college drains you. they don't tell you that beforehand. 

it's a time of productivity, yes. but more than that, it is a time of struggle. you're bouncing between burnout and caffeine overcompensation. if you have a spark, you run. you run and run. and then, because you didn't ration it, because you just ran, you hit burnout even faster. 

we gotta finish the book. We gotta, we gotta, we gotta. I have to. But how can I when words will not come? How can I when the book I truly want to write has burned itself out and vanished? All the stories are gone, hidden somewhere I can't find them. I wander around through the darkness, trying so hard to find the one I can't quite see. My words are hidden.

If I never write again, am I truly an author? If my ideas are dead...who am I? Was writing something fun I did, that now is little more than a chore? Will my ideas ever flood in again like they did when I was younger?

Tired. Burnt out. These are words that matter. For some people, writing is a job. For me, it was a joy. But suddenly, I was tired, and keeping my own head up became the only thing I was capable of. Then getting those grades became far more important. And now...what? As the world grows wearier and I sigh with exhaustion?

I just want to write something that matters. As I delve deeper into great literature through my college, I realize that stories need to mean something. They need prose you can analyze, symbolism that burns, lines that bring tears to your eyes. No wonder a lot of modern stuff feels empty. No wonder I can read a book with a perfectly pleasing plot and it still feels hollow.

That's what I want to write. I want to write the next book that means something. I want my stories to be full of grit and meaning and grief and symbolism and a story that sticks with you long after you finish. It needs to mean something. It needs to not be hollow.

And that's a tall order, especially for a twenty-year-old college student.

So I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to pull myself along. I'm going to struggle, but I will write again. I will write many more words. And they will be beautiful.

And I hope someday, people can read them.

 i have been on this blog for five years.

crazy to consider, really. crazy to sit here and realize: i've been blogging for five years, here on this little corner of the internet. (we all call our blogs corners of the internet--how many corners does the internet have? is it a multi-dimensional shape?) 

so much has changed in that time. i'm not even close to the person i used to be. i know my younger self would never have imagined me being in college for history. in ninth grade, i didn't even know i liked history. now i'm a sophomore in college and i love nothing more. looking back across the years reveals so many things and it's crazy.

i'm still writing but my books have changed, too. my attempts to sound like other ya authors, to match their genius somehow by copying them--that ended so long ago i can barely remember it. i can take inspiration now without having to directly copy it. i no longer feel insecure reading a good book--now i want to write more, so that someday, i will attain my own level of quality in writing, and my books will be good in and of themselves. my stories are still melodramatic and contain too many love triangles, too many messy politics, too much inner monologue and not enough description. but i've learned so much and i've come so much further.

i think my books are less extensions of me, now, too. i remember writing an essay freshman year--a history of myself as a writer. it ended up remarkably raw. my professor read a line of it out loud anonymously, as he did with everyone else's papers, and i remember the embarrassment of having everyone else read it, even if they didn't know it was mine.

at the end of that semester, we wrote more essays about where we saw our writing in the future. mine included this line:

Maybe my books will be worth something, someday.

Even now, they mean something, for they are immensely valuable to me. I don’t know what I would do without my writing and I plan never to stop. ...And hard though it may be… I will fight for my own words. I will dust off the shelves and remind myself that just because I am busy does not mean I cannot write. I will fight for the chance to share my heart with the world, to try to shine the light into the darkest corners.

that's a promise i made. so much has changed over five years, but i want to say thank you to my readers. you've made this place possible.

i know i blog intermittently these days (college, man!) but i'm planning to work on that as time goes on. i have so many things to say, so many new WIPS to share. 

five years behind already. here's to many more.

 It has been a LONG time since my last life update. Like...years, I think. *checks blog* Not since...my 2020 wrapup post. oh my I don't know what to do with that? With how old I am? I am elderly.

I blog mostly when I have something to procrastinate on. Rn that involves my massive research paper. I will finish it. I have to have it done by midnight. But right now, I'm sitting at the kitchen table like I used to as a child, an IKEA bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee at my side, surrounded my textbooks. I am here. I have realized: There is more to life than deadlines. I will get this paper turned in on time though because I actually do care

So here it is. A photo dump (of memes) and also some lyrics and some life things.

i once believed love would be black and white//but it's golden (like daylight)//taylor swift

catch me floating in circles in my fishbowl//TOP

i spent a long time//substituting honest with sarcastic//and i cursed my tongue for being mean//Halsey

she goes at the break of dawn, the rays fall on her dress//she used to be a silhouette deep in the heart of stone//The Gray Havens

Life Updates:

-I am a declared history major! And soon to declare my minor in literature ^_^ my school is teaching me SO much about history and how to write well, and I really think it's having a very good effect on my fiction writing as well.

