Tag: Books

The story remains

Please indulge me in a moment of nostalgia today. It’s a very special anniversary.

Eleven years ago today, I started writing Woven. After years of feeling stuck in my writing. Years of starting projects but never finishing. Years of shrugging and saying I was a writer, but never really writing. I took expensive bread from a coffee shop that isn’t there anymore to a park that still is. I fed the birds and prayed for a book idea that wouldn’t die before its first real breath.

A spell is just a prayer with extra steps. I believe this was the most successful spell I’ve ever cast.

Eleven years have passed. I have moved homes three times. (And am getting ready to move again, God help me.) The walls and roof that surround me have changed. The desk at which I sit, sipping copious cups of coffee and tea, has changed. I’ve written at a desk older than me, painted over countless times. I’ve written at coffee shops, laundromats, doctor’s offices, libraries and day jobs. I’ve written at a desk my husband made for me by hand. It’s actually the first piece of furniture I’ve ever owned that wasn’t second-hand, and that’s where I’m still writing right now.

The story has remained.

I’ve changed jobs then job titles. I’ve changed my last name.

My family has changed. It shrank, but then swelled again. I lost people I never thought I’d lose. Never thought I could survive losing.

I’ve found new people. A new family, a new place in the world to need others and be needed in.

The story has remained.

I’ve written other stories. Some published, some not. Some tucked away for ‘someday’. Every one of them owes their existence to Woven. Because if it wasn’t for the story about a boy who weaves visions and a girl who spins light, I never would have had the courage or knowledge to write anything else.

I stepped out of my twenties and into my thirties. Soon, I’ll move into my forties. My hair has started to show silver. My back hurts in fun new places.

And yet, this story remains.

I became a horror critic. Then the site folded. Woven was bought by a publisher and then dropped. I republished it. Then I published it wide, a thing I wouldn’t have been able to do if the publisher hadn’t dropped us.

The story, through it all, remains.

We’ve lived through a pandemic and at least two recessions. At least some of us have. We’ve seen wars start and start. And start. We’ve seen three presidents. Well, two presidents and one threat to our country.

The story, though, remains.

And at this point, I feel like I’m ending a long journey. With Falling From Grace going wide this Friday, I’ve done almost everything I can do with it until I can afford to make it an audiobook. (I’m working on it.) Unless I write another book in the same world, the story of Woven is at its inevitable end.

Except, of course, that there are new readers in the world every day. New people looking for new stories. And I don’t think that’s likely to change anytime soon.

So this story will remain. I’ll write others. I’ll share others. And we’ll all keep right on changing.

I am so glad you’re here to share the journey with me.

Falling From Grace is going wide on Friday!

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A retrospective on the Hunger Games series

“If a book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” 

–Madeleine L’Engle

Hello, my name is Nicole. I’m thirty-nine years old, and I love young adult fiction. No, I don’t think we need a support group for this. Unless we all support each other in telling people who judge us to mind their own damn business.

One of my favorite series is Hunger Games. It’s been getting a lot of talk recently, with the release of the latest prequel, Sunrise on The Reaping. The good news is that the book was terrific. The bad news is that Suzanne Collins has said publically that this will likely be the last Hunger Games book.

However, I think that we’ll still be talking about this series for a very long time. While its popularity will likely wax and wane, this is the sort of story that stands the test of time. 

Inspired by the new book launch, I recently reread the series. And I have some thoughts, both as a writer and as a person living through the prolog of a distopian novel. 

So I know we’ve talked about several of the books by themselves. But today, I want to pull out and look at the series as a whole. Maybe we can learn something about writing a series that will stand the test of time. Maybe we can also learn something about dealing with our political situation. 

There are so many questions remaining

At this point I’ve read the whole series twice, except for Sunrise. And I still have so many questions. If anything, I have more questions after the reread. What happened to Lucy Gray? Is the Tigress that shelter’s Katness Snow’s cousin? If so, why does she now hate him so much?!

A great story doesn’t do all the heavy lifting from us. It leaves things open to interpretation, and argument. It allows fans to feel like we’re a part of the story. It also builds a community. A fandom. 

