About Writing

On writing communities

I joined an online community for writers.

I confess that on an emotional level, it takes me back to being a teenager on Elfwood, trying my best to chummy up to some clique, and wondering why they just didn’t like me no matter what. After all, I was WAY more talented than any of them.

Now I realize that it wasn’t about admiring talent. They copied each other, and I was stubbornly myself. Cliques don’t like individuals.

I like to imagine that those people who rejected me years ago are now trapped in lonely and pathetic lives. That’s what you get when you sell your soul! Bwahahahaha!

I can say this here, because we aren’t among them right now: I don’t like writers. I have never once gotten along with one. However, I like readers. I LOVE readers, really, because they love fictional worlds and stories as much as I do. I feel a kindred spirit with readers. Writers have fragile egos and are always on the defense — they feel threatened by talent and hard work. They don’t like me either.

I fully expect them to utilize the reviews and rating system to attempt to bully me into conformity. I will likely never be featured as a top writer. I will probably abandon my account with enough time. I suck at fitting in.

So why did I join a community for writers?

Because my oracle cards told me that I need to step outside of my comfort zone, and I can’t think of a more uncomfortable place for me.

That’s why I joined.

About Me



I want to explode on the scene.

Blow everyone away with the enormity of my talent.

Declare to the world, “I was born to do this!”

But I’m shy, doubtful, and insecure.

Something like that, happening to someone like me?

Probably not.

But I like to fantasize.

Light Eternal

Light Eternal


A young woman, fleeing a terrible secret, finds herself beset by a supernatural beast which threatens not her body, but her very soul–and the mysterious stranger who saves her claims that he is not what he appears to be… and neither is she.

Before she knows it, the two of them are traveling across the country, fleeing a mysterious threat that seems to lurk beneath every shadow, while her benefactor races to heal her of injuries to her mind and soul that threaten not only her, but himself, the world, and the very fabric of reality.

Now available on Kindle with 50% MORE editing! JOYOUS JUBILATION!

You probably didn’t notice that I yanked down all but the first three chapters that I had posted here and on FictionPress, so I can have the book be provided for free with Kindle Unlimited. Go ahead and give it a shot; it’s short and you have nothing to lose. 😉

About Writing

On (not) reading as a writer

I became serious about writing when I could no longer find any books that I like.

I know that they always tell you that you have to read a lot to be a good writer, but the truth is, I don’t; not in the traditional sense, anyway. At 14-years-old I found myself slogging my way through the Wheel of Time series, and after four thousand pages I couldn’t take it anymore. I just didn’t like the story.

Something inside of me changed in that moment. I could no longer visit the library with an appetite for anything literary — I wanted something that I could never find: a story that spoke to my soul and resonated with my heart, a story that I could feel. Fiction  became dry and uninteresting. Unsatisfying.

I realized that those stories I kept hidden in notebooks could be more than a secret indulgence. They could fill the empty spot I felt so keenly in the literary world.

I still occasionally read novels — often as the mental equivalent of getting the oil changed — though I maintain rather picky standards about what I’ll put into my brain. More often than not, I fill my free moments with hobbies that have nothing to do with books at all.

I find that a good hour of sewing leaves me charged with more energy for writing than reading ever did.

Fade to White

Fade to White Chapter 19

Fade to White

Chapter Nineteen

Bright warm sun shone down on the roof of the quiet cottage while the birds chirped in the trees, giving the illusion that Ramo had stumbled across an abandoned magical hideaway. If he hadn’t known otherwise, he would have been tempted to wander into the building to look around and to find out if the place was really as pristine and quiet as it looked. It was important that he put Jerek’s bag somewhere that it could easily be found, to prevent it from getting lost and never reaching Jerek at all. That meant close to the house.

Dismounting his horse and holding tightly to the shoulder strap of the bag, Ramo skulked around, cautiously making his way closer to the front door. Everything remained completely quiet, and when he reached the front door and put the sack down onto the ground, he relaxed his shoulders. Next was the sword. Jerek would be furious if he didn’t properly take care of it, so Ramo undid it from his belt and carefully reached over to prop it up against the outside wall. The front door swung open, causing Ramo to stumble backwards and fall down.

That girl was there, standing stunned as she stared down at him. In one of her hands was a bucket, while her other hand still rested on the door. Scrambling backwards, Ramo started to pick himself up with the intent of running, but she said “wait,” and he felt compelled to stop.

“Who are you?” she asked, frowning at him as she took in his black clothes and gloomy appearance.

“Nobody,” Ramo replied, standing up and dusting himself off before turning around to walk back to his horse.

“Did you bring these?” she inquired, stepping outside and picking up the bag, opening it enough to peer inside.

“Make sure that Jerek gets them.”

“Are you Jerek’s friend?” She pulled the door shut, taking a couple steps closer to Ramo.

