrets hidden in her genetic code could save an entire race from the brink of extinction – but there is a cost.
Ryan must choose between her past and her future, her family and the man she loves, and the next great leap in evolution or the destruction of the human race.
Link To Daughter of the Antediluvian World: An Atlantis Origin Story On Amazon Kindle Unlimited
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
The concept for Daughter of the Antediluvian World originally came to me in college (which is longer ago now than I care to admit!) I was taking an Introduction to Mythology course as part of a communications minor, and it reignited a long-time love I had for Greek Mythology growing up. So, this story started brewing and – of course – changed quite a bit over time. (Spoiler Alert: There are no Greek gods in DOAW.)
As I started writing I just couldn't seem to get the fantasy aspects of the story to jive with what I knew about the world – I tend to be a very logical thinker – so magic became science. (Because really, aren't they the same thing?) The concept of an action-adventure story really developed as I got a bit older and started doing more traveling. I've mentioned that U have a severe case of Wanderlust – I want to see the world. The places in the book are a few at the top of my list, so getting to research them and visit them through the process of writing the story was thrilling.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
As is true of many authors, some of my characters traits are drawn from people in my life. Of course, no one is a clone of a real person, but the similarities can be easy to draw for those who know me and my people well. That said, once I created my protagonist – Ryan Jones – I used her characteristics, motivations, and flaws to build the other characters in my world. Each character was developed to play their role perfectly, and to realistically interact with Ryan in the way that I needed them to for my story to be believable, and my characters likable.
Book Excerpt/Sample
Part I | United States
Chapter 1
May 18, 2020
8:19 a.m. EST
Washington, North Carolina
The day her life changed forever began with a mysterious delivery and a horrific hangover.
“Well, shit.”
It was one of those hangovers. The kind that comes not only with a reality-bending headache, but also the unshakable and intangible anxiety that often follows a night of drinking to forget. “Hangxiety,” she remembered someone calling it once. She smiled slightly at that but decided a laugh was more than she could manage. It was going to be a long day.
Ryan Jones pulled at the roll of paper towels standing next to the sink, wadding up more than was probably necessary to sop up the spilled coffee now spreading across her white countertops. That’s going to stain. The errant thought energized her pickled brain just enough to get her limbs moving.
With the coffee crisis averted, she turned her attention back to her phone. She reached over and tapped the screen tentatively as if it might spring to life and bite her hand. She cringed as the screen woke, showing her a barrage of notifications for missed calls and texts. Was that a Snapchat notification? She didn’t even know she had Snapchat.
Dr. Freda Weatherman had been Ryan’s therapist, confidant, maternal figure, and friend for longer than she could remember. Now, she could add Uber driver to that list. Ryan tried to recall the sloppy late-night phone call she’d made after the bartender suggested she look for a ride home. She vaguely remembered her petulant silence on the ride home, stumbling through her front door, trying to sober herself up by washing her face and brushing her teeth but failing to change out of her work clothes before crashing into bed.
In hindsight, she knew she should have called Uber; there would have been a lot fewer questions. But she hadn’t even thought of it. Getting blindingly drunk on a weeknight wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for her. But in last night’s case, she felt justified.
She had been eating dinner when the vision started. It came on so suddenly she didn’t have a chance to prepare. One minute she was shoveling Pad Thai into her mouth on her couch in North Carolina, and the next, she was crouching in the crawlspace beneath the burning ruins of her childhood home, hundreds of miles and a lifetime away.
She could see her mother and father’s lifeless bodies on the floor several feet away. She was eye level with them, peering up through a crack in the trap door to the cramped space under the kitchen. Of course, in the memory, Ryan couldn’t see their faces. She never could. She hadn’t seen them since that day, before the fire.
The flames hadn’t just taken her parents’ lives, they had erased every last trace of them. Every scrap of clothing, every photo, every memory up in smoke. The police said it was impossible for two people to live without leaving a trace, but months passed, and they were unable to uncover even a single detail about the young couple who had been killed in the freak electrical fire. Except for the three-year-old locked safely in a panic room under the kitchen. The case went cold. By the time the file was moved from unsolved to cold, Ryan had already lived in two foster homes, with two of what would become a long list of families who wanted to help the beautiful mystery girl, until they didn’t.
