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

 HELLO EVERYONE! Today I'm here to look at 2020 in review and my (sometimes VERY) shortsighted goals I set in January for myself. *cringes* 

I also need to mention as a disclaimer: I did not accomplish MANY of the things I was hoping to this year. I forced myself to stay driven, and because of the job I work, very little changed for me for a long time this year. So a part of my ability to accomplish my goals was caused by the fact that I didn't ever quarantine--I just went full time at work instead of part time. However! If you did not "accomplish your goals" this year, I want you to know: You are beautiful. You are valid. You made it through another year, and you're still going. That is an accomplishment by itself. Really, these are all just small stops along the way of going, and they are not meant to be some sort of grand thing I've done. I admire everyone who made it through the difficulties we've all faced.

With that said, here's the list!