Looking over his shoulder at her, Ramo replied, “We grew up together.”

“Really?” She smiled, then seemed to realize something that made her pull back slightly. “You’re with Nosaj, aren’t you?”


“Then why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?”

“I’m not . . .” Ramo trailed off, wondering how he should explain it. “I’m not a fighter, and I’m not supposed to be here.”

“People who work for Nosaj are more complicated than I originally thought. Last month I could have sworn to you that all of Nosaj’s minions were blood thirsty murderers who destroyed everything they could, and now I’ve met two of you that break out of that stereotype. What’s up with that?” She laughed slightly.

“I’m Jerek’s best friend,” Ramo blurted out. “I would never do anything to hurt Jerek, and I would never shove away from me no matter what he did.”

Her face grew serious after he said that, and she looked sadly at the ground. “I’m glad that Jerek has a friend like you.”

“I’m just here to help him out. That’s all.”

“Thank you, I’m sure Jerek will appreciate it.”

Curiosity got the better of Ramo, so he casually asked, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s sleeping right now. I just barely finished bandaging up his back, and it looks like he’ll be fine in a couple days. It’s horrible how he was whipped like that, he must have been in a lot of pain.”

“I tried to get him to fight his punishment, but he refused to . . . He said he deserved it.”

“Oh dear.” She put her hand up to her forehead. “That’s probably my fault.”

“Yes it was your fault!” Ramo started fuming, glaring at her. “He didn’t deserve it, but he was hurt because of you.”

She didn’t reply, turning around and picking up Jerek’s sword as well. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pushing the door open.

“Don’t tell Jerek!” Ramo said before dashing off.

That girl was most definitely a siren, Ramo was sure of that. There was some undefinable characteristic about her that made him want to like her, yet at the same time hate her all the more for using that power in such an evil and manipulative way. Poor Jerek, he had been ensnared by that girl’s enchantment and he was convinced that he loved her, but at the same time Ramo did trust Jerek with her, at least physically. She wouldn’t kill him. She didn’t seem like she was capable of actually harming someone, instead she seemed to be more of the type to use psychological warfare.

Mounting his brown horse, Ramo reaffirmed his conviction in his mind that they needed to get rid of the girl for Jerek’s own good, though he knew now that Jerek would resist and be devastated when it happened. Ramo would be there for him though, to help him pick up the pieces and move on. Perhaps, Jerek would choose to move on with him. Ramo giggled. Yes, that was going to happen. Everything would turn out okay, as long as he trusted in the Commander and stood there for Jerek, no matter what Jerek did or said. Nosaj would help him to win Jerek back.

On FictionPress


About Me


As I’ve been reading the Fade to White chapters that I’ve been posting, I can’t help but find it jarringly jumpy — like most of what was in my head when I wrote it never actually made it into words. I want to go back and smack my 19-year-old self then tell her to stop reading so much manga.

Maybe at some point in the future I’ll rewrite it, because the story itself is cute. Or maybe I’ll be too engrossed in other projects to care.

Thank god I’m not 19 anymore.

Macro tax
About Writing

Good Stories


This advice changed the way I write.

The Hollywood depiction of writers is of them agonizing over a typewriter, coming up with the perfect way to phrase the last sentence before sending it off to be published immediately. They never have to rethink or rewrite anything.

I used to hold high standards for my first draft, so I did a lot of pre-writing and character sheets to ensure that everything would be solid by the time I started the story. The funny thing was, despite all the work I put into it before beginning, I never managed to finish any novels. I’d hit blocks and struggle with finding the motivation to write, then move on to the next idea that popped up. Then one day while I was talking to a start-up publisher, he commented, “There’s no such thing as good writing — only good editing.”

And the way I approached writing changed forever.

My first drafts are now a free flow of creativity. When I start that first sentence, I don’t know where the story is going to go — I write that down as it comes to me. I change my mind halfway through and jot down a note to edit the previous chapters for consistency. Then I change my mind again and scribble out that note. Sometimes, I don’t know what to do next and I write down random thoughts until the sentences start coming to me.

The second draft is spent cleaning up, rewriting, and fixing consistency. This is the part where I start to make it good.

Ever since I made that change to how I write, I have finished every novel I’ve started.



Seemingly ages ago I used to maintain a FictionPress account that I updated regularly, and I realized the other day that I really missed posting new chapters on a schedule. I created a new FictionPress account with my pen name, and it will be updated [sporadically] Friday.


About Writing

Emotional Equivalent


I used to feel that way.

At this point, I suppose that I’ve been writing for long enough that I tend to feel a bit of relief when I chop up and rewrite entire chapters during the editing process. I don’t have the same emotional attachment to words that I used to have when I was younger. I don’t think about the time and energy that was initially invested in writing them anymore — it’s all part of the process.

Instead, I care more about telling the story the way it wants to be told.

But I sure remember the angst I used to feel.