Ryan attracted unwanted attention her entire life. Her tumbling platinum blonde hair was practically iridescent. It fell well past her shoulders in striking contrast to her olive skin. Even before moving to the south, she looked deeply tanned all year long. She often knotted her striking locks on top of her head or weaved them into a loose braid that cascaded over her shoulder to detract attention but could never quite bring herself to dye it. It was part of what made her who she was, even if she didn’t have many clues to the mystery beyond her appearance.
Her athletic build only added to her intrigue. She was tall and lean. The muscles of her shoulders and back were broad and strong from years of yoga, a practice she turned to anytime the strange realities of her life became too much to bear. She dressed simply, with a concerted lack of accessories and flair to avoid attention. It never really worked. More often than not, people found her lack of effort even more appealing. But it was her light gray eyes that really drew people in. They hinted at the depths of mystery just under the surface of Ryan’s affectedly calm exterior. She worked hard at appearing normal, but the effort never quite reached her eyes.
She knew Freda would want to know what had happened, what she had seen. She wasn’t ready to talk about it now and certainly hadn’t been last night. So, instead, she ventured down to the waterfront to clear her head and quickly traded fresh air for a cold draft beer. Or six.
Ryan flipped her phone screen-side down on the counter, grabbed her now half-full mug of coffee, and moved toward the bathroom for a shower. A loud ringing turned her around before she could reach the hall.
She watched a second too long as her phone, which she’d placed perilously close to the edge of her breakfast bar, vibrated itself right over the edge. It crashed to the floor with a dull metallic thud just as the doorbell rang. Ryan tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
“I’m never drinking again.” Willing herself to move, she reached for her phone first. She silenced the shrill ringing before answering.
“I’m sorry.” There really was no other way to start this conversation.
“You could have at least invited me to drink with you.” Freda’s raspy voice had a way of putting Ryan at ease, even when it was tinged with irritation. “What happened?”
“Listen, Doc, I really appreciate the rescue mission last night. I do. But can we not do this now? I’m already late for work, and I’m not exactly moving quickly this morning.”
The excuse reminded Ryan that she was, in fact, very late for work. She padded slowly over to the front door, first peeking out the side window. It was strange to get a delivery this early, and she was entirely incapable of dealing with a solicitor. A small package, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a knot of twine, sat on the first step. She eyed it curiously as Freda lectured her.
“Ryan, we’ve talked about this. You can’t repress these memories forever. I know you struggle with all of the unknowns surrounding your parents’ deaths, but this isn’t healthy.”
Absentmindedly, Ryan dropped the package on the counter and headed for the bathroom.
“Just come over, the lab will understand.”
The lab would understand. She was an exemplary employee who hadn’t missed as much as a phone call in the four years she worked there.
“I can’t.” Ryan heard the stacks of beaded bracelets and bangles that regularly lined Freda’s wrists jingling and pictured the woman throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. She smiled at the mental image, remembering a time when Freda was much more professional with her, and much less like an aggravated mother.
“I will, Freda. I need to go into the lab for a couple of hours, but we’ll do our usual time tonight?”
A heavy sigh, and then, “See you then.”
Ryan clicked off the phone and stepped into the shower, willing the hot water to wash away her hangover, and her memories. Twenty minutes later, she was dressed in her standard uniform: a plain T-shirt tucked casually into a pair of jeans and her classic Chuck Taylors. Her long blonde hair was twisted into a wet braid that still leaked water onto her shirt. She shouldered her purse, abandoning her half-empty travel mug. Today was a job for real coffee.
She turned back to the door, but the small package sitting on the counter caught her eye. She had managed to forget about it already. She lifted the box, inspecting the plain but immaculate wrapping. The only marketing was her address in tight, neat lettering. There was no return address. Pulling on the neat twine bow, the brown paper unfolded unassisted like an origami flower. Inside was an unmarked black box.
When she cracked it open, a small slip of paper fluttered to the floor, revealing a shiny metal pendant about the size of a quarter, strung onto a simple leather cord. It gleamed copper, like a shiny penny, but when Ryan turned it in the light, she caught glimpses of silver and bronze. It was unlike any metal she had ever seen. The strange piece was artfully bent and twisted into a symbol that resembled a three-pronged trident.
