About Me

Recluse

When I first learned what a recluse was during my childhood, I thought that it sounded like a great idea. Heck, I even made it my life goal.

Shortly after reaching adulthood, I discovered that I don’t actually enjoy living completely alone. I forget to eat if I don’t have someone else around to keep me grounded in reality.

So, now I have a family of my own, and it works really well for me… As long as I get the kids in bed early so I have time to myself, lol.

But lately, I’ve been feeling overexposed to people.

It’s the combination of a number of things that I don’t want to get into (don’t worry, it’s not you), but I’m worn down. I don’t want to interact with the outside world, so much as I want to retreat within myself and paint the stairs. I’ve absorbed too much energy from too many sources, and I need a mental cleanse.

I’m being literal, btw. I bought supplies to paint our wooden staircase yellow and green, and have been doing the prep work. The previous owners painted it taupe, so I’m not ruining anything. Albeit, I *am* making it weirder.

Reclusive. Retiring. Cloistered.

That’s me.

And you can’t bully or cajole me out of it.

Alice and the Warden, Books

Alice and the Warden Pre-order

Coming September 22nd!

Available for pre-order from:

Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble

Apple
And more!

Act now and don’t miss out!

Because after September, this story will be dead to me.

At least until it’s time to write the sequel. I’m one of those sorts.

About Me

Musing

The other day I was musing over how all of the creative sorts that I used to follow back in the day all dropped off the face of the planet, when it hit me: I dropped off the face of the planet, too. Talk about a blind spot, lol.

Though I didn’t have any adoring fans that I let down. There are people out there who are very good at commanding attention and getting noticed … and I am not one of them. I tend to become shy. So. Very. Shy.

Anyway, my absence from the planet is why I sit here saying, “I’m super passionate about writing,” with so few titles attached to my name.

Those lost years were essential. They added depth to my ideas that I wouldn’t have developed otherwise, and broke me out of the standard tropes. They gave me life experience.

They also left me too scattered for awhile afterwards to finish anything. I had no focus or consistency.

And I don’t like talking about it, so don’t ask.

Thankfully, in this part of my life, I’m a lot more solidly grounded, so I’m much better at writing nearly every day (I say after I took a full month off just because). That’s the part that really matters to me, but dang do I wish I was working faster sometimes.

Like, it would be so sweet if I was finishing TWO novels every year, instead of just one.

Because sometimes I feel like I have too many stories inside of me, waiting for their turn.