Q&A: J.D. Myall, Author of ‘Heart’s Gambit’

We chat with author J.D. Myall about Heart’s Gambit, which is a thrilling and romantic debut fantasy where competitors from two prominent, time-traveling Black families must fight in a deadly magical duel—and find themselves falling in love.  PLUS you can check out an excerpt at the end of the interview!

Hi, J.D.! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?

I’m a storyteller who has always believed magic and history are braided together. I’m a Black woman, a mother, a library and publishing professional, a mentor, and someone who lived a lot of life before publishing my first novel. I grew up as an Army brat. I was an energetic kid with ADHD who struggled to fit in. I would read a 300-page book in a day and then rewrite it in my head, putting myself in the story.

Being an outsider wasn’t always easy, but it taught me how to observe people and places with clarity. Writing became my friend during those years. It was an escape into wonder, a place where I was always allowed to belong. Today, I write fantasy, romance, and history through a Black speculative lens because those are the stories I needed when I was younger.

When did you first discover your love for writing and stories?

I was a reader long before I thought of myself as a writer. Books were my refuge, especially during long drives as my family moved from state to state. I would sit in the backseat rereading The Outsiders, imagining myself inside the story.

I always wrote, even when the writing wasn’t very good. I had to learn craft through books and trial and error like everyone else. I started writing seriously when I realized stories could help me process life, not just escape it. Writing gave me a way to explore empathy, truth, grief, joy, and hope, and to imagine worlds that felt fairer than the one I was living in.

Quick lightning round! Tell us:

• The first book you ever remember reading:  I don’t remember a single title. Picture books, fairy tales, and early chapter books were likely my entry point. I remember loving Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor and some Beverly Cleary books. I loved reading because danger and adventure felt safe on the page.
• The one that made you want to become an author:  Kindred by Octavia Butler. It showed me that speculative fiction could be personal, political, and rooted in Black history. That book changed my outlook on storytelling. Heart’s Gambit couldn’t exist in a world where Kindred didn’t exist.
• The one that you can’t stop thinking about:  The Night Circus, for the atmosphere and the sense of wonder.

Your debut novel, Heart’s Gambit, is out February 3^rd! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?

Lush. Romantic. Dangerous. Time-bending. Rebellious.

What can readers expect?

Readers who love Caraval, The Night Circus, and Legendborn will feel at home in the pages of Heart’s Gambit. They can expect a sweeping romantasy grounded in history, legacy, and love. There is time travel, magic, rival families, and a romance shaped by impossible choices. At its heart, this is a story about fighting for your future when the past keeps trying to kill you.

Where did the inspiration for Heart’s Gambit come from?

I’ve always been fascinated by time travel, especially after reading Kindred. I didn’t see many stories exploring time travel from a Black perspective, and that made Heart’s Gambit exciting to write. I wanted to explore young love, adventure, magic, and what it means to inherit both beauty and trauma. I was interested in what it costs to move through history in brown skin and what it takes to break cycles that were never meant to be broken.

Were there any moments or characters you really enjoyed writing or exploring?

I loved writing Emma’s training scenes and the family dynamics just as much as the romance between Emma and Malcolm. Their relationship is tender and dangerous at the same time, which made it especially fun to explore. I also loved bringing historical settings to life in ways that felt magical, fresh, and grounded in truth.

Did you face any challenges whilst writing? How did you overcome them?

Yes. I wrote this book during a period of intense upheaval. I was hit by a car, went through physical therapy, and later developed a blood clot in my lungs. I recovered, only to have a massive tree fall onto my house during a storm, forcing my children and me into a hotel for a few weeks until we could relocate.

There were days when writing felt impossible and nights when I wrote from a hospital bed because it was the only thing keeping me sane. I learned not to wait for perfect conditions or inspiration. I wrote anyway. The persistence, pain, and hope of that time shaped this book in ways I never could have planned.

This is your debut novel! What was the road to becoming a published author like for you?

It was long, winding, and humbling. I built a strong writing community along the way and spent years learning craft, revising, studying the market, and growing through rejection. I learned how essential mentorship and support are. When the book finally sold, it felt like a victory not just for the story, but for every moment I chose not to give up.

What’s next for you?

I’m working on book two in the Heart’s Gambit duology, mentoring writers, and hosting my podcast Craft Chat Chronicles, where I interview authors and publishing professionals about writing and the industry. I’m also developing new projects and continuing to tell stories that entertain and spark meaningful conversations. Readers can learn more at www.jdmyall.com.

Lastly, what books are you looking forward to picking up this year?

I’m excited for This Monster of Mine by Shalini Abeysekara, When Dealing with Dragons by Dana Swift, The Dividing Sky by Jill Tew, Cursed Ever After by Andy C. Naranjo, and Midnight on the Celestial by Julia Alexandra. I’m also eager to read Keeper of Lost Children by my Drexel University mentor, Sadeqa Johnson, and I’m currently reading Soulmatch by Rebecca Dazenbaker.