Speaking of which. What do you think happened to Lucy Gray? Let me know in the comments. I personally think she ran off and found a covey in the forest. 

The characters are complicated

There are several characters in Hunger Games that are wonderful people.

Katness is not one of those people. Neither is Haymich. And I don’t even think I need to discuss what sort of person Snow is. 

But, maybe I do? Because he’s not always a monster. Sometimes he’s kind. Sometimes he’s compassionate. He’s brave even, in some ways. 

That’s probably the best thing about this series. The main characters are morally gray. They do some bad things. And some good. These are characters that I think we can all see ourselves in, for better or worse. I think it’s the worse part that’s the bigger hook, actually. 

For me, Katness has a lot of the flaws I see in myself. She’s selfish. She uses people. She refuses to consider that other people might care about her. And she clearly doesn’t ever trust another human soul.

These are parts of myself that I don’t like. And so, I don’t like Katness. But I’ll also never forget her.

It asks something of us

I don’t think it’s any surprise to anyone that we are living through some dark times. Honestly, I lack the energy and time to list all the things wrong with our society right now. 

In the Hunger Games series, Katness is raised in a very dark world. She hates this world, but she accepts it. Her aim is never to overthrow the Capital. It’s just to make sure her sister survives. And while Peeta is happy to fight, he probably never would have if he hadn’t been backed into a corner where it was his only option.

Haymich wants to fight in Sunrise on The Reaping. So does Lenore Dove. They fight. They do not go quietly. They battle with everything they have, as little as it is. 

They paint their posters.

Hunger Games asks us to consider our actions in the America of right now. Are we painting our posters? Are we making good trouble? Or are we just enjoying the bread and circus?

We should strive to be Haymich and Lenore Dove, so that later generations don’t have to be Katness and Peeta. Sing the protest songs. Vote. Send physical mail to representitives. Protect your neighbors and show up for your community. 

Speaking of showing up for your community. I know a lot of people are struggling right now. But if you can, please consider donating to The Trevor Project. Their federal funding ended on July 17th, and they do crucial work to support LGBTQ+ youth.

Another charity that means a lot to me is the Brigid Alliance. They help people travel to access abortion care. 

Please do what you can, when you can, while you can. Don’t let the sun rise on another facist regime. 

Oh, I guess that got a little political. It’s almost like art is crucial in dark times. Go write something rebellious today. 

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Why Incidents Around The House Works

Released in June of last year, Incidents Around The House is an interesting book. It’s a fantastic example of a modern horror novel, and I read it in a matter of days. If I’d had nothing else pulling at my attention, I’d likely have read it in a matter of hours.

Incidents Around The House is a story of a girl named Bela and her family. It is told from Bela’s point of view, in a stream-of-consciousness manner that ignores silly things like grammar, paragraphs, and sentence structure. It is simply the story told from the point of view of a little girl, exactly as she would tell it. And while that was off-putting at first, it wasn’t long before I couldn’t have cared less.

That being said, I would consider this to be an interesting and experimental choice. And one that could have backfired terribly. But it didn’t. Instead, Incidents Around The House was one of my favorite books of the year so far. So let’s break it down and see why it works.

There was no need to convince anyone that bad things were happening

Often at the start of a horror novel, especially a haunted house novel, a lot of time is wasted. Our main character has to convince themself, and possibly others around them, that yes something deeply ominous and dangerous is in fact happening.

In this book, there was none of this. Bela, our main character, knows that something is wrong. And she doesn’t waste any time trying to explain this to her parents. She’d rather her parents not know about ‘Other Mommy’. So we’re able to skip a lot of the tedious, “Why won’t anyone believe me?” nonsense and get right to the “There’s literally something hunting our child,” part of the story.

There’s a great lesson for writers in this. You can skip the tedious parts of a story. You can skip the bits we’ve all seen before. You can skip the boring bits. Because if they’re boring to you, they’re boring to the reader.

Now, is your story going to be nonstop action all the time? Of course not. You’ll build ambiance and character. You need time to set the scene. But you can do this in interesting ways. Certainly, Incidents Around The House does this, introducing Bela and her parents over breakfast while Other Mommy looms in the background.

