Damned If We Do, Damned If We Don’t

Today, I’m angry. Yesterday, I was angry. Tomorrow, I’ll probably be angry.

I suspect I have a long road of anger ahead of me. Though, I’ll try to make sure and find some good things along the way, to revel in each small victory granted to me and every other angry woman.

I told myself I wouldn’t write about this until I had some time to take a step back and try and gain some perspective. Mind you, I took that step back. Perspective was gained. Yet, people—specifically, men—keep doing and saying stupid things, so I guess it’s now or never. (PS. This is not a hate letter to mankind or anything, before any of you anti-feminists go getting any ideas or side-eying me. No. More than anything, this is a plea.)

Unless you live under a rock or in a doomsday bunk, you’ve all heard about the multiple sex predator scandals wafting from Harvey Weinstink like a—well, like a bad stink. (Thus, my semi-clever nickname.) For those of you who do, in fact, live under a rock or in a doomsday bunker, here’s the SparkNotes version: about a month ago, reports began circulating that Mr. Weinstink has a long, ugly history of sexual harassment/assault. (You can read about his victims and their encounters here: https://www.teenvogue.com/story/harvey-weinstein-accusers-full-list.) In short, he a bad dude. What followed was an avalanche. One or two women came forward to address their experiences, a few more, and then, within a little over a week, over 30 women were speaking out about sexual abuse. All regarding one man. But that wasn’t the end of it—far from it.

Fast forward several weeks and dozens more powerful male figures have been accused of sexual harassment/assault. (See here: https://www.nbcnews.com/storyline/harvey-weinstein-scandal/weinstein-here-s-growing-list-men-accused-sexual-misconduct-n816546.)

Now here’s where the repercussions get…muddled. One might think, when a man is accused of RAPE, that society would gather around the victim to offer their support. That is how people are supposed to be treated when something bad happens to them, right? I mean, that’s what happened to Johnny Depp when he was accused to abusing his wife, for instance. If you’re a woman who’s reading this, you know that isn’t what happened. Hell, do I need to remind you about the disgusting turnout regarding Brock Turner? (Burn in hell, you spineless corker.) Instead, many of the women—if not all—who have since stepped forward to name their abuser have been, essentially, burned at the stake.

“Why did she wait so long to say something? What was she wearing? It’s because of the image she projects of herself; she was asking for it. Obviously, she’s not all that affected by this if she took a payout. That’s what happens when you work in Hollywood. No job is worth staying silent.”

Each of the responses hurt. They hurt me, and they hurt other women. Because they suggest that if these women had done something differently, worn another shirt, or carried herself a different way, she wouldn’t have been harmed.

What. A. Hocking. Load. Of. Rubbish.

Here’s where I take issue with this line of thought: to infer that a woman’s outfit or actions are the sole cause of her being sexually abused infers, in turn, she had the power to stop her abuser otherwise. To infer a woman has the power to stop a man from taking advantage of her inadvertently infers that she should have power, that it’s her fault for “allowing” something like this to happen. Do we ask what he or she was wearing when they were murdered? Not only, that but has anyone ever had the audacity to imply that person deserved to be murdered because of what they were wearing? It’s really not any different, and equally as preposterous. Meanwhile, these incidents of assault have been described by some as “getting out of hand.” Not because of the volume of women who have come forward to name their accusers; rather, to suggest these women are fabricating stories in order to raise their social-standing. Or something? Society is literally holding women accountable for being abused. To that end, what so many people don’t seem to realize is that, if a person wants something badly enough, they’ll do anything to get it. Regardless of the conditions. You know, classic dog-bone-scenario.

