Friday, October 13, 2017

An Inktacular Announcement

So I have decided to take the initiative in the next step of my writing journey! I will be self-publishing two of my novels in print and e-book:

Stealing the Dark Moon: Dragon's Den Orphanage Book I
Hopefully by December 2017, but no later than January 2018.

and . . .

A Fair Account of the Traitors Snow White and Rose Red
Coming Summer 2018!

I also have a children's book, True Gossamer: A Wingless Fairy Tale, that I hope to have ready by September 2018. This story will take a bit longer to get ready because I have decided to illustrate it myself using a digital sketchpad, and I am still playing around and familiarizing myself with all the awesome options in Corel Painter Essentials 5.

I can't wait to share all the stories that have been kicking sequins and syllables around in my head for the last several years! I am also super excited that the fabulous Audrey Bagley will be illustrating my novels' covers. More story details and juicy tidbits to come later.

In the words of a cheaply cheerful dollar store poster I bought years ago:

"Dreams do not vanish, so long as people do not abandon them." 
-Phantom F. Harlock





Monday, September 4, 2017

Iffy Magic Audiobook on the way!

I am super excited to share the news that Iffy Magic is currently being turned into an audiobook by narrator Cassandra Bija!

For the art, I will be using a slice of the lovely alternate cover by Audrey Bagley:




Stay tuned for more very fairy news!


Friday, August 18, 2017

Keats and the Kindred Fear

John Keats is one of my favorite poets, in part because I know the ache in his poetry is tied to the brief urgency of his life. His father died in a horse-riding accident when he was only eight, and later his mother and younger brother died of tuberculosis. He also caught the disease and died at the young age of twenty-five. Yet what he accomplished still dazzles the minds of starry-eyed English majors everywhere.

But beyond the lust for life, there is also a very familiar fear threading some of his lines; the fear of failure, of never finishing, of a blank emptiness haunting Keats as his time comes to a swift close:

When I have fears that I may cease to be

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pil├Ęd books, in charactery,
 Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

I would dare to say that every writer has known this same, kindred fear at some point. Somehow, knowing that Keats felt that yawning pit of despair but still inked his way out gives me courage to keep on inking on. I've lived almost nine years longer than Keats so far, and I want to make each precious additional year on this spinning marble count for something. But like love and fame, I will sink one day, too, along with everyone else. I just hope I can catch a few of those "huge cloudy symbols of a high romance" first and pin them to a page, no matter how ephemeral. For in the end, aren't all the people we know, and the stories we've heard, a "fair creature of an hour"? Time doesn't let us keep them. So we reach for each other, so we share tales, passing hearts and ink likes sparks in the dark that would be nothingness.