The sense of despair is great

Throughout the story, Bela and her family turn to one person after another for help with the Other Mommy. Over and over they’re betrayed, turned away and abandoned.

We can feel the frustration in the parents, even though they aren’t the main characters. Even better, we can feel the confusion and helplessness of poor little Bela. She’s realizing, maybe for the first time in her young life that not only do her parents not have everything under control, but most adults don’t either.

This leads to an isolating, choking sort of feeling. One that we feel right along with poor Bela and her parents. It’s horrifying, and quite well done.

This is something I struggle with, personally. Taking away all options from a character. Giving a character hell. But that’s what leads us to a riveting story. It’s certainly what drives me to finish a story. Not just a desire to know what happens, but a need to know how in the hell the characters get themselves out of this mess.

The story played on justifiable fears

Often when writers write children, outside of children’s literature, the characters don’t feel like children. They feel like little adults.

I am astounded by how much Bela feels like a child. And this truly increases the horror of the story. Because this is not a child-friendly story. This is a story that deals with some adult situations. Situations that I wouldn’t want any child to have to experience.

And that is, of course, the point. It is scary to imagine a child going through things their adults can’t protect them from. This allows the story to be ‘real world’ scary instead of just fictionally scary.

Horror always works best when it’s an allegory to something we’re actually afraid of. Most of us don’t fear a demon coming out of our child’s closet to get them. We are scared of them being in danger and not knowing how to help them.

The experimental art form didn’t get in the way of the story

Sometimes when a story’s told in an unusual way, it feels forced. It feels like there was more interest from the writer in experimenting with this new form than in telling the actual story.

And this particular format was a hard sell for me. I don’t want to say I’m a grammar snob, but I am. So if this story hadn’t grabbed me so quickly, so completely, I would have been too uncomfortable with the unstructured structure.

But the story came first. The format fits well with the story being told and allows Bela to truly be center stage.

All in all, Incidents Around The House was a masterclass in creeping horror. It inspired me to try some out-of-the-box formatting with my work. And it certainly inspired some uneasy moments.

As a matter of housekeeping, I will not be posting anything next week because I will be at Nebula Con and it’s my birthday. But we’ll be back with our regularly scheduled post on June 13th.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Starting Chains is now available everywhere! Click here to see the full list.

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The End of Haunted MTL

The publishing world is ever changing. What was a thriving online market yesterday could well be bankrupt tomorrow. A publishing company that was an unquestioned pillar can crumble. A beloved author can seemingly go out of her way to destroy her reputation.

And a beloved horror review site can shutter.

Sadly, Haunted MTL is no more. And, I might as well rip this band-aid off now, there will not be another season of AA.

I might write the story in book form, if anyone is interested. I was certainly going somewhere with the story.

I started working for Haunted MTL in 2019. I’d already published several novels by this time, but this was something different. This was an actual writing job.

I loved my time writing for Haunted MTL. I met so many amazing writers and made friends with several. There is nothing better than writing friends. I got to see horror movies that I might never have seen. Some I wish had never assaulted my eyeballs, like Antichrist. Some I loved very much, like Silent Night and Pooka. I conducted live tweet events during American Horror Story and Dexter, and got to talk to fellow fans all around the world.

Being a critic was a fantastic experience. If you want to be a good writer, one important exercise is to dissect a piece of work that you have strong opinions about, good or bad, and consider why it either works or doesn’t work. As a critic, that was exactly what I did twice a week. And I even got paid for it.

I was also invited to participate in several charity anthologies, which is always great. We conducted storytelling events through the years, writing short stories together. Including several years of Christmas and holiday horrors.

We did podcasts. We did events. We once read A Christmas Carol together and posted it. It was a laugh.

It was too good, maybe, to last.

I will miss Haunted MTL. I will miss the sense of writing camaraderie. Of being on staff. Of being part of a team.

But even as I mourn, I know it’s time to move on. As I said at the top, the publishing world is ever changing. And so even as this spooky door closes, another will open.

