Normally, when we think about women in classic novels, we think about demure side characters in a man's story, or maybe of independent and fierce girls who end up obediently married by the end (think Jo March or Laura Ingalls Wilder, although I don't mind them at all or their marriges--but it's kind of a trope).

This is something that's important in the classics, but I want to take a minute to argue that modern YA books were NOT the beginning of interesting female characters. Unique, strong women existed back then, too. And studying them can give us, as modern writers, some ideas on how to be better with writing our own characters.

Here are some important traits to writing a good female lead:

A good female lead is savvy, capable, and powerful--WITHOUT putting down the men around her. (Dagny, Atlas Shrugged)

A good female lead has multiple aspects that make her strong, both internally and externally (Dounia, Crime and Punishment)

A good female lead sticks to her convictions even when it's tough. (Jane, Jane Eyre)

A good female lead saves her partner--and lets him save her. (Marguerite, The Scarlet Pimpernel)

Hello lovely readers! A new year means new novels for this crazy writer. So...l am here to share them with you all so you have an idea of what I'm doing for writing this year (because IMPORTANT xD)

I'm not trying to make a schedule here, because I have NO CLUE what's going to be happening in my life this year and when I'll be doing anything. But!!!! Here are my writing plans/goals for 2020!!!!

(pics are all just random aesthetics from Pinterest. I own nothing. All rights to the original creators.)



-Finish Not the Chosen One. My urban fantasy-mafia-dragons-snark standalone, which is mostly done but hasn't yet been finished. It needs to be. Badly. So...WE WRITE IT. This year MWAHAHAAA

2019 Goals

1. Keep up with my writing goals--NO

2020 GOALS

2. Save $4,000 for college

3. Survive semester 1 of college.

4. Do at least 3 Students for Life events

5. Go to accepted students day at school and maybe find a roommate

6. Budget every. Single. Month.

7. Get involved with Students for Life at college

8. Send out at least three queries

9. Get on a writing schedule.

10. Create an income plan for college and for paying off college

11. Start singing lessons

12. Consistent sleep schedule

13. Calendar blocking

14. Stick to my written TBR for fiction reading

HELLO EVERYBODY!!!!!! Today, I have a cover reveal for you, for the THIRD book in the My Time in Amar series by my best friend Nicki Chapelway...







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You thought it would be this easy? Really?


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No, not yet. KEEP SCROLLING

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NOT THERE YET....

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Okay, almost...

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TA DA!!!!!!!






Is anyone else excited for this? I bet you're not as excited as I am xD

Eshatta (Esma + Rishatta)

*falls flat on face* WELL IT'S BEEN A HOT SECOND--I mean a year???? How in the name of sanity has it been a year?

In all honesty, 2019 absolutely FLEW past me, and I know it's flown by for all of you, too, but today I'm here to try to wrangle it in long enough to S C R E A M about my life and my music and my writing and my books and STUFF.

Well, that sounds ENTICING. Let's get STARTEd.

(Also Faith stop with the all caps sweetie)

(My two personalities are clashing over here)

THE MUSIC OF 2019

Books

WRITING

Hi everyone! So, as it turns out...I messed up on a post, AGAIN, and...yeah. I'm ashamed to admit it. But the last post you saw in your feed was not real. So today instead I'm going to give you...a flash fiction!!!!!!!!!

This one is from the Pentegreens' storyworld, and it's actually kind of a Christmas short story. It's about fan-favorite character Rishatta Woods and his little sister Anna, back when they were smol beans (12 and 11 respectively). So without further ado...here is the story!!!! And MERRY CHRISTMAS Btw!!!!!!