On closer inspection, Ryan could see the surface of the charm was scored with other symbols, but they were impossibly small and difficult to make out. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and Ryan felt drawn to it immediately. She studied it a moment longer, wondering where it could have come from. Remembering the note, she retrieved it from where it had—naturally—wedged itself among the legs of her kitchen table. There were only two short lines written on it, but they were enough to turn her blood to ice.
May you find your way home. We miss you.
It wasn’t signed, but she knew exactly who the gift had come from. It seemed impossible. They died twenty-two years ago, but she was undeniably sure. It was a gift from her parents.
Chapter 2
May 18, 2020
9:25 a.m. EST
QAR Conversation Library, East Carolina University, Greenville, North Carolina
Making her way across campus, fresh cup of coffee in hand, Ryan felt the tension that had taken up residence in her shoulders since last night start to subside, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the necklace. She put it on immediately upon opening it, and now fingered it as she walked, trying to clear her mind for work.
With the exception of yoga, her work was the only thing that distracted her from the strangeness of her life. Although most people wouldn’t look at her and think underwater archeologist, she thought the title suited her just fine. In fact, she loved her job. She felt called to it. Every night, Ryan dreamed of long-ago places and lost civilizations. She spent much of her childhood lost in books trying to find them, and now she had the opportunity to relive the stories through the discovery and preservation of ancient artifacts. Most days it felt less like a job than a dream come true.
She supposed she had her third set of foster parents to thank for the path she had taken. They were the ones who moved her from her small hometown in Maine to Raleigh, North Carolina. When they were inevitably ready to move on without her, the baggage that came with her past weighing too heavily, they dropped her in the system in the city. By that time, Ryan could see the signs. Each new foster family was enthralled with the mystery and tragedy of her story, but when they learned how lost and confused she truly was, that luster wore off. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t completely hide how different she was. And the older she got, the harder it became.
That’s when she met Freda. Freda had encouraged her to embrace her fantastical dreams from the past. She called them a coping mechanism. Now, Ryan knew that was true, but that knowledge didn’t keep the dreams and visions from taking over. Immersing herself in her work was the best way she knew to feel like she was in control. She spent every day searching for lost places and things from her lab, and every night dreaming about them.
By the time she pushed through the door to her lab, she’d shed most of the anxiety that accompanied her hangover and started to relax, but the pendant hung heavy on her chest and on her mind. The small facility, situated on East Carolina University’s West Research Campus, was responsible for the cleaning, desalination, consolidation, drying, and analysis of the artifacts recovered from shipwreck site 31CR314, also known as the Queen Anne’s Revenge.
She spent each day carefully cleaning a heavy layer of corrosion and marine growth from artifacts recovered from the wreck site, or more commonly, using x-radiography to reveal the items within when the concretions were too thick. The delicate work left little room to think about anything else and usually helped to keep the visions at bay. But today, thanks to exhaustion and the remnants of a hangover, flashes of fire and endless questions about the mysterious gift from her long-dead parents fought for attention with the sounding weight she cleaned.
After a few hours of fighting for concentration, the x-radiograph image she studied still failed to divulge the contents of the artifact she was working with. She sat back and again tried clearing her mind, visiting the familiar white space at the edges of awareness she often used to look at a problem more abstractly.
In this mental space she could shift the various pieces of a problem around like a puzzle until everything fit. But today the treasure buried under more than three hundred years of grime did not want to reveal itself to her. She heaved out an irritated sigh and pushed back from her workstation, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“Um. Are you okay?” Her post-bender headache had eliminated her equilibrium and the interruption took Ryan completely by surprise. She jumped, and the stool she had been balancing on went skittering across her workspace.
The student lab tech raced over to save her from hitting the tile. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
She threw up her hands to cut off his panicked apology. “It’s fine Charlie, really. I’m fine.”
He backed away but hovered close as if he expected her to faint at any moment. Ryan suspected it was partially out of concern for her, she knew she looked a little rough around the edges today, and partially because he clearly had a crush on her since his first day on this assignment. That she was probably close to a decade older than him didn’t seem to register with the love-struck freshman. “I had a bit of a late night last night, and I’m paying for it today, that’s all.” She surveyed the scene around her. “Actually, I think I’m going to take off a little early.”