I’m relieved to say I’ve never been sexually assaulted; harassed, yes. I don’t know a single woman who has never, at some point in her life, been harassed by a man. (Suggestive whistles, comments, and touching with permission all qualify as forms of sexual harassment.) I think back to certain moments, primarily my days in college, where one lone trip to a bar-bathroom could have led down a horrible path; where those tequila shots those cute guys brought to me and my girlfriends could have resulted in waking up in somebody’s basement. I was lucky. Nevertheless, there was still the stray touch of my butt by that one friend who had been drinking, the accidentally brush of the boob. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.) In each instance, I shrugged it off as an accident. “It’s my fault for standing so close to them in such a crowded space,” I would tell myself. That, therein, rests the issue.


Since the dawn of time (forgive the cliché), women have been conditioned to forgive. We have been conditioned to consider others’ feelings, and the consequences of our interactions. Conditioned to, whether self-consciously or not, place men’s wellbeing above our own. (Side note: if one more man tells me I need to smile more, I’m going to rip his stubbly, unsmiling face off.) I remember being five years old or so, my mother scolding me for slouching down in my seat. “Close your legs! Sit like a lady! It’s rude.” This is not a commentary on bad mothering, nor the part where I admit to secretly resenting her in some way. (My mother is one of the biggest bad-asses I know, and I respect the ever-loving hell out of her. Don’t tell her I said that.) I don’t blame my mom for saying these things to me; because she herself has been conditioned by her mother (another epic bad-ass) to adhere to these standards, and so on. I can show you an entire history’s-worth of women who have been conditioned to accept the notion that she should be held to a higher standard than a man. Just look at any noble woman who was executed or exiled for having one affair while her husband had several. (Not defending adultery, just trying to make a point.) Moreover, women have been conditioned to forgive men in instances where they fall short of common decency or appropriate behavior.

Women have been conditioned to hold themselves at fault rather than their abusers.

Here, I return to the aforementioned instances about drunk guy friends and wandering hands. Of all the times I’ve consumed alcohol (I mean, what are you talking about, mom and dad? I never drink. Shhh!) I can tell you with absolutely certainty and honesty that I have kept my hands to myself. Same goes for the rest of my female friends. None of these occasions resulted in me pulling someone’s pants down or inappropriately fingering them. Because I know better. Because people expect better from me and from other women. Why don’t we expect better from men? Why do we continue to excuse this sort of behavior? They should know better; they do know better. The difference between “us” and “them” is that conditioning has taught men they don’t have to be better. Again, with holding women to a high standard in this instance. I can already feel some of you rolling your eyes and internally screaming “man hater!” Allow me to mention my 15-year-old brother, one of the dearest people to my cold heart, by way of response. Like me, he has been conditioned; conditioned to respect women and value their opinions, and to never touch them without permission. Even with me, his sister, he asks before hugging me. Because he respects me and other women. (“He’s the goodest boy there ever was!” I say affectionately, in the voice when speaking to a dog or small child.) He doesn’t call women “hot” or “sexy,” but “beautiful” or “gorgeous.”  Standing in the midst of the ripe, hormonal threshold of his teen years, my brother, at almost 16, is already three times the man as any other man I have ever known. (You know what I’m trying to say.) Meanwhile, at 13, my sister has been conditioned to question why things are the way that they are, to stand up to herself to boys who might try to take advantage of her. Basically, she’s well on her way to single-handedly breaking the patriarchy someday.

Getting back on track now. The reason I went so much into depth on the concept of conditioning is because that’s what happened with these victims. These women, like me, have been conditioned to excuse certain aspects of a man’s behavior and, consequently blame herself for not upholding her standards or having the power to stop him when the situation goes awry. Not only that, but these women have been so thoroughly conditioned that often the lines separating right and wrong become blurred, that a friend accidently touching her butt while drinking becomes excusable rather than an act which should be addressed as inappropriate. Quite simply, the focus has been in teaching women how to “act like a woman” rather than how to recognize when they are being taken advantage of. That seems to be the case with many of Weinstink’s victims—they didn’t realize his behavior was inappropriate, that asking them to massage him and the likes, was predatory until someone else was stepping forward to address it. Or…maybe it wasn’t that they didn’t know, but that they didn’t feel like anyone would take them seriously for complaining. Both are just as bad.