The Festival of Lights was almost upon them, and Rishatta was starting to accept that this year, they wouldn’t be celebrating.
The beginning of December rolled up with absolutely no fanfare. Only once had Rishatta dared to ask his father if they’d be participating in the festival, and Father had shot back a death glare so cold it made Rishatta stumble back a step. He supposed it made sense. Mama had died only months before, and Father still wore the silver and green of mourning every single day. He’d been a different man since her death. Rishatta had always walked on thin ice around his father, but now it was like cracks sprang up with every step he took. If it had only been for him, he wouldn’t have dared do anything about the Festival. It was just one day, he reminded himself. Maybe next year would be different, as time worked on Father.
But this wasn’t about him.
This was about his little sister.
Anna’s eyes shone in the flickering candlelight every night at dinner, like she was holding back tears with every beat of her heart. One night Rishatta walked down the upstairs hall to his bedroom and heard her voice drifting faintly out from under her closed door, a weeping wraith with aching chords of both grief and hope surging from her soul. His sister loved to sing. She loved Venaria. And she loved the Festival of Lights more than anything else in the world.
On the tenth of December, one night before the festival, Rishatta went into his room and sat down on his bed. The curtains were drawn across the doors to his balcony, so he couldn’t see out onto the street, where the pre-festival was already beginning. Mama had taken them out every night for his first eleven years, all week long leading up to the festival, and while Father had grumbled he’d let her. The night itself, they’d always stayed up way past their bedtimes, watching lights drift through the air and those with the power of light weave shapes and colors and candles out of the air so that the sky filled with glorious beauty. On the coldest night of the year, everyone wanted a bit of magic in their lives.
Rishatta folded his arms. Anna’s eleventh Festival was going to happen. They’d sneak out of the house if they had to. He might be only twelve, but he could command his father’s guards and take them out to the streets, where they could mingle with the citizens. Father wouldn’t even have to know.
Mama wouldn’t want them wallowing in their grief.
He stood up and walked to Anna’s room.
Anna was sitting on her ornate bed, her dark hair loose in a curtain down her back and her own silver-green dress glimmering amidst the pale candles. She looked up at him, expressionless. It was so hard to tell what Anna was thinking.
She sighed as she looked at him. “What do you want, Rish?”
“Do you want to go to the Festival?”
Anna frowned. “Father would never let us.”
“So? We don’t have to tell him.” He grinned, because he hadn’t rebelled against the rules since Mama died, and he was feeling the urge strongly. “We’ll sneak out.”
Anna’s eyes grew wider and she scooted herself back on the mattress. “What? You’ve gone mad!”
“We want to go to the festival, don’t we?” They would have to find a way, and that was the only thing that made sense. Sneaking out.
“Father would keep us locked up forever.” Anna’s eyes begged him to consider something else.
So he thought. And paced. He went to bed early that night, but he didn’t want to think about anything but the Festival, and lay awake in bed, mind swirling.
Anna was right. Much though he wanted to sneak out, they couldn’t defy Father like that.
So they’d have to come up with a different solution.
The morning dawned on the eleventh. Rishatta sat up in bed and considered from that vantage point. One of the family’s maids entered his room and swept open his curtains, allowing the meager light of the winter sun to seep through the glass. The mirrors that adorned every inch of his walls caught the light, reflecting it from wall to wall, catching his breath in his throat. He was a big boy, and big boys didn’t cry.
But looking at that light, the light that had been missing for so long… he wanted to cry, if only to release some of the internal anguish that still roiled within him. He’d never cried for Mama. He wasn’t sure how.
Rishatta clenched his fists and forced the cold to go back into the depths of him, where it wouldn’t disturb him. He was going to be warm today if he could.
He jumped out of bed and ran to the railing of his balcony. The street below was already full of people, preparing for the day’s events leading up to the festival. It was the only time the people of Venaria left behind the suspicion and withdrawal that plagued their days, and instead worked to open their arms and their hearts. Rishatta loved it for that reason.
As he looked over the people in the street from above, it struck him. They didn’t have to sneak out after all.
But they could still go.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Anna peered back over her shoulder, clad in only her nightgown and a long cloak. She cupped a candle in her hand—not yet lit, just clasped between her long dark fingers.
“It’ll be fine.” Father had already retired to his chambers on the other side of the house, and he never left them after he’d entered. Rishatta shot his sister an encouraging look and threw open the curtains.
The Venarian capital city lay below them like a black hump in the darkness. Not one distinctive sign of life anywhere if he looked straight out—but to look down!
Anna let out a gasp, and Rishatta grinned, unable to speak.
“I’ve never seen it from above,” she breathed.
A thousand thousand tiny points of light danced in the streets below.
Light streaked across the dark sky. Someone in the middle of the street stood alone, a lone little figure in the midst of the candles, and from that figure poured beams of light and bright, bright, bright stars and an entire burning sun that lifted into the sky and hung there on a level with them.
Rishatta risked a glance at his sister and found her eyes glowing, but with joy this time.
He struck a match, and they lit their candles with it. A soft voice on the street below began to sing, and then a thousand voices lifted as one, basses and tenors and sopranos and altos and everything in between. Some strong, some lilting, some broken, some barely audible. But the nation of Venaria sang together, their lights raised high.
Anna hit the highest note in the song all of them knew by heart. The smile on her face made all of this worth it. Even if Father did catch them… it wouldn’t matter.
Because it was the Festival of Lights.
And maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay.

