AUTHORS INTERVIEWING CHARACTERS: LIZA NASH TAYLOR

August 18, 2020 | By Liza Nash Taylor | Reply More

A sweeping Jazz Age tale of regret, ambition, and redemption inspired by true events, including Josephine Baker’s 1925 Paris debut in Le Revue Nègre.

“Fasten your seatbelts…this is one fabulous book that will keep you turning pages.”

—Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author of Girls of Summer

Listed in PARADE MAGAZINE’S 30 Best Beach Reads of 2020

One of Frolic’s 20 Best Books of Summer 2020

Liza Nash Taylor interviews her character May

I began this novel while sitting on the porch of the old farmhouse where I live. May’s character was sparked by a sherd of an antique porcelain. While digging in my garden, I found a broken piece of a Victorian-era doll’s face, in the dirt. I knew I had to write about the girl who had once loved that doll, here, at Keswick Farm. Set in 1924, ETIQUETTE FOR RUNAWAYS follows 19-year-old May Marshall from a rural family farm in Virginia to Prohibition-Era Manhattan, and on, to Jazz-Age Paris.

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Liza: You’re not easy to reach, you know. Didn’t you get my telephone messages? Or my letter?

May: Oh. Um. Yes, I do remember one message. Sorry. I’ve just been so busy, you know?

Liza: I went by the Keswick Market, and they said you aren’t scheduled to work. That nice gentleman—what was his name? He seemed pretty certain you’d be here.

May: Blue. His name is Blue Harris. He runs the market.

Liza: So, how have you been keeping busy since…since you got back home?

May: Since I was expelled, you mean? Is that why you’re here, to get the scoop? You know, you could publish this in the college newspaper, Life in disgrace! Don’t let this be you, girls! Follow the rules!

Liza: I wanted to see how you’re coping. I didn’t mean to upset you. Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Don’t cry. I’ll just leave.

May: (Wipes her eyes with the back of her hand). No, it’s all right. To tell you the truth, it’s nice to see a familiar face. Sorry, I’m not being very hospitable. May I get you a glass of tea?

Liza: Thank you. This fresh mint smells wonderful. Did you grow it yourself?

May: I did. I’ll show you the garden, if you’d like, only it’s so beastly out. Dog Days and all. Just hotter than hell, isn’t it? We seem to spend every afternoon up here on this porch, don’t we, Blossom? (she reaches down to stroke the ears of a large, brindle-and-white bulldog). When I was little, my mother had the prettiest garden. Her roses were her pride and joy. But it’s been neglected for years. When I got home, I decided to resurrect it—her garden. It’s been… good for me, I think. Mama had these beautiful black hollyhocks and after all these years, they’re still coming up. I pruned the roses today, see? (she holds out her arms, showing scratches).

Liza: Your mother…

May: She left. Poof! When I was little. Lordy, let’s not talk about her, please.

Liza: I’m sorry. But getting back to Mary Baldwin. The College hasn’t issued any sort statement about your leaving…

May: Right, (she sighs). I sure hope they give the scholarship to another girl. I certainly blew it. I won’t have that chance again. That’s the worst thing, you know? And where do I go from here? I mean, I come home—and granted, it was somewhat unexpected, to say the least—and things here at the farm, well… Can we talk, I mean, really?

Liza: I promise not to repeat what you tell me.

May: (Blows out a long breath), well, christamighty. I get home, and what do you know? Daddy has this “side business” going, and let me tell you, he is raking in the money. His applejack? He’s getting four times what these country moonshiners are getting for corn liquor. They say his stuff is as smooth as French apple brandy, which I have never actually tasted myself, but it sure is selling like hotcakes. So I’ve been helping out a little. I came up with a way to sell it right out of the market, without the Prohibition agents knowing. I’ll tell you, if you swear not to tell a soul.

Liza: My lips are sealed.

May: I mix up apple butter, which, you know, is brown and thick, with glue.

Liza: Glue?

May: You bet. Just regular glue. It smells to high heaven, let me tell you. Anyway, I paint the inside of quart mason jars with it, then let it dry. Then we fill up a baby bottle with the applejack and pack it inside, and label it Keswick Farm Apple Butter, just like the real thing! No one can tell the difference, except that I color in the farmhouse chimney on the label red. Have you seen our jams and chutneys and such? They all feature a label with a drawing of this house. My mother did the pen and ink sketch. So, I label the dummy bottles and color in that chimney, and it sits there on the top shelf behind the register, pretty as you please!

Liza: And you’re not afraid of being caught?

May: Hmm. Well, that is always a possibility, isn’t it? But we’re really careful. You couldn’t get me to tell you where Daddy’s still is for love nor money. And don’t get me wrong; this is all a temporary arrangement. I’m going to come up with a plan and get myself away from here, mark my words.

Liza: Any ideas so far?

May: Have you heard of that swanky dressmaker in Washington called Veronique de Paris? Her shop is right next to the Elizabeth Arden Salon. Well, let me tell you, she is the bee’s knees when it comes to copying the very latest styles. I bet you dollars to donuts she’d hire me. I can sew like nobody’s business, and I speak French. My mother designed costumes, you know. Her father—my grandfather—had the best costume shop in New Orleans. People would order costumes two years in advance, for Mardi Gras and such. You know, I just need to find the right opportunity. And I have a good feeling. Something big is going to happen. I won’t be stuck here forever. Lordy, I’d rather die.

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Author Bio:

Liza Nash Taylor was a 2018 Hawthornden International Fellow and received her MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts in the same year. The 2016 winner of the San Miguel Writers’ Conference Fiction Prize, her work has appeared in Microchondria II, Gargoyle Magazine, and Deep South, amongst others. A native Virginian, she lives in Keswick, with her husband and dogs.