Finally, to those saying no job is worth the harassment, that she should have quit, I implore you to consider the implications of your words. I know you don’t wish these women ill or intentionally side with sexual predators. Nevertheless, to suggest a woman ought to quit her job instead of endure being sexualized or harassed (or that quitting her job will magically prevent sexual abuse from someone else down the road) is both detrimental and ignorant, especially towards young girls. There is nothing acceptable about forcing a woman to choose between her livelihood and wellbeing. Whether or not any of these victims were aware of the rumors surrounding the accused, it should not fall to the victim to figure out a way not to be assaulted. It’s heartbreaking that so much responsibility has been placed on women to this regard. Here is where the title of this essay comes into play.

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”

Women become damned if they don’t speak out against inappropriate behavior. They carry the burden of ensuring the wrongdoer is stopped or reported, so such terrible things don’t happen to anyone else. Yet, when we do speak up, we’re called liars or persecuted for being in that situation to begin with. I think we all believe we would do the right thing if placed in a similar position. It’s easy to be the hero(ine) of the story when you have nothing to lose. I can’t reiterate enough the gravity of asking someone to choose between having a career and not being assaulted. By telling a woman no job is worth enduring sexual abuse, we exemplify the notion that a man should not be held accountable for his actions. Regardless of intent. I can’t be any clearer about this, but I’ll say it again until the day I die: we shouldn’t have to choose.

So enough with the victim blaming. Enough with your “holier than though” perspective. Enough excusing men who don’t deserve to be excused. I’m tired of smiling and pretending like everything is ok, or putting men’s emotional comfort above my own and other women’s. It could happen to anyone. While I wait for men to be and do better, my responsibility as a woman is to stand by other women instead of discrediting them. (Even if this takes forever.) My duty, as an older sister/potential-future-mother-one-day, is to ensure our voices are heard and to prevent the abuse from spreading.

We deserve better.



So You’re Quitting The Walking Dead–Here’s Why You’re Wrong

Unless you live under a rock, by now you’ve all seen the Season 7 premiere of The Walking Dead. Unless you were born without a heart, you’ve also probably had at least a dozen emotional breakdowns over the last 72 hours. You’re not alone. I have to stop myself from crying at the mere mention of Glenn’s name. (Sorry, Abe. Your absence and lack of wisecracks will be just as heavily felt, but I just can’t imagine the Walker-World without Glenn’s endlessly generous heart.) That said, it’s time to address the zombie in the room.




Since the premiere, there’s been a whole lot of “fans” who claim they’re quitting TWD after this week. While I will be the first to agree this was by far the hardest, most traumatic hour of television in the history of television (GoT’s “Red Wedding” included. Your move, Martin), I don’t believe anyone who says they had no idea this episode was going to be so brutal. Any true fan of TWD has at least done some research/read into the graphic novels and has known for years now what they were in for with Negan and his savage band of Saviors. So why the scandalized attitudes?

Before I go on, I wouldn’t be doing my job as an unbiased viewer if I didn’t take the time to analyze the new dynamics of the show. For the last six years, we’ve watched TWD from the side of Rick Grimes. We’ve stood by our fearless leader of the apocalypse as he’s had to make one impossible choice after another, as he’s continued to find security for his people, then gotten his people into trouble, even after he bit that guy’s ear off (which was totally awesome, by the way). But the further the show progresses, the more I find myself asking, “Can Rick really be considered a hero?”