“Sure, okay Ry…doctor…I mean,” Charlie stammered, reluctantly backing away. Ryan gave him a warm smile but waved him out of her lab space.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlie.” She needed some fresh air. If work wasn’t going to be the distraction she needed today, she hoped exercise would do the trick. The waves of nausea had ceased sometime just after lunch, and she thought she could manage a short run before heading to Freda’s.
Ryan gathered her things and shouldered her way out through the lab doors and into the warm sunshine. She breathed deep, savoring the smell of new growth springing to life around campus. It was one of those rare days when the warmth of summer had arrived but the oppressive humidity that usually hung over everything in the south like a fog hadn’t quite settled in. It felt like everything around her was doing the same, savoring the last moments before summer crashed down in full force.
With her face to the sky she marveled at how a little fresh air and sunshine could make everything better. Unused to wearing jewelry, she imagined she felt the metal pendant heating up in the glare of the afternoon sun.
Turning her attention back to the path in front of her, Ryan made her way slowly back to her car. And she wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the beautiful afternoon. The campus crawled with students lingering outside of lecture halls or lounging on the lawns with books and takeout containers. Picnic blankets covered practically every square inch of grass, creating a massive, living quilt. But the moment of levity didn’t last as far as her car.
Crossing the street to her parking deck, she felt a familiar nagging feeling at the base of her skull, something barely conscious that set her on edge. She ignored it, shaking her head and silently vowing for probably the dozenth time that day to never drink again. But as she continued toward her parking space, the feeling grew, and a sense of unease gripped her stomach.
She turned to look over her shoulder, half wondering whether she had left something in the lab when she noticed two girls walking toward her from across the street. She didn’t know either of the students and had no reason to pay special attention to them, and yet she couldn’t look away. She scanned the grounds behind them, searching for unseen danger. A strange man or particularly vicious pack of sorority girls perhaps.
Nothing seemed amiss, certainly not to the two girls who hadn’t looked up from their phones since she laid eyes on them. But she couldn’t look away; Ryan had learned long ago not to ignore these gut feelings. That’s what Freda called them. They never misled her.
Then she saw it. The rusted-out blue and white Ford pickup hurtled around the corner, windows open, country music blaring. The truck had a flagpole planted in the bed, and the ECU Pirates flag streamed wildly in the wind behind it. Ryan noticed the brilliant purple flag with the skull and crossbones first, quickly followed by the realization the driver didn’t appear to be slowing down for the pedestrians crossing the street.
A quick glance in the windows told Ryan he wasn’t going to. The young driver was bent over out of view, apparently retrieving something from the passenger-side footwell. One of the girls finally looked up, her attention drawn by either the roar of the truck or the blaring guitar solo, but not in enough time to warn her friend. The girl’s scream broke Ryan’s trance, and she flinched, instinctively throwing her hands up in front of her as if the truck careened toward her and not someone else.
At that moment, the pickup veered right, bouncing up onto the curb and through the plexiglass bus shelter the girls had just walked past. The vehicle lurched to a stop, slamming the driver—who was evidently was not only not paying attention, but also not wearing a seat belt—face-first into the steering wheel.
Rather than stop to check on the driver, the two girls huddled together in shock and walked swiftly past Ryan where she stood on the curb, not sparing a glance behind them. As they passed, the girl who spotted the truck too late shot a glance at Ryan. Her eyes were wide with shock, and Ryan thought, also tinged with suspicion. She realized her own face was still twisted in horror and she tried to rearrange her features into something more calming, but it was too late, they’d already moved on.
Ryan heard one of them mutter, “Let’s go, Claire, let’s get out of here,” as if she was concerned she would in some way be held responsible for the bus shelter, and not that she had narrowly escaped a fate far worse.
Snapping out of her reverie, Ryan made toward the sputtering truck. “Oh. Oh, shit. Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Her whispered pleas matched her footsteps as she raced across the street to check on the driver of the truck.
“Hey!” She ran up to the rusty driver’s side door as it opened with a creak. The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen and shared the same panicked expression as his two almost-victims.