-Planning for the future is SCARY and I'm still working on it. But I truly believe that God has never failed and won't start now.

-Sometimes, I find, the best thing to do when you feel overwhelmed is to grab a pad of sticky notes and start writing everything you can think of that God has done for you. The list will ALWAYS be longer than you expected.

-Working on some long-term health issues--it feels very hopeful to know that there might be solutions. I've also discovered that it's better to listen to your food allergies than to force yourself to suffer through them for the theory of liking the food.

-There will always be more things to do than there is time in the day.

-Love is a wonderful thing.

-Cherish your friends, y'all. 

I have been cursed with knowledge.

There is not a dream any night, but there could be a dream upon any night. My dreams are like an assault, a frontal attack on my sanity and my heart. I am helpless to hold myself back against the knowledge of a threat. I will always fight for the helpless, the weak, the needy, no matter where I see them. It is why my father says I will be a weak king.

But seeing people in my dreams…

I thought it was a fluke at first. That when I saw one of the palace’s chambermaids bloodied and bruised, it was simply a nightmare from having brushed into her in the hallway. I never expected to see her looking just as she did in the dream when I saw her that afternoon.

Nor did I expect, the following night, for her to appear again and beg me for aid.

 Hello, guys! I needed some ideas for posts for this year (ideas are nonexistent, hahaha) so I thought I'd sit down and puzzle through something that's really been getting into my head lately: settings. We focus so much, in writing, on the story, the plot, the characters, the emotions--but how much time do we spend on setting? 

I've always felt like setting is crucial to a story. Especially as I'm watching more TV shows, I'm starting to see that. I'll probably do a post down the line about stories that use setting as a character and how important that is for fantasy worlds, but that's for another day. For right now, I'm going to start with one of my favorite topics: writing what you know.

Especially in settings, this is SO important. I struggle deeply with visualizing my stories thanks to my lack of a visual imagination. However, what I can do is go find a photo of somewhere I've been. Somewhere I can see in front of me. Somewhere I have memories of. Here are some reasons for that:

1. If you've been somewhere, you'll automatically immerse the reader in it when you write about it.

2. You cannot invent, out of your own mind, a truly amazing setting.

3. Using a unique real-world setting for a fantasy story will make your fantasy story more unique.

4. You're probably not an architect, so basing a building on a real place makes your houses instantly cooler.

 so. here we are. another year has begun. maybe there was a little fanfare, maybe none at all. but either way, the clock now says '22. so interesting that we invented such a detailed way of keeping track of time. We know we aren't supposed to be tied to this temporal reality, and so we overcompensate. time. time. time.

it's another year.

if you need the motivation, it can be helpful to look at it and think, okay, 365 days to accomplish this thing i want to get done. but at the same time, start now. start now and keep going. while you're motivated, accomplish what you want to. get to the finish line. completing something in april is still something you accomplished this year. it's not bad. you're succeeding. get it done. be reasonable, be realistic, but chase your dreams.

but at the same time--

it's okay to be tired, dear one. you can take a deep breath. you can sit down. don't let this year put pressure on you. just because others make "resolutions" doesn't mean you have to.

there's no shame in rest.

whether you churn things out or do it slowly...you're still accomplishing something. i have written books in 30 days and i've written books that took three years. i'm learning to accept that both ways are okay. that my worth is not tied to how fast i can churn out a book. it hurts a little, to know that my productivity levels aren't the same and may never be again. 

but this is a different me. a me who's been through a little more, who's seen a little more world, who has more sitting on her now. this is a different me from the one who could just write for hours and hours. she gets tired. she falls asleep faster. she's got school school school in every direction. it's a lot. it feels like a lot to handle.

but i can do this. in God's strength, not my own. because it isn't up to me. it's not all about me. my life is not my own and i have been bought with a price.

the way i express my gratitude is by living for him. and sometimes, that looks like insane productivity. other times, that looks like sitting with someone hurting and holding their hand for a few hours. sometimes it means that rehearsal for leading worship comes up, and that's more important than homework. 