Don’t get me wrong, the whole point of the zombie apocalypse is to buck up and put who you once were behind you. Saps don’t survive. I get that. But what about when Rick assassinated an entire town of people without any instigation. Yes, he thought he was doing what was right by helping another town of strangers. We all know it was a mistake, though. Just think, if Mr. Grimes had minded his own business, we would still have Glenn, Abe, Denise, and countless other people. So thanks, Rick. This brings me to the group’s fateful encounter with Negan. As much as I hate what the leader of the Savior’s did Sunday, I honestly can’t say I blame him. Furthermore, when you compare how many men Rick killed versus the two Negan killed, homeboy actually let them off easy. (Forgive me, Glenn and Abe.) What’s worse is that Negan truly believes he’s the one who’s been wronged. This sole dynamic between cat and mouse makes for a hell of a season. Now, back to what I was saying earlier.

To add to the ridiculousness of people’s reactions, apparently the Parents Television Council has recently spoken on the matter by voicing their distress regarding the violence of Sunday’s episode. Um, what? Where was it ever stated that TWD was a show for children? At the very least, if you don’t have the foresight to make your kid cover their eyes or leave the room when you know someone is about to get their skull bashed in, then what what are you even doing with your life?

My favorite feedback since the premiere has come from those who don’t even watch the show, the people who have been asking why people like me watch a show that clearly causes misery. To be fair, I was asking myself the same thing as I covered my mouth while two of the show’s most beloved characters literally bit the dust the other night. But then I stayed up for the exclusive clip for next week’s episode, which I fully intend to watch, because I apparently love to torture myself.Unknown.jpeg

The bottom line is this: The Walking Dead is a show notorious for crossing the line. It’s violent, gory, mature, and all-around depressing. But I, like any other lover of the zombie-genre, knew all of that going in. This isn’t a show one watches to feel good about life. This is a show we watch when we need to be reminded that things could always be worse. You just lost your job? At least your wife didn’t die giving birth in the middle of a walker attack. Your relationship just ended? At least your father wasn’t decapitated at the hands of a severely misguided, one-eyed dictator. (Do you see where I’m going with this?) THAT SAID, the beauty of TWD lies in the rare instances when something good actually happens to Rick or Carol or Daryl. It’s the purest feeling of joy in the world. (Maybe this makes me sound lame, but I don’t care.)

Fans like me have spent six years watching this show, of suffering through all the (many) moments of horror and sadness, because at the end of the day we’re all rooting for these fictional people’s happiness. We watch TWD to be reminded that no matter how bleak things get, there’s always a small ray of light waiting for us at the end of the tunnel. Though fundamentally a show about the undead, TWD is actually at its core a show about the living. It’s about seeing how hard times can change a person, for better or for worse. Regardless of what the critics say, TWD will forever be one of the most brilliant shows ever to grace cable television simply because of its ability to reflect the essence of who we are. At the end of the day, The Walking Dead reminds us what it is to be human. That’s why we continue to put our emotional stability on line for the sake of a TV show.



The Life of a Mentee #PitchWars #PimpMyBio

When I was nine years old, I discovered the magical world of Harry Potter for the first time (not to be confused with the Universal theme park). Two months later, after blasting through the first four books of J.K. Rowling’s series (the other three weren’t yet out by that time), I sat down to write my first story.

It. Was. Wretched.

At the time, though, I had never more proud of myself.


Three years passed. Then one fateful day, I discovered Tamora Pierce’s Song of the Lioness series. To this day, I remember my emotions as I devoured each book, having never read anything like them before.

That was when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was going to be a writer one day. And that’s exactly what I did. The four years of my high school career consisted of Friday nights at Barnes & Noble, where I would buy four or five hardbound notebooks at a time to indulge my creative whims. Though my friends would never admit it, I knew even then what a nutcase they probably thought I was.

When I was nineteen, I was offered a contract from a small publishing company for a three book series. At long last, my hard work was finally paying off. Like any eager nineteen-year-old with a big dream and an optimistic mind, I jumped on it. Within a year and a half, I had three books out in the big, scary world. (You can find the link for them through this site, in case you were interested.) Yes, I thought I was big $h*t. I was sure that I was going to be the next big thing, that my books would sell like hotcakes (I’ve never understood that term) and I would be invited for an interview with Ellen Degeneres and everyone would love me.