“I don’t now what happened! I was grabbing something off my seat and, all of a sudden, I was driving into the bus stop. I didn’t… I don’t think I even turned my wheel. I think I got hit by something! Did I get hit by something?” Ryan could see the boy’s fear and panic bubbling up, and the impact with the steering wheel had opened a gash above his eye.
“No, nothing hit you, but you almost hit those two girls.” She had to work to keep the frustration out of her voice. “It’s going to be okay. They’re fine, you’re going to be fine. Let’s get that eye looked at, and I’ll call campus police about the bus shelter.” Ryan helped the student down from his seat, her hands shaking nearly as violently as his.
The boy eyed her strangely. “What girls?”
“What do you mean, what girls?” Ryan couldn’t help but feel a little irritated. “The two girls crossing the street! You nearly hit them. Thankfully, you swerved at the last minute.” Ryan watched the confusion spread across the boy’s face.
“I swear, I didn’t see any girls.”
“Then why did you swerve into the shelter?” But she already knew he hadn’t. That he almost mowed down two pedestrians was clearly news to him.
“I told you, I didn’t.” The boy turned, locking his hands on top of his head and surveying the damage he—or at least his truck—had caused. “My dad’s gonna kill me.”
Ninety minutes later Ryan headed back in the direction of her car, any hope of distracting herself with a run before going to see Freda gone. She’d spent thirty minutes escorting the dazed undergrad to the health center and another hour walking through the incident with campus security, and then with Greenville police. Despite the teen’s vehement assertions that he did not see any pedestrians, nor did he turn his wheel to swerve up onto the sidewalk, the officer recorded Ryan’s account as a witness and sent her on her way.
She could hear the student still sputtering his denial as she walked away. He had been very reckless, but she hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble. As she settled into her front seat, she fired off a quick text message to Freda to let her know she was on her way. She paused, catching her own blurred reflection in the glass screen of her phone, and she knew the truth. The driver hadn’t redirected that truck, she had.
Chapter 3
May 18, 2020
3:05 p.m. EST
Elliot Genetics, Brooklyn, New York
Whenever he needed a little perspective, Dr. Phoenix Elliot would turn his attention out the panoramic window of his penthouse office and watch the slow crawl of humanity across the Brooklyn Bridge forty stories below. At this height, and thanks to the slow decline in his eyesight, the white and red lights blurred together to form an intricate web crawling across the East River.
He didn’t know how long he had sat there when he heard a knock at his door. “Excuse me, Dr. Elliot?” Phoenix felt a twinge of agitation at his assistant, wondering vaguely when they had reached the level of familiarity that made Luca feel comfortable walking into his office with just an announcement rather than waiting for permission.
He took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair, and running his hands down his face. He was cranky. He needed a break. “Yes, Luca? What is it?”
“You asked me to let you know immediately when I spoke with someone at Ancestry Global. I just spoke with the head of their legal team…” Phoenix assumed his pause wasn’t indicative of good news.
“Let me guess. They’re parroting the FDA,” Phoenix indicated a crumpled letter in his lap, “and claiming the specificity of my request doesn’t show a direct connection to my research, and that I can basically go to hell.” He tossed the letter on the expansive glass desk in front of him, backing away and maneuvering around the monolithic piece of furniture with unusual grace. To anyone not watching closely, his state-of-the-art wheelchair appeared to move with his thoughts alone, so discreet were the touch pads under his fingers.
“Something like that, yes, sir.”
“They’re acting as if they’re the ones who developed the method for building that expansive database they have locked up so tight. I’m simply requesting a few data points, which they gathered using my methods.”
Phoenix had tasked Luca with procuring the proper permissions to access the DNA testing company’s data points weeks ago, but so far, all he had come up with was more dead ends. Ancestry Global had accumulated the world’s largest database of genetic information, with DNA on file for more than five million customers and over one million phenotypic data types. Of those five million profiles, Phoenix only needed a few hundred, just enough to extrapolate the general genetic makeup of a single island in the Aegean Sea. He was sure the markers he searched for were there.
He wondered whether he should have tasked someone else with dealing with the bureaucratic red tape, perhaps someone who wasn’t a geneticist who spent most of his time locked up in a lab without much social contact, someone who shared his sense of urgency. But Luca was the only person in his company who knew what he was working on, and that was only by accident.