If you find yourself in this sort of situation, I’m so sorry. But remember, setbacks like this don’t necessarily reflect on you. Sometimes projects don’t work. We are artists, and art is subjective. Sometimes we’re going to do our level best and still not succeed. All there is for us then is to dust ourselves off, have a little cry, and write another story.

Then another, and another.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking or sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Starting Chains is going wide! Check out all the places it will be available here.

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My local bookstore closed

For my entire life, there’s been a bookstore on my local Main Street. It was called Book Nook. And, being who I am and doing what I do, I loved that place.

It had old-fashioned wood-paneled walls. Shelves that smelled more like an old library than a shop. As a child, my favorite part of the store was the spinning rack of bookmarks.

Did anyone else have this weird bookmark obsession as a child? Fancy bookmarks were everything I wanted in this world. These days I just use any nearby scrap of paper. That’s a little sad.

Man, that place never changed. I used to beg my mom to take me there anytime we were on Main Street. At the time, Main Street was a place we were a lot. She worked at several different restaurants over the years. We lived in three different apartments tucked above stores. There was a little five and dime where I marveled at the fancy pens that looked like crystal. We ate at Burger Hut and the Hot Dog Shoppe. We used to have Woolworths until it burned down when I was a child, but I remember sitting at the counter and having milkshakes.

I remember the fire, too. The way the smoke coughed upwards in the sky and terrified me. I worried that it would come for us as well. I think I’m still a little afraid of that.

The five and dime is gone. The Woolworths is gone. Any number of other little shops are gone. The Unicorn Gift Shop, several antique stores whose names I’ve forgotten, a frozen yogurt place. There used to be a classy little bar where I watched presidential debates during the first Obama campaign, drinking Long Island ice teas with the campaign director in my town. Now it’s the classy little wine bar where I go to enjoy a glass of chocolate-flavored wine and read. Life moves on, tearing itself down, burning itself out, building new days and lives and stores upon the memories and ashes.

But not Book Nook. Man, that place never changes.

As a kid, I went there to buy Goosebumps and Babysitters Club books, series I loved equally. As a young woman, I waited outside the door for them to open the day the last Harry Potter book came out. The storekeeper there that morning was both confused and, I think, annoyed to have some overly excited woman in her early twenties waiting at her door. Apparently, this was a new experience for her.

I had my first book signing there when Broken Patterns came out. A copy of the book sat in the front window for months. They even hung up a poster from Starting Chains.

For months. To the point that it faded.

That place never changed.

That was a great experience. A young mom came in, clearly with just barely enough money to get her daughter a book. I gave her a copy of mine and she was thrilled.

I hope she’s doing alright.

I’d pop in from time to time. Sometimes I’d find great things. The author’s extended version of The Stand and American Gods. I impulsively bought some hardcover books that I still love to this day. Strange The Dreamer and An Absolutely Remarkable Thing.

But I didn’t get the sequel to either book there. They never seemed to get them in.

As other stores came and went, Book Nook stayed. Its new releases dwindled. Its stationary options did too, until they went away entirely. So did the bookmarks.

There were no cute impulse buys at the counter. The same counter with the same register that had always been there. Instead, there was a display of lottery tickets. And they clearly made money from the lottery tickets. Once during a book signing, I watched an elderly woman come in and proceed to purchase a scratch-off ticket. She scratched it with no joy, then bought another and another. She kept going for quite some time, scratching tickets with absolutely no emotion on her face.

It became a place that wasn’t fun to be in. Where I rarely if ever found new books I was interested in reading. The hours were erratic, so even if there was something there I wanted, I had a hard time coming in.

And it never changed.

Earlier this year, I received an email from the manager, telling me they were going to close and that I needed to come pick up my books.

Losing my local bookstore has left me with mixed emotions. They survived so much, hanging on through decades of Amazon encroachment and even the pandemic. But they never, ever changed. They never grew with the times. They did nothing to offer readers and buyers a better experience. They simply existed.

And now, they don’t.

I do not blame the store entirely. But neither do I blame competition entirely. Neither do I blame consumers entirely. But all three share a bit of the blame.

Myself included.

I could have been more patient and asked them to order the books I wanted. I could have scheduled more events there, even though the reason I stopped was that no one showed up to them.