Oh, my sweet summer teenage self, how wrong you were. A couple of years passed. Then one late evening, I was struck by an idea for a brilliant new YA science fiction/fantasy story. Fast forward to #PitchWars 2016.

After participating in last year’s #PitchWars and failing to procure a mentor, I was inspired to completely rewrite my manuscript. And I am so glad I did. Anyway, I’m back this year and more ready than ever! So enough about my lengthy background. How about some fun and random facts? I’ve decided to list some of my favorite things as a way of better displaying my wonderfully enigmatic personality. As you’ll find, I’ve listed more than one thing in each category, because I am the most indecisive troll ever to have walked this green earth.
Favorite Shows: Chuck, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, Firefly, How I Met Your Mother, Fringe

Favorite Movies: Empire Records, Princess Bride, Lord of the Rings, Stuck in Love

Favorite Bands: Weezer, Cake, Coldplay, Of Monsters and Men, Twenty One Pilots, Nirvana, AC/DC

Favorite Singers: P!nk, Eminem, Joan Jett

Favorite Books: Harry Potter, Perks of Being a Wallflower, Song of the Lioness, Throne of Glass, The Great Gatsby, 1984

Favorite Actors: Jennifer Lawrence (I want to be her BFF) and Robert Downey Jr. (I want to be his wife. Jk. Not really.)

Favorite Food: PIZZA. Any time, anywhere.

Favorite Drinks: Coffee, Chai Tea, Moscato D’Asti


And that’s all I got for now, folks. I’m so excited for #PitchWars 2016 and to meet all the awesome writers participating! Good luck to all! And to the YA mentors, PICK ME!!!


TLR 4–Where the Heck is it?!

To my readers, fans, and possible stalkers (and to those who consider themselves as all three):
After receiving several messages over the last few months regarding the release of TLR 4, I believe you are due a moment of complete, undiluted honesty.
The last update I gave, I told you all that I would be done with TLR 4 by late fall. I am still hoping to achieve this personal deadline, though I still have an overwhelming amount to go. For one, this book is significantly more complicated to write. For starters, the plot in TLR 4 is ABUNDANTLY different than its predecessors. Location, characters, etc. Then there’s the personal stuff.
When I finished writing TLR 3, I was going through a mountain of big-life changes. Namely, I was dealing with a lot of ends. The end of a serious relationship, end of a long-time friendship, end of a job, end of a school, and end of a place. Essentially, I was cutting all ties of things I believed to be weighing me down in some way or another. (Physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc.) I was exhausted. Then I transferred universities and moved three states over, basically on a whim. So I had to learn to re-adjust to my life and surroundings. Basically, when I thought of writing TLR 4, all I could think about was the changes I had just made in my life and some negative feelings that consequently affected my writing and my view of Emma, Evin, and the rest of the gang.
I was unhappy for a long while, and didn’t want to risk that unhappiness creeping into mine (and everyone else’s) world of Evmurah and supernatural Boston. Moreover, I was having a very difficult time finding any inspiration of any sort. Then it came, but not in the form of TLR.
So I temporarily set my published series on the back burner to focus on a new project, a project that I must admit has brought me more exhilaration than anything else I have ever done before. (All I can say for now is that it’s a blend of science-fiction and fantasy.) And I finished the book. But it still wasn’t quite what I wanted it to be. So I re-wrote it. Then again. And again. Until it was right.
By this time, I was under contract for a different company to finish a different book (more on that later as well). So I had to, once again, put a hold on TLR to make good on my obligation.
In the midst of all this, I was wrapping up my last semester of college. Again, I was unhappy. I was more stressed than I have ever been in my life and yet again dealing with tying up loose ends and friendships. (What can I say, I have an uncanny talent for burning bridges.) I was also in the middle of another major move.
Currently, I am writing (sincerely) to you guys from Virginia. I am also actively seeking a big-kid job, because as much as I adore writing and hope to one day pursue it full-time, I need something in the meantime to pay my bills, as well as my dog’s lavish lifestyle. I have finally returned to TLR 4 as my main project, and I am working on it when I can, though unfortunately, not as much as I would like.
I promise, you guys. I am trying. I want this book done just as much as everyone else, because I know I put y’all on a serious cliffhanger with the end of TLR 3. I pulled a total George RR Martin on everyone (sorry, Georgie), and for that I apologize. But it’s coming. I have not forgotten those of you who continue to inspire me to chase my dreams. I have not forgotten Evmurah and it’s magical inhabitants.
As always, I would be nothing without my readers, so I thank you all once again for standing loyally by me.