it's finding the balance between wanting to do well in classes and remembering that grades aren't always the single most important thing. 

it's going to bed at night, because your body needs to be taken care of.

it's learning what it looks like to show self care, even with chronic illnesses. 

it's loving yourself the way God loves you--as His beautiful creation, who he made and who he loves.

happy new year <3

 hold on for another day.

wake up. open your eyes. get out of bed and take a hot shower.

go to bed a little earlier. when the sun starts to go down, put on soft pants, and get yourself ready for bed earlier so you can rest. let your brain rest.

spend time in the word. there is no better place to go. God will hear your cries and he wants to hold you fast. he will wrap you up in his arms. run to him. pray to him. cry out. he can handle your questions.

chase the things you love. even if it's not for money, even if it isn't your career. time invested well is not a waste, even without money. 

make another playlist. you don't have too many. they are so therapeutic. it helps.

cut your hair. if it doesn't work? hair grows back. 

keep going. showers are good. i know i've already mentioned them but they help so much.

don't isolate yourself. find others who can hold your hand and help you along. ask them to pray for you. sometimes when it hurts, someone else coming alongside you, to carry your pain, can make all the difference. you're not alone--don't let yourself believe that you are.

don't force yourself to read things you don't want to. be gentle to yourself. 

you are beautiful. you are made by God. he put you here for a reason. he loves you. he has a purpose behind your life.

so hold on, my friend. chase your dreams.

one day at a time is enough. there will be healing. 

Note: this isn't entirely personal to me--I've seen so many people around me struggling with mental health this semester, and I just wanted to give a shoutout to all of them. You're not alone. You're going to be okay. Hold onto Jesus. It's so dark right now, but the sun will rise, even if you can't see it now. Someday the sun will rise.

So I'm not doing NaNo this year (what do you think I am, crazy?) Sophomore year of college is killing me dead and I don't know how in the world I'm going to survive some days. Adding NaNo would be the end of at least my sanity.

But I'm a writer and it would be an affront to my identity to refrain from writing this November, so...here we are. I'm writing something a little new. You may recognize some of the names in this blurb. That's intentional. There are a lot of changes going on around here, things I'll explain later. For now, I'm going to introduce this little story. 

wip//knife in the back

credit to Brookie ;)

He saved me. He keeps me alive. And I owe him everything.

 there's something about this idea

this concept that we all have to be okay all the time

it makes you feel worse--

because you look at the people around you and they're all fine 

but it makes you feel better--

because that one person who can't hide it anymore

at least you're not her

and it makes you feel worse--

you're not fine and you know it

but it makes you feel better--

at least no one can say anything about your facade

and that's why it hurts

but it's a comfort

to fake it, tie on a mask

pain, the masked vigilante 

ready to murder the people who don't get it 

if they understood 

i wonder if they'd be kinder 

but understanding their pain means you understand your own a little better

if you can read someone else's heart

you take that first step

you suddenly understand why your pain hurts

it's valid for them why not for me? 

and you start to wonder...

what if the mask fell off

and we were left 

with the truth

would we die...

or would we fly

I'm so excited for this book to come out! Preorder will be up soon, so go put this one on your list--it's going to be so good. I've read it, and y'all need it ;) Absolutely one of the best books of 2021, and I'm so honored to call its author my BEST friend <3 <3 Even without bias, though....this book is EVERYTHING and y'all need it in your lives.

it started with a playlist. a fun little playlist about happy emotions I've been having, with some happy, bouncy love songs. I went to make the playlist. and I ran into problems.

namely, that there are no such songs by female artists. which is awkward when you're looking for love songs, but every love song is about the manic pixie dream girl, which in my case makes me sound like I'm making a playlist about how much i adore myself. that's not exactly the goal.

so why are there no songs by women about joy? why are we not given the chance to express our hearts about something other than heartbreak?

two artists I love released new album artwork recently. I won't name them, but you may know them. two girls, neither of whom are anything close to christian, but both of whom have largely been willing to keep things classy. posing nude, for mainstream albums. this isn't some sort of niche art. this isn't a secret tape. this isn't a scene in a MA-rated movie. this is two girls who have decided that the best way to reclaim their bodies, to take them back from the industry, is to feed into the cycle, to strip down and say "this time, it's for me."