But in the end, the issue lies with all three. We should shop small when we can. Big corporations should stop using such predatory practices. They won’t, but they should. And small businesses should put in the effort to grow and change with the times.

In the end, though, I don’t write this to blame anyone. I write this to mourn. No matter the reasons, my local bookstore is closing. The store I shopped in as a child is gone. And I hate that. So I just wanted to hold space for it today.

I don’t remember who said this, or even where I first heard it. But someone somewhere said that every piece of writing is a love letter or a eulogy. This was both.

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Broken Patterns is going wide on April 25th. You can preorder it now by clicking on the image below.

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My thoughts after Pathfinders Writing Collective’s March Madness

I got an email on Monday that maybe you got too. It was from the Nanowrimo organization, explaining that they are shutting down.

I have mixed feelings about this. I posted months ago about why I was stepping away from Nanowrimo. But it’s an organization that inspired millions of writers over the years. It gave me the inspiration and courage to write my first published novel.

This one. Available now on Amazon and going wide as of April 25th.

And yet, I also feel we are seeing the writing community’s response to AI writing. We will not support any organization that gives quarter and comfort to AI platforms that steal our work and produce flat and soulless stories flooding our markets.

There is one part of the letter that I agree with, though. Interim executive director Kilby Blades said, “Many alternatives to NaNoWriMo popped up this year, and people did find each other.”

And this is true. We found each other. And this past month I participated in a writing challenge that does just this. The Pathfinding Writers Collective March Madness event. And it was a fantastic experience. Even though my team lost. If we’re being fair, I personally lost twice.

Let me explain.

My personal goal for the month was to write for 31 hours in March. One hour a day. And that sounds easy until we remember that I’m caring for a husband who had a hemorrhagic stroke. He needs an incredible amount of hands-on care. So there were a lot of days where an hour of writing was a delightful daydream.

But this was still an incredible success for me. Let me explain.

I still wrote more than I had been writing

As mentioned, this is a busy season of my life. And for much of February my writing took a back seat. Hell, it wasn’t even in the back seat. It wasn’t in the trunk. It was in the attached trailer behind the damn car. Most days I couldn’t even think of looking at my writing.

But in March, I wrote twenty days out of thirty-one. I made the time. I tried to write an hour, but sometimes made only 15 minutes. Sometimes I only made 10. But that’s still more than what I had been doing. I didn’t make a ton of progress, but I made more than the month before.

There was this incentive, you know. This desire to make sure I had some numbers to put on the board, even if it was a small number. Because any number, any number at all, was better than zero.

I kind of love time-based writing goals

Writing goals work for me. I like having numbers to work towards. For most of my writing career, my goals were word-count based. But I’m realizing that this sort of goal isn’t conducive to actual writing. It doesn’t take into consideration all of the work that goes into writing that isn’t putting words on the page. I was ignoring the time I spent researching, freewriting, outlining and planning. Those are all vital parts of writing that need time and space. They need to not be rushed.

I also find that my writing goes faster when I devote that time, unrushed, to the brainstorming process. It’s as if by giving my mind time to mull over the story without a keyboard under my fingers, it has more space to breathe and is already written when I am ready to write.

Having a community is awesome

We’ve talked about this before, so I’m not going to devote much time to this. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t important!

It is, if I’m being honest, the most important part of challenges like this. It’s what made Nanowrimo so special.

Writing is solitary. Its deadlines are often self-imposed. I have no boss asking me for updates. I have no co-workers to bounce ideas off of. I have no external pressure to create. Which is both a blessing and a curse.

For one thing, it’s lonely. For another, it makes it so much easier to push off tasks I don’t want to do because, after all, there are no repercussions.

But when I have a team of people I’m working with, there is some good pressure. When I don’t want to let my team down, I’m inspired to get my ass in my chair and write. On days when I might not have written at all, I wrote. On days I needed inspiration, I had the rest of my team. And that made all the difference.

I didn’t take as much advantage of the challenge as I wanted to. I could have done more. I could have attended more writing sprints. I could have chatted more and made more friends. But for where I am, I think I did the best I could. And I saw so many writers reach so much farther than they thought they could. I saw this wonderful community of writers cheering each other on, supporting each other, and inspiring each other. I don’t want to give out names that aren’t mine to give, but one writer in my group wrote through 249 hours in one month. Girl, how?!