When I was 17, I wrote and rewrote my first book. When I was 19, I received a life changing offer from a small (and ever growing) publishing company to finally see the series I spent the better part of my teenage years working on in print.
After a lot of thinking and deliberating, I decided to get my first tattoo about a year ago, then enlarged it some tonight. (I’m kind of a wuss, so I like to do things cautiously and minimally.) This mark is the mark of the Council (a Darspinger) from my own books, ‘The Lost Realm Series.’ 
The thing is, this mark is more than just a symbol from a book. This is a mark that represents loss and grief, especially for those characters where my books are concerned. Because in order to grow, we have to stumble and count our losses along the way. Over the last year and a half or so, I’ve had this lesson handed to me over and over again, and in a thousand different ways. I parted with the town and school I loved to take a risk in a town and school I knew nothing about, left people I loved behind, quit my stuffy office job, lost a few friends along the way (figuratively), and lost a beloved family member as well (literally). But among all the chaos and pain, somewhere along the way, amazingly, I started to grow. 
2015 has been a monster of a year, to say the least. I know there’s still a little over a month before it’s finally over (thank goodness!), but I felt that now was an appropriate time–if there ever is actually an appropriate time to get profound on social media–to post some thoughts. Apologies to everyone for the monologue. Sometimes it feels good to get on my philosophical soap box and use my almost English degree to talk nonsense. 
What I’m really trying to get at here is that the new Star Wars movie comes out in less than a month, so this year can’t be all bad, right? *Prays Abrams really knows what he’s doing.*
*To those of you gloriously dedicated, awesome humans who read my books and have asked when the next one comes out, I promise that I have not forgotten about you. I’m working on a little at a time, around the time when I’m not in school, writing papers, or having minor mental breakdowns. It WILL get done, hopefully over my holiday break. As always, thank you all so much for your patience.

A Treat: TLR 4 Excerpt

In celebration of the 3,728 (14 pages-worth) of words I’ve written today, I decided to let everyone else in on my celebration as well. For all of my awesome readers, who have been so patient as they wait for me to hurry and finish TLR 4, I decided to reward everyone with a small treat. Before you read, be warned that this is an UNEDITED excerpt and you will probably be left with more questions than answers–what can I say? I’m a tease. I might also advise you you all to grab your tissues.