Phoenix still wasn’t sure how Luca had accessed the encrypted folder on his private personal server. When Elliot Genetics secured its most recent government grant, a whole new team of technicians had to be hired to scour millions of data points in search of definitive genetic markers for the most common neurodegenerative disorders. Diseases like Alzheimer’s, ALS, and Parkinson’s involved a whole network of genes rather than a single gene or mutation that could be tested in utero, but Phoenix had found a way to simplify the search and provide insights into possible disorders in unborn children. Now, he just needed to prove it.
On his first day with the company, Luca had been given a set of data points to review, and had caused quite a stir when he came across a DNA map with so many irregularities and mutations he insisted to his overseeing manager that the data file must be corrupted. When he tried to access it again to show the senior technician on the project, the file had been locked back up on Phoenix’s personal server, but the damage had already been done.
Phoenix gave Luca two options that day. He could leave, and Phoenix would see to it he never worked in genetics again, or he could work directly with Phoenix as his personal lab assistant. It was an easy choice. Anyone in the field would have given their career to work for the most brilliant, if not the most violently secretive, mind in modern genetics.
“That’s the problem, sir. The specificity of the request. They are willing to give you data points at random, to protect the anonymity of their customers. Perhaps we could start with a small random sample and work from there?”
“We don’t need any more random data points, damn it!”
Luca backed toward the door, putting as much room between him and his infamously flammable boss as possible. Phoenix blew out a long breath, rubbing his hands over his face again as if he were pulling a mask of calm back in place.
“I’m sorry, Luca. I’m aware this is outside of your wheelhouse. Please.” He gestured toward Luca’s hand on the door handle. When he let it drop, Phoenix took a moment to clear his head before giving any further instructions. He had spent nearly a year ostentatiously searching for the genetic markers for Alzheimer’s under the guise of his new grant, hoping to earn enough trust to secure the data he really wanted. He was done waiting.
“If we can’t convince Ancestry Global to give us the data, maybe we can convince them to sell it. That’s how the government gets it, after all. Try that.” Luca quickly turned to go without a word.
“Wait.” The tech stopped and turned back to his boss slowly. “Do not take no for an answer, Luca. Without a few more definitive data points my theory is dead in the water. Do you understand? We’re talking about my life’s work. I must have a large sample size from that specific region.” He held the timid assistant’s gaze for a long moment, trying to will the point home.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” He turned to leave and stopped, working up the courage to ask a question. “Dr. Elliot? What about all the data points we already have in the system? We’ve been collecting these anomalous maps for the better part of three years now. There have to be more than the benchmark threshold to be able to apply your hypothesis to a larger group.”
“None of them are right. I’m looking for something specific. I don’t know what the exact series of mutations will be, but when I find it…” Phoenix considered the gravity of that discovery, “it will be the key to everything.”
Luca nodded and practically ran out of the office, leaving Phoenix alone with his thoughts again. He retrieved the letter from his desk and read it over. Scanning the last few lines, he breathed the words aloud quietly, as if trying to convince himself he read them correctly.
“…evidence suggests your research and data requests show possible motives for targeted genetic modifications…at best reflects cultural bias…serious concerns regarding biological warfare…” He felt his mask slipping again. He balled up the letter one final time, tossing it across the room where it landed in front of the LED fireplace display embedded in the wall. Smoke wreaked havoc on his weak lungs, but just this once he wished the flames were real. He would love to watch it burn.
Author Bio:
A. L. Hooke spent years as a journalist and copywriter before lacing up her hiking boots and venturing into the dense jungle of fiction writing. She developed her first character in the third grade and spent much of her young (and not so young) life dreaming of ancient civilizations and lost treasures. An avid outdoor enthusiast with an unquenchable wanderlust, many of Hooke's own travels and bucket list locations are the inspiration for her stories.
Her debut science fiction action-adventure novel, Daughter of the Antediluvian World: An Atlantis Origin Story, seeks the source of one of her favorite myths: The Lost City of Atlantis. After dipping her toes into the wilds of fiction, Hooke is now working on her first series as well as her own copy and content consulting business alongside her very tolerant husband in Raleigh, North Carolina.
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