Why have we reached a point where women feel like the only way they can be empowered is to do exactly what they're "supposed to do", but under their own instructions? why does being our own boss suddenly mean that it's empowering to expose our hearts and our bodies and our deepest hurts?

we can't write about things other than our grief. we can't speak to our joy. we are not permitted to HAVE joy. why? it doesn't sell. i have not seen captain marvel and i don't plan to anytime soon, but i have seen marvel's other female-headed story, WandaVision, and I speak to that when I say: our grief is marketed.

but WandaVision does it differently, because it takes the story of a woman's grief...and shows her desperate quest to find joy. despite the fact that we know what's going on...so much of the story is a slice of life. a home. a family.

disney princesses were what we were raised on, but now we're led to think that's a fairy tale, something we can't have. "don't get your hearts set on finding a prince," they've told us. sometimes, that means we need to be realistic.

what it leads to is this expectation that men can treat us like dirt, and because fairy tales aren't real, because we are the damsel clawing out our own existence from dirt with no knights or fairy godmothers to save us, we are nothing more than dirt. we are cinderella. we are the maiden made of dust, the girl whose only worth is what she can give. not her heart. not her abilities. not her dreams.

it's not realistic to imagine a happily ever after, or a man who loves us and would fight dragons for us, and so we stop. we settle. we get ourselves hurt. and the cycle starts all over again, as we tell our sons it's okay to not be a prince charming, as we tell our daughters they should never expect to be a princess.

I want joy. i want beauty. and sometimes it feels like I'm clawing for those things with my fingernails. because i haven't wanted to settle. because I don't just want any man that comes along, I want a prince. is that so much to ask? it shouldn't be.

but no, if i want my dreams, i have to get them. i have to rake them in and give away all the deepest darkest parts of myself. my grief and my heart? they are yours. my body? belongs to the highest bidder. i am not trying to break into hollywood, but when i want to tell stories, isn't it the same? my heart split into a thousand pieces and distributed among all of the people i invent.

and you all want to make sure it's truly my experience. that the trauma is actually mine. that the hurt belongs to me, and i didn't invent it.

give us your grief, they say. give us access to your grief.

tell us exactly where your grief is.

and I say: no.

my grief will inform my stories. my truth will be there.

but you don't get to know where.

you don't get my heart.

you don't get my grief.

i might be a woman, but that does not give you access to me. my empowerment comes from my joy and the fact that i want to chase it. i hold myself to a higher standard. i hold the man who will pursue me to a higher standard.

watching world? you do not get all of me.

industry? my heart is not yours.

i am not a sexual object. i am a woman, and i have hopes and dreams and my heart bleeds but it also sings. i will have children one day. i want love. and that is not your business.

my heart is not yours.

 there are so many people out there

people with souls

people with darkness in their eyes

the sadness taken and twisted into something worse

and then there are those who are still alone

still hurting and still so sad

but i wonder...where is the divide?

when did we decide some were hopeless

and some had a chance

why do we get to make that call at all

there are monsters in our midst

but we're far too eager to view them as misunderstood

to let the true monsters slide by

excuses excuses

while we blast those who need our help for their behavior

and truly, who am I?

what is this world that we live in

full of souls

full of the dark

but i am full too

full of questions

uncertainty and loneliness

but also filled up

despite my unworthiness

by the love of One who will see me through the darkness

a Father who will not leave

who loves all his children

because I'm not anything

not without Him

but maybe i am not so empty

because even though the world is full

He saw me, and He loved me

This poem came to me as I sat here trying to figure out what to blog. I hope it resonates with you. 

 It's been a hot second, I'm aware, and now I'm just...wondering how to pick up with what I've left off. How to return to a world that feels like it's fading away. No one blogs anymore, it seems. No one speaks. These diaries are preserved for eternity, but without endings.

So I sit here and sigh as I type these words. And I wonder: Who am I?

I am not the same bright-eyed girl I was posting three days a week. I no longer write a book every month, can no longer brag of 120,000 word NaNoWriMos. Nowadays just writing a chapter makes me struggle beyond my wildest dreams. Creative burnout hurts. You miss the page, miss the words coming, long for them... but then you realize you don't actually want to write. You want the rush of success without the need to try. I have started story after story after story in the last months, and yet finished not even a single one. The things I'm currently working on I don't want to share, because I fear jinxing it.

I get home from school, and I sit on the couch and sleep at home, then go to my job, where I deliver orders and make orders and cry internally and wonder: is this all that matters? This grind, making food and taking other people's money and drowning under the weight of consumerism?