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EXCERPT

From Heart’s Gambit by J.D. Myall. Copyright © 2026 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

CHAPTER ZERO

Grand Belle Island, 1860

Death smells like sugar and dirt. When a hard Louisiana rain mingles with a lightning strike in the cane fields, the scent chokes the plantation, a bittersweet reminder that the only way out of here is burial in shallow ground.

No one wastes a marble crypt on people like us.

Fog swirls through weeping willows and rolls low in the fields, and a full moon glares, teasing me with its freedom in the starry night sky.

Ahead, a haze bends into the form of a woman, gliding through the grass separating the big house from the field. Missus Sabine is out of bed.

I freeze and consider running back inside the big house, but that will make me look guilty. I’m not supposed to be out at this time of night, and she’s already seen me. I fight the tremble rumbling through my body. My mind turns over the lie I must tell.

She slowly walks closer. Her heels stabbing the dirt. A specter like death himself closing in. I wonder who’s getting whipped tonight, who has angered her and yanked her away from her beauty rest.

The broad expanses of cane fields merge with the trees of the distant wood. She ignores the slave quarters, glancing ahead to her two-story plantation home.

My heart races. My fingers grip my bag as I tuck it behind me. Guarding my plan and all I own. She’ll demand to know why I’m not asleep in my attic room or preparing her breakfast for tomorrow morning. I hold my breath.

Sabine’s skin blends with her white nightdress. Her hair looks like flames tied up in a bird’s nest of a bun. Her sharp angular features and icy blue eyes are as hard and jagged as the two stone chimneys rising above the house. She belongs here.

But I won’t stay on this island and be worked into the grave. I’ll take my chances with the handmade boat hidden on the other side of the wood. I’m not sure if freedom or anything else exists beyond the bayou, but I’m willing to die to find out.

Sabine nears the porch stairs now. Please don’t let her notice my bag, I think. She’s more brutal than the overseer, laying down fury with her whip and tongue. Her eyes, laced with crow’s-feet, find me. “Venus,” she shouts, nearing the porch. “It’s dangerous to be out at this hour.”

You’re out. That’s the danger. I bow, then tuck a curl under my scarf, knowing the sight of it will cause her to slap me. She hates everything about me. My skin. My eyes. Every part of me that reminds her of the Master. My father. Her husband. I lower my eyes and fixate on the freckles of blood scattered across the columns of the big house. Or “the big evil” as we call it. I wish my mama was still here. She’d know the best way to handle Sabine. She knew how to tuck her fear away in times like these, but my hands shake.

“Did you hear me, girl?” Sabine says.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m heading round to the cookhouse now.” I knit my fingers and thank God the kitchen is at the back of the house, that you can reach it from outside. “Mabel wanted me to sleep there with her so we could get an early start on breakfast. She’s making something that tastes real good, and it’s gonna take hours.”

“Oh, well, get to it.”

My muscles tense as I prepare to get as far away from her as possible.

Sabine catches sight of my ragged little bag. Realization lights her face. “What are you up to, Venus Davenport?”

Goose bumps rise on my arms. My mind flashes to images of others starved till their bones showed for disobeying her. I imagine the overseer’s cowhide whip ripping my flesh for trying to run away. A lie comes quickly. “Picked some herbs for Mabel, ma’am. Got some jars in here so she can season breakfast too.”

“Mmmm.” She looks at me with suspicion. “Are you thick in the head, or do you think I am?”

“Huh?”

Titus comes out of one of the slave cabins in the distance. I still, my pulse racing. He’s here! But late as ever. I hope she doesn’t look back. I want to signal him to go inside until she’s gone. But I’m scared she’ll notice.

At least the sight of him distracts me from my fear. Even in ragged tan cotton pants, his dark skin is intoxicating in the silvery glow of the moon. He holds a cloth bag of his own. He waves at me, stepping forward. He notices Missus Sabine. He freezes, but his hands don’t seem to shake like mine do.

She dismisses me with a wave and doesn’t notice Titus. “You can’t cook outside of the kitchen, girl. Go on now.”

“Yes, Missus,” I reply, relieved she believed me. I tug at my plain cotton dress and head down the porch steps toward the back of the house. I hear the creaky front door slam behind Sabine as she steps inside. I walk slow, watching through the windows as she makes her way through the house, ensuring she’s in for the night. I spot her figure passing the parlor window. The sight of the checkerboard floor sends a chill up my spine. The room of no return. Her punishment room. Misbehaving slaves enter but never leave. Its blue walls spill over with gaudy gold frames between the matching stone columns that hold blue-flamed candles. Statues of enslaved children line the edges of the room, their stone bodies white as salt but their features frozen in perpetual horror, vacant eyes swollen with frozen tears, mouths yanked open, as if recoiling from evil. Their fear is as great as mine. But I push forward because Titus and I have plans tonight.

When I am sure she’s not coming after me, I ease back around to the front of the house.

Titus meets me by the stairs.

“Let’s go,” I whisper.

Under the full moon, we hurry down the grimy path beside the field, clutching our faith and our cloth bags that hold rice and what little else we own.