Enjoy, my loves! 🙂


When her surroundings finally stilled, Emma saw that she was standing in what looked to be a hallowed tree. It was the only observation she had time to make before she noticed the other occupant of the area.
“Tristan!” she exclaimed as she fell onto her knees beside him. She reached out to touch him, feeling furious and powerless when her hands went right through him. “Tristan, can you hear me?”
It was a stupid thing to ask. Of course he couldn’t hear her, not when she was nothing more than a lingering spirit and him injured and incoherent. Still, Emma felt comforted speaking to him, even if he wasn’t able to answer her.
“I apologize for what I am about to do,” an animalistic voice said from behind her.
Emma turned to look at the mossy bearded man and the dagger in his hands. Her heart clenched as she wondered what he was going to use the dagger for, and then unclenched in confusion as the strange man held the blade over the pit of flames. Only then did she notice the strap of leather wedged between Tristan’s teeth.
“Oh God.”
For his part, the bearded man tried to be swift as he firmly pressed the hot blade against the giant, unsightly welt on Tristan’s neck. There was a sizzling hiss, followed by an agonized howl that made Emma want to hold onto Tristan and never let go.
“You’re hurting him!” she yelled to the man.
Finally, the man lifted the dagger and returned to the fire pit. Emma couldn’t tear her eyes from the shiny patch of burnt flash the hot dagger had left behind. The man was at Tristan’s side again, once again carrying an orange-tinted dagger.
This time, Tristan’s emerald eyes flew open from the shock of the pain. Emma tried to block out his screams as she knelt over his body, as if by doing so would somehow protect him from any further harm.
“It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m here, Tristan.”
Tristan shouldn’t have been able to make sense of anything that was going on around him. That much had already become evident to Emma. But as his dazed gaze suddenly seemed to focus on her, Emma sucked in a startled breath.
“Emma?” he murmured through the leather strap still wedged between his teeth.
Emma eagerly nodded. “Yes, Tristan. It’s me.”
The bearded man finally tossed his dagger aside and gently removed the strap from Tristan’s mouth. Emma barely noticed as he stood and disappeared from the room.
Tristan reached a hand out, as if he really could see her.
Emma’s eyes stung as she sadly shook her head. “It won’t work, Tristan.”
His tapered fingers grasped at empty air in response.
There was another throbbing sensation in Emma’s head, like some silent warning that she was running out of time. “I can’t stay much longer.”
“Please,” he murmured.
Emma held a hand as close to his cheek as she could without passing through him. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. Where I’m at right now…I’m lucky I was able to come here. Even luckier you’re able to see me.”
Tristan was fighting to maintain his consciousness as he breathed, “My fault.”
He was referring to her death.
“No!” she tenderly argued. Her heart—dead as it was—seemed to shatter into thousands of pieces at the grief that had spread over his pale face. “I knew what I was doing.”
Tristan howled out in pain as a convulsion shook his body. “Sh—should’ve stopped him.”
“He had us all fooled.”
Emma felt her presence in the living realm begin to waver.
The Realm of Shadows was calling her back.
“I have to go now,” she reluctantly told him.
“Stay,” he breathed, between ragged breaths.
Emma’s hair fell around her face as she bent to brush her lips against his. For the briefest moment, she thought she felt something—a tingling warmth that hadn’t been present before. It was gone before she could be certain.
“I love you.”
Tristan fell unconscious again before he could reply, exhausted from his ordeal. It was for the best, Emma thought to herself as she finally faded away. After everything he had been through, Tristan deserved at least a few hours of peaceful sleep.

Write, Write, Write

Please excuse this interruption for a quick update on my writing life!

Some of you may know that I’ve been writing short stories over the last few months for an up-and-coming tabletop gaming company called Knight Errant Games. And let me tell you, it has been what I consider a surreal experience to be a part of the writing world from this side of the table (pun intended). It’s seriously awesome, you guys!

What many of you may not know, however, is that a few weeks ago I was offered a contract and the chance to write a full standalone novel for KEG. As one of the nerdiest people on the planet and someone who has dreamed of writing full-time since the day I could write, I knew I’d have to be an idiot not to consider this opportunity. So after several more emails and a lot of thinking, I am ecstatic to announce that I accepted the offer and as of today, am officially on board to write what I hope to be a super exciting novel about even more super exciting things!

Come check out what KEG’s about through this link: http://www.knighterrantgames.com

In the meantime, for those of you who are eagerly awaiting for the day when I finally finish TLR 4, I wanted to take a moment to reassure everyone that I am still hard at work on it and really hope to be finished with it in the next couple of months. As always, I promise to give updates with each step of the process and wanted to thank everyone for your interest and support!