Sometimes, I feel empty.

Sometimes...I feel like I'm a husk of a girl. Not even a full girl, certainly not someone who can be used by God.

And so I stare into the sky and I think about the future of this online diary, the one you all read, the one that you're free to comment on. I wonder: who am I? Why would you read my words? Is there something about me that makes you want to know what I have to say?

What is there, truly, about the girl behind the blog that's worth knowing?

But I persist. I've been gone for a very long time. I'm coming back uncertain what I want to do. This blog will likely change; my URL may change. I don't have a plan. I have always been a pantser, and that will continue. 

So let's see what the future holds. If you're interested in watching that journey: welcome. And thank you. I'm a bit weird. I'm a bit of a mess.

But I'd love to have you.

<3

Hello everyone! I know it's a little late into the year, but I'm writing these posts way in advance, and I have a feeling we could all use some encouragement. So my plan for April is to write a bunch of posts that will serve as encouragement for writers--urging you to keep writing, to write stories that are beautiful, and to push through. With that in mind:

He gave us these stories.

You could have been passionate about anything. Plants. Chemistry. Particle engineering. Movie set design. Maybe you are passionate about those things, too. Maybe you can cook up a storm. Maybe you can draw a sunset so beautiful and real it brings tears to people's eyes. Maybe you run marathons no problem, or you can train the most vicious dog to love humans, or anything else. There are infinite things out there to fall in love with. Vocations, pathways.

And even with all of that--even with all these other things available, these other paths, these other choices--He gave us these stories.

You don't have stories in your blood by accident, dear writer. You are not accidentally in love with words. Your characters aren't real in your mind because you just happened to be in the right place at the right time. You've been imbued with the words. Our Father gives us gifts, and He gave you the words.

They're a gift. They flow out of you for a reason.

So use them.

Write the words when they come. Put your pen to paper and your fingers to the keyboard and tell the story that sits so heavy on your heart. There is beauty in stories. God gave the story you want to tell to you, and there is a reason that it exists. So tell it.

You never know--your words might be exactly what someone needs to hear.

There's a kid out there--a younger you, a lonely and sad one--who still needs a shot at hope. Maybe they'll read your story and find some.

There's a woman out there, your age, who's looking for a reminder of the wholesome love that can really exist, and you can bring that to her.

There's a boy who wants to see knights and heroes in his own time, and that's possible.

Emily Dickinson once said, "If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not have lived in vain."

God gave you your words and your stories for a reason. So keep going, dear writer. Keep writing.

We need your words. And they're a gift from him.

Keep going.

Welcome back, everybody! I hope your weekend was good. Today is Writing Advice day, so let's dive right in!

Most writing advice likes to say "write what you know." It shakes out to a matter of...not pride, exactly, but certainty. If you're writing what you know, then research becomes unnecessary, the story becomes easier to write, you don't have to wonder if you're getting it right...

You get the picture.

(I definitely don't write what I know to avoid research, nuh-uh, I'm a history major and I love research *nods adamantly* always)  

If you've ever felt this way, like writing something less familiar is too intimidating or even scary, you are not alone. I mean, I think all of us have felt this way at some point. *points to self aggressively*

But the truth is--you don't HAVE to be scared of it. Because writing what scares you? It can make your story better.

Some quick rambles about this:

1. This doesn't have to just apply to characters' experiences! Writing what scares you can be as simple as writing a different genre--if you would normally write fantasy, choosing to write that steampunk or horror or contemporary or wHATEVER because it's what you're excited about. This one has been the hardest for me--I'm a hard fantasy author, but I frequently get ideas for other genres. Which is...scary.

2. Flash fiction can be the BEST way to experiment. Going back to that last item: Let's say you have an idea for something sci-fi, but you don't know if you're ready to write an actual sci-fi novel, since you've never done that before. So instead, you write a sci-fi flash fiction. That's what I did for one of my stories for Havok, the flash fiction e-zine I typically write for, and it's possibly one of my favorite pieces I've ever written.

3. If you ARE trying to write a character who has something you've never experienced--don't be afraid to ask someone who knows! This could range from something as big as asking someone about their life with disabilities, to learning about another religion in order to portray it well, to even something as small as asking a fast food worker what drive-thru rushes are REALLY like. If you're really in doubt, ask a few people! Your story will only be better from adding the real experiences of other people--instead of just writing what you know, you're writing what they know.