I can be 100% certain as I'm talking to y'all here that each of you has been in a car. Whether you've been driving the car or riding in it, you have spent at least five minutes of your life in a car. So I think you'll all get this:

The time has finally come! NaNoWriMo is over, so now...I will share some DETAILS about my novel and how the writing went.

As a reminder:

My book was Pentegreens book 4, the series finale (and the title is under wraps because spoilers).

A blurb thing with no details:

My final word count: 119,000 words

Number of major deaths: 2

Number of minor deaths: Idk like 4 probably

Sailed ships: 4

And now, THE QUESTIONS (huge thanks to Christine Smith for those!)

1. Firstly, how did writing this novel go all around?

2. Did it turn out like you expected or completely different? And how do you feel about the outcome?

3. What aspect of the story did you love writing about the most? (Characters, plot, setting, prose, etc.)

4. How about your least favorite part?

5. What do you feel like needs the most work?

6. How do you feel about your characters now that the novel is done? Who’s your favorite? Least favorite? Anyone surprise you? Give us all the details!

7. What’s your next plan of action with this novel?

8. If you could have your greatest dream realized for this novel, what would it be?

9. Share some of your favorite snippets!

Esma turned to face her, a triumphant smirk playing across her face. In her arms she clutched a massive swath of black fabric. She walked over to the window and threw it down on the floor below Kariana. “Happy twentieth birthday,” she said. “And don’t ever expect me to go to that much effort again.”

A heap of black fabric? Tantalizing. Kariana jumped down from the windowsill and picked up the fabric. A hood tumbled off the back, and several yards of layers flowed through her fingers as she tried to find the top. This cloak was extremely large and thick and would probably be remarkably warm.

But as she turned it over, she found the tiny embellished symbol at the bottom, the red teardrop on the hem of the cowl. She dropped it like a hot coal, cursing. That symbol was for the assassins. This was an assassin cloak.

“Where the grime did you get that?” she hissed.

Esma looked down as though trying to appear humble. “I snuck into Elensha’s room and stole it,” she said. No hesitation.

10. Did you glean any new writing and/or life lessons from writing this novel?

HEY GUYS!!!!!! It's that time again--the time where I shriek because hAVOK PUBLISHED ANOTHER OF MY STORIES!!!!!!

This story is a fantasy piece, and I am over the moon to be up for the Open Mic night over at Havok today, so...if you're interested in reading a quick little story by me, go check it out! And see if you can guess the song this story is based on. It's a bit tricky, since it's Open Mic, so here's your hint: If you know Brooke of Chasing Dragonflies, you maaaaaaaayyyyy be able to figure out which song it is.

Go! Read! Fight! Win! And come back and let me know what you thought when you're done!!!!!!!

READ IT HERE!!!!!