Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Emily Krempholtz to HJ!
Hi Emily and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore!
Thank you so much for having me, I’m excited to be back!
Please summarize the book for the readers here:
Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore is a cozy fantasy romance about a bard who has always dreamed of a bigger life, and a bandit trying desperately to keep his found family from falling apart—who get tangled up in a road trip, a legendary heist, and each other.
It tells the story of an aspiring musician, Pru, who finally leaves her small town to audition for a royal wedding and chase her dream of being a famous bard. But when her beloved violin is destroyed and she’s forced to travel with Callum, the charming bandit who broke it, Pru slowly begins coming to terms with the fact that dreams can change over time, and that maybe it’s not that she’s not enough for the life she’s always wanted—it’s that that life might not be enough for her anymore.
Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:
Here are a few!
– “I’ve always believed,’ she said carefully, ‘that stories can be just as sharp as swords.’”
– “She wanted to pave the rest of her life with bricks made of stories and take each step knowing she’d laid the road with her own hands.”
– “Too much? Marsh, of course the ocean is too much for a rowboat. But that just means the people best fit to sail her are the ones who find themselves a ship, who learn the shape of the stars so that they might better navigate her. The ocean would drown them before she drained herself, but it’s on them for not learning to swim.” … “You’re not too much, Prudence Marsh. You are the ocean. Don’t you dare pull back your tide.”
Please share a few Fun facts about this book…
- Most of the horses in this book are named after horses I have known in real life.
- A lot of the setting details first fell into place during a month-long trip to Italy a few years ago. I fell in love with a lot of ancient Roman history, and built a lot of it into the world of Pru (the aqueducts! The ruins! A lot of architectural details that my editor gently suggested I cut from the manuscript!)
- Bartleby was originally not supposed to come along on Pru’s adventure, but while working on Violet Thistlewaite, I ended up with a few ideas regarding his development during (and beyond) Pru’s story. So I let him stow away in Pru’s saddlebags, and now you’ll get to read in 2027 where that eventually will lead him!
- The editing process for Prudence Marsh took place during some of the busiest months of my life. I edited this book on planes, at conventions, on a cruise ship, in the passenger seat while stormchasing with a friend across the Plains… so in a way, the manuscript went on just as much of an adventure as Pru!
What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?
Callum is first drawn to Pru in a tavern where she finds herself in a bit of trouble. He’s been watching her perform and loves her talent and clear passion for music, but when he comes to her rescue by pretending to be her long lost lover, he finds himself loving the way she immediately plays along and throws herself into character. Her ability to meet him on the same level and play with him is something he hasn’t been able to find elsewhere.
Pru, for her part, is grateful for the rescue and is drawn to his charming, easy manner—she also loves the way he slips so easily into their performance. When they meet again shortly afterward and are forced to travel together, Pru is initially frustrated with him but also can’t help observing the way he cares so deeply for his friends and goes to great lengths to take care of everyone.
These two characters are both major people pleasers who find it easier to wear a mask than be themselves sometimes, so in a way, they’re both drawn to seeing that in another person—but as time goes on, they both get to draw back the curtain, or peek beneath the mask, as it were, and come to respect and like each other for what they find there.
Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?
I had so much fun writing banter in this book. There’s a scene in the first half where Pru had a chat with Callum while he’s bathing in a hot spring that, in the very first draft of the book, was titled “Nothing Cures Writers Block Like a Horny Bathing Scene.” I moved that scene around a few times and polished it up so it was more than a placeholder, but one of the exchanges that just felt RIGHT from the first try was an exchange that stems from Callum’s insistence that Pru write a song about him, and it turns into an ongoing joke.
He made like he was about to lift himself out of the water, and Pru remembered again that he was naked. “As much as I’d love to give you something glorious to write a new song about—“
“Oh, please.” But he caught her smirk.
“It would be such an impressive song.”
Her eyes danced with his. “Would you be this confident if you were bathing in cold water, do you think?”
“A long song—”
“Longer than this conversation?”
“A massive song, Marsh.”
“As if you—”
“A song that would ruin all other songs for you for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t think that’s how friends speak to one another, Callum.”
“Marsh, love, I don’t think you’re making the right sort of friends.”
Another of my favorite scenes in the book is a conversation that Callum has with his friend Butcher just before the heist, and I definitely got a little misty-eyed while I wrote some of the dialogue. I think it’s really easy to misconstrue the intentions of friends we’ve known for a long time, and Callum finally getting the truth of a situation he’d long blamed himself for was a really satisfying scene to write.
Readers should read this book….
- If they love their romances with a healthy dose of banter
- If they’re craving an adventure, or love to travel
- If they love heist stories
- If found family is one of their favorite themes
- If they like some spice in their cozy fantasy
- If they’ve ever thought about going after a dream
What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?