4. If something really does just feel like it's too much to write: don't be afraid to shelve it for later. I've had to do that multiple times in the Pentegreens series--a few concepts might bounce back in later drafts of that same series, and others may well make their way into different works of mine. That doesn't make it bad that I couldn't handle them at the time--it simply means that sometimes, it isn't a story's time.

5. Writing your most personal experiences can be scary too. Sometimes, it's best to put a slightly different spin on such things. Some of my deepest darkest stories have made their way into my books, but always under a different name, in a different form. Allowing them to INFLUENCE the story rather than letting them BECOME the story is often a wise decision. And remember--most of the time, people will have no idea that you're writing something personal when they come across it. They'll simply proclaim the characters masterful. ;)

There's no right or wrong way to write YOUR story. Your words matter, and they're important. So don't be afraid of them, and don't let fear stop you from writing the story you want to tell. 

What's your go-to genre and one you might want to dabble in someday? Do you enjoy research for your novels (and if you do, teach me your ways)? Chat with me in the comments!

Of course, that wasn't all He said. He also told us that if we wanted to follow Him, we had to leave behind our homes, that even family should come second to our commitment to Him.

He also said that if we wanted to follow Him, we might lose our livelihoods, might have to leave our nets lying beside our boats and give up our sense of confidence and security.

He also said that if we wanted to follow Him, we'd have to make amends with the fact that the Son of Man has no place to lay his head, that we might be homeless.

He also said that if we wanted to follow Him, we had to take up our cross when we came. We had to lift this massive wooden structure and put it on our shoulders and follow after him, dragging it through the mud, never stopping, never turning back. It's a tool for execution. This walk will, He said, cost us our lives. 

But that's the thing to remember--He gives new life.

That new life will be infinitely better than anything we could dream of on earth, but it's a walk to get to it. It will be a trip. A journey.

We have a long, long walk ahead of us.

But He--He is the guide.

There is no reason to be afraid or to wonder when He is with us.

Yes, the fear will come. It's choking sometimes, and sometimes the darkness is so thick you can't see your own hand in front of your face, let alone His face in front of you.

But He is still there, and when the darkness and the smoke clears, you will see that he has been there all along.

Follow Him. Don't turn back.

He will see you through. Even with the cost. Count it, but follow Him.

He is with you til the end, and then beyond the end...there will be no end.

Hello, hello, hello! Time for another WIP intro.

I actually started this in...*considers* August or September? Yikes. It's been a while, either way. But only now am I getting around to sharing about it! 

This story is a comp title to Mark of the Raven meeting Shadow and Bone.  It's a high fantasy with Russian influences.

Its title? Chasing Dark Roses.

THE BLURB

Anfusa is the daughter of a rebel captain, and her life, while hungry and scant, has always been secure in that knowledge. But when the emperor’s army pushes her father into a corner, he does the unthinkable: he sacrifices Anfusa as tribute to the emperor in exchange for the rest of the family’s freedom.

Anfusa’s fear turns into anger when the army returns her to the capital. The emperor’s sons, especially the younger Prince Ignatio, treat her with respect, but that can’t erase her need to escape. Especially when Crown Prince Tikhomir devises a plan: to make a final attempt at peace between the rebels and the royals, Ignatio will marry Anfusa.

Marriage is nothing like what Anfusa expected, and slowly, she finds herself starting to fall for her new husband. But when the princes’ cousin Milosh returns from the warfront, he sets his eye on two things: Anfusa and the crown.

Torn between two worlds, her duty and her new husband, Anfusa struggles to find her place in a cold, cruel world. And it’s possible her allies are not who she thinks...

My own art of Anfusa

Between the wars we'll stay//fading echoes spin away//Allman Brown

Though I am breaking down again//I am aching now to let you in//Fleurie

Fade away just far enough//I'm drifting//touch your soul and know that I'm not dreaming//SVRCINA

And I must think of my own survival. They have weapons. They could kill me with one blow. I must keep my head down and find somewhere to get out as time goes on. I can escape. I can do this. I am Anfusa, the captain’s daughter. I will not fear.

Milosh (courtesy of Pinterest)

Tikhomir (courtesy of Pinterest)

Prince Tikhomir points toward the hallway. “Come, girl.”

From a different man, those words might be derogatory, perhaps even a direct insult. He calls me girl and refuses to use my name, and why? But from him… it is somehow clear that it isn’t his intention to insult me. Something about the way he stands, the expression on his face, the way he lets out a half smile as he says it. He does not hate me.

Nadia (courtesy of Pinterest)

Then she relaxes and lets out a low laugh. Her arms fall to hang at her sides, and her whole posture slips into a practiced ease. Too practiced.

I can’t relax. Most people who do that are just buttering you up to stab you in the back.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. I had to get the maids out of the way.” She glances over at the row of whispering girls and then walks to lean against the nightstand where my mirror hangs. “I’m Nadia. Turns out, I’m your bodyguard now.”

~

My heart possibly misses a beat.

Magic? It’s forbidden. It’s unthought of. It’s a story for children, something the dark men of camp whisper around the campfire as the warriors’ kids ooh and aah until their parents come to drag them away, hissing that such a thing can never be.

Such a thing, I remind myself, can never be.

Magic cannot be real. It has never been real.

And yet, here stands the queen of the Roskas, staring me dead in the eye, not a trace of mirth playing around her stone-cold mouth as she waits.

~

“Ignatio?” The king’s voice is startled.

“You say I must use my life to create a better country. Perhaps I could marry someone from a different kingdom and secure an alliance there. But that is not the best thing I can do for my nation.” Ignatio steps right up to the railing and raises an arm. It should look overdramatic, but it comes out simply as emphasis. “The best thing I can do for my nation is to protect its citizens and try to bring us back together. And what better way to do that than to seek alliance with the rebels? What better way to heal our land than to try to seek an end to civil wars?”

~

After breakfast, I shove my chair back and try to race out of the room. Conversation dims and dozens of pairs of eyes turn to me around the table, and I cringe under the attention. What is it about me that people feel the need to stare at? I am nothing. I am no one. No one has ever stared at me before this, and now… everyone is staring at me. 

Including Ignatio, who stands up and says, loud enough to reclaim the situation, “Let’s go for a walk, my love.”

I bristle, my neck tensing, but he’s taking my arm and drawing me out of the room, away from the stares. Guards bow on both sides as we enter the hallway, their chins touching their chests. I cringe at the very sight of it. Why do they think they have to bow to us? Why does the royal family make themselves so elevated?

Ignatio holds my arm gently, his fingers wrapped around my hand rather than actually holding it. I find I don’t mind that so much. I don’t want to be here anymore.

My identity is gone.

What are you writing? Chat with me in the comments!

1. Don't let the things that you need to escape take over your story.

2. Write a story you love, one that feels safe, one that feels like coming home when you open the document.

3. Write characters full of light.

 Today I'm SUPER pumped to announce a new story! This is STILL not the super secret project *long drawn out sigh* But this one is just...I'm SO excited to announce it.

I had this idea one night while lying in bed. I couldn't sleep, and suddenly the thought of a girl came to mind. Not just a girl--a princess. The daughter of a ruling queen, abused within her castle, utterly neglected, and never given anything. (Yeah, I have SUCH nice thoughts before sleeping.)

I started thinking: what would that sort of scenario do to this girl? What would she do? Who would she become?

She became a villain.

Her name became Evinda.

And thus Women of Iron was born.

(all images in this post are from Pinterest. All rights to the original owners. I own nothing.)

THE BLURB

War will come to the land.

After centuries of unrest under the line of queens in Kindalsa, a young princess with a heart of stone ascends the throne. Civil war is rampant about her, but her hands are already dripping with the blood of those who dared oppose her and betray her. Queen Evinda and her posse of powerful women will stop at nothing to quell the unrest—for a world full of so much pain deserves to hurt, at least a little.

Sorin’s father died in the war, and now he and his family want nothing but to put their lives back together under the next tyrannical queen. But when a draft to stop rebel invaders threatens everything they’ve built, Sorin has no choice but to run to the Resistance. There, he fights to bring peace to a land rocked by turmoil for centuries—but the resistance has other goals. And they don’t include peace negotiations.

Saphira, a rebel, watched her parents’ murder when she was a small child. Now she has risen through the ranks of her army, and she marches on Kindalsa and Queen Evinda, the flame of revenge burning in her chest. Her people have had enough of the queens. It’s their turn to rule this land where they’ve had no voice for so long.

When three armies converge, there will be no avoiding war. But against a queen made of iron...who can stand?

THE PLAYERS