I’m working on Aurora Bartleby Is Not a Damsel Anymore, which, yes, is what we’ve been calling The Bartlebook. You haven’t met Rory yet, but I’m so excited to introduce you! The story follows a woman, Rory, whose sister goes missing, so she kidnaps her estranged husband after he turns up claiming to have been transformed into a potted plant for the past seven years and enlists his help finding her. It’s another standalone but takes place in the same world, both before and after the events of Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore (dual timelines, baby!) and features plenty of familiar faces from the other two books.
Thanks for blogging at HJ!
Giveaway: One copy of PRUDENCE MARSH IS NOT A NOBODY ANYMORE for a U. S. only winner.
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Excerpt from Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore:
PRUDENCE MARSH IS NOT A NOBODY ANYMORE
by Emily Krempholtz
Ace Trade Original | On Sale November 10, 2026
ExcerptEvery crowd had a rhythm if you knew how to listen, and this one wanted to dance. Feet pounded on the floorboards, drinks sloshed over the edges of cups, and laughter harmonized the bawdy lyrics Pru belted from the center of the room.
The Inevitable Goat looked exactly like you’d expect a backwoods mountain tavern in a backwoods mountain town to look. It was all whitewashed stone walls and thick wooden beams, a fire crackling merrily in the stone hearth, rough floor strewn with straw to mop up beer spills. On top of a mantel, a taxidermy mountain goat stood watch over the crowd, wearing a sunflower yellow hat atop its shaggy white head. From outside, the glow of the windows and the pounding of feet echoed through the still night, bringing in stragglers to join Pru’s audience.
“Come on, you lot!” she hollered. “It’s your turn!”
As the drunken taverngoers picked up the slack, singing the chorus she’d been teaching them, Pru lifted her violin and drew the bow across the strings. There were some strong voices in the crowd. Pru found the source of a clear baritone in the back of the room, a man with fair skin and shoulder-length light brown hair tied half up into a messy knot. She met his gaze with a smile, and his hazel eyes sparkled with mirth.
She winked at the man and kicked up her heels, her skirts billowing to reveal bright pinks and oranges and yellows through the slashes in the embroidered overskirt. Pru bent to the music, her body swaying like a willow in a windstorm. She grinned to herself as she worked through a complicated riff, gratified when cheers rose through the tavern hall.
Pru played the final notes with a flourish. She held her violin and bow in the same hand while she used her other to grab an offered tankard of ale. She held it aloft, a satisfied smile warming her voice.
“Folk of the Inevitable Goat, you have been a wonderful audience. I’m Prudence Marsh, and if you haven’t heard of me yet, you should probably start spreading the word so your friends don’t embarrass themselves the same way!”
Feet thundered on the floor, and patrons hollered their cheers as Pru downed the bitter, warm beer in one long glug and lifted her violin again. “You all know ‘The Sun King’s Bride,’ don’t you?”
This one they could sing in their sleep. As the first verse slipped into the chorus, Pru let out a loud whoop and simplified her fiddling to just a few punctuating chords so she could sing along with the now-raucous crowd.
She leapt onto a table, kicking high so her skirts fluttered. The crowd went wild, singing along in that sloppy, shouting unison that made Pru’s cheeks hurt from smiling. She slipped into a complicated, impressive violin solo before the bridge, and by the time the lyrics picked up again, she wasn’t the only one dancing.
Unlike many of her friends, Pru had no magic, save for this: She was a damn good performer, and she knew it. She’d met no one else who could hold an audience under their thrall the way she did. And finally, finally, she had left Dragon’s Rest long enough to see if she really had what it took to be a bard. Da would be proud if he could see her right now, with the violin he’d given her, making her way to fame just as they’d dreamed.
My dazzling girl, he would say. Look at you shine.
And then her foot slipped on a dirty plate.
Pru slid across the table into a full split before continuing right off the edge, holding her violin protectively against her chest. She hit the tavernkeeper, Marlow, whose tray of drinks flew in a perfect arc toward the fireplace, heavy tankards spinning and spilling beer like a fountain before barreling into the taxidermy goat on the mantel.
A collective gasp swept through the room as the goat wobbled . . . and fell to the hearth below. The dry sawdust and moons-knew-how-old animal hide immediately caught fire with a deceptively gentle whoosh.
Pru groaned on the filthy floor of the tavern and gave herself until the count of three before springing back to her feet, ignoring the ache in her hip where she’d hit the table. She whooped, and the silence broke, but not in the way she’d expected. Instead of laughter, she heard a sob. A woman rushed toward the burning goat, and another held her forcibly back.
“Stefano!” she cried miserably into her friend’s blouse.
Pru looked around in alarm. “Who’s Stefano?”
“Stefano was our town’s hero,” said Marlow, his face scarlet. Pru took in his drenched, slightly foamy clothes, his dark bushy brows drawn low over narrowed eyes. She followed his gaze to the fireplace.
“. . . The goat?”
“Yes, the goat!” Spit flew from Marlow’s mouth like sparks from the fire. He swept an arm over the room. “This is out of control.” Pru looked around, noticing the smashed plates, the collapsed table, the patrons mopping spills from their clothes. At the fireplace, two people used the shirts off their backs to smother Stefano, but it was clear from the smoke-and the smell-that the old boy would never be the same. “I hired you to entertain, not deface a public icon and destroy my establishment!”
“It’s hardly destroyed!” Pru protested. “In fact, I’ve alerted you to the lack of structural integrity of your furniture! You should seek reparations from the carpenter.”
“I’m the carpenter,” said a gruff voice next to her. Pru turned to see a woman with massive biceps and a rapidly swelling eye, recognizing her belatedly as the person she’d kicked in the face when she fell. “You saying my work is shoddy?”
“Of course not.” Pru patted the woman on the shoulder and summoned every ounce of her charm. “I’d order a table for my dining room, if I had a dining room, which-alas!-I don’t. You might make them a smidge better for dancing upon, but-”
“They weren’t meant to be danced upon,” growled the carpenter.
“Precisely,” agreed Marlow with a self-righteous nod. “You can’t just traipse about like this, stomping on people’s furniture, breaking people’s dishes.”
“Plus, she killed Stefano!” someone added.
Pru resisted the urge to remind them all that Stefano had been long dead based on how quickly he went up in flames.
“I’m sorry,” she said demurely instead. “It was an accident.”
“Aye, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t happen more often, with you playing like that!” Marlow’s fury hardened into something quieter but no less poisonous. “We are simple folk. We don’t- This- It’s too much. You’re too much. And you’ll never play here again.”
A hard knot formed in Pru’s throat. “I’ll leave.”
“Not until you pay me for damages, you won’t.”
“Pay you for-?”
Another voice cut her off. “Darling!” Pru turned to find the handsome hazel-eyed singer from the crowd. “I knew that was you!”
He pulled her to himself for an overly familiar embrace. Pru’s hand splayed over the simple but fine material of his shirt, dark blue linen loosely laced to reveal a smooth, muscled chest. Had his collar been so far open when she saw him only moments ago?
“Play along,” he whispered roughly in her ear. Louder, he said, “I’ve been searching for you for weeks!” He leaned conspiratorially toward the innkeeper, though he spoke for the whole room to hear. “It was the very eve of our wedding! There I was in my best suit-and folks, I look great in a suit-and she vanished!” He was the very picture of a jilted lover, pressing a hand to his heart as he lamented, “The cake, the guests, the wine . . . all to waste.”
Excerpted from Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore by Emily Krempholtz Copyright © 2026 by Emily Krempholtz. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Book Info:
A musician leaves her quaint town in search of a bigger life, only to get tangled up with a mischievous bandit and a royal heist in this delightful and poignant new cozy fantasy romance from the USA Today bestselling author of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore.
Prudence Marsh has always known she’s meant for more than playing violin at small-town taverns, so when she learns of an audition for a royal wedding, she knows this is it: her chance to be somebody. After years of putting everyone else first, Pru sets out to finally pursue her dreams of being a famous bard.
Callum DiCorvo, roguishly handsome cursebreaker and bandit extraordinaire, is content with his life of crime. So content, in fact, that he’s determined to keep things exactly as they are. Cheerfully thieving is all he’s good for anyway.
When Pru collides with Callum and his crew in a roadside robbery that leaves her beloved violin in splinters, she demands to travel with them until they replace it. Before long, Pru finds herself growing close to the motley bunch, especially Callum, whose sparkling banter and crooked smiles tease her like a song she can’t get out of her head.
But the bandits have stumbled upon a heist that could make all their dreams come true—breaking into the mystical Lune Vault at the palace on the same night as the wedding—leaving Pru to decide what’s more important: the dreams she’s held on to for so long, or the ones she’s building right now.
Book Links: Amazon |
Meet the Author:
Emily Krempholtz is the USA Today bestselling author of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore. With over a decade of experience as an editor, book coach, and bestselling ghostwriter, and many more as a voracious bookworm, Emily writes cozy fantasy romances full of heart, whimsy, wordplay, and stabby sentient houseplants. When she’s not writing, you can find Emily baking, playing board games, planning her next Ren Faire costume, adopting yet another arts-and-crafts-related hobby, hiking, or advocating for the freedom to read as a state co-leader of Authors Against Book Bans. She lives in Colorado with her partner and a forest of houseplants, including a pothos named Bartleby.