But whether we wrote almost 250 hours or thirteen hours, we all came together to reach a goal. We all made progress on our stories. And we need stories now more than ever.

So the question is, will I be participating in more Pathfinder Writing Collective events? Absolutely. I cannot wait.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you want to support us, you can do so by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Broken Patterns is going wide! You can preorder it now everywhere.

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Stories Save Us

This is a speech I gave during the Stories We Share Event at the Butler Library event on December 27th. Several lovely people suggested that I publish it. So, here you are.

Hi there. My name is Nicole. I write stories about dragons, ghosts and spaceships. Sometimes I write about the ghosts of dragons on spaceships. And, like most people who are at least mildly funny, I have been through some hard life events.

Don’t worry, this isn’t all depressing, I promise.

I was raised by a mother with a lot of chronic health issues. This meant I spent more time in my childhood than I should have in waiting rooms, doctor’s offices, or just keeping myself occupied quietly so my mom could rest.

I passed the time by reading. Chronicles of Narnia, Goosebumps, Laura Ingells, Babysitter’s Club. These stories kept me company in dark places. I escaped into Secret Gardens and attic rooms enhabited by Little Princesses.

As an adult, I fell in love with and married a man who also has chronic health issues. Because of course, right? And again, books have come to my rescue. Stephen King, Philippa Gregory, Tamora Pierce, Kiersten White and Grady Hendrix keep me company through scary days.

Now I do more than read these stories, I write my own. And in the past few years, while almost everyone has fallen on hard times, it’s sometimes felt foolish to keep writing fiction. Indulgent, and insensitive even. A writer I’m very fond of named Matt Wallace, who wrote the Savage Rebellion series, said that marketing right now feels like standing outside of a burning building and yelling at the people coming out, “Hey, you wanna buy a book?”

But the answer is yes, yes I actually do want to buy a book and read it. I want stories.

Stories can save us. And they do this in two ways. The first is of course that they’re entertaining. It’s fun to read. And while you can’t run away from your problems, you can take a break from them. Maybe you need some time in Narnia, or a haunted house, or a world where sewing is magic. Because after we take that time, take that break in a book, we come out a little bit stronger. Maybe that gives us the clearer eyes we need to look for the helpers that Mr. Rodgers told us about. Maybe it even gives us the strength and courage to be the helpers.

Here’s the other thing that stories do for us. They tell us that we are not alone. Fear can make us feel like we’re the only ones suffering. That no one else understands the pain we’re going through. But that’s not true. We’ve all had those seasons in life where we’ve gotten a scary diagnosis, tried to leave a dangerous relationship, fought an addiction, moved far away from everything familiar, or worried about how we’re going to pay rent and get groceries, and keep the electric on. We’ve all said goodbye to people we never wanted to say goodbye to, or had something violent and terrible happen to us that we neither deserved or saw coming.

Neil Gaiman said this about writing Coraline. “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” But we knew this before Gaiman. The author of Beowulf knew this and wrote about monsters and dragons that the great hero faced. These stories comforted and guided our first ancestors. They helped them cope, heal, and find the courage they needed.

We are not going to fight literal dragons. We aren’t going to face Voldemort, or a sentient haunted house, or a series of unfortunate events orchestrated by a school friend of our dead parents. But we are going to fight our own dragons. And a lot of the time we win, and live to see brighter days.

What worries me, is how many people can’t remember the last time they read something for pleasure. Most of us spend a lot more time doom-scrolling than resting our hearts in fiction. If that’s you, find a book you want to read today. We are standing in a library right now. Find a book to take home with you. Take half an hour, ten minutes, hell five minutes, and read a story you love. Maybe it’s something you read as a child, or maybe it’s a new book. Maybe it’s wildly out of your age range. Look, when I’m stressed I reach right for Beverly Cleary so I’m not going to judge.

Make the space for you to have joy, no matter how bad your day is going. Because we all need to remember that dragons can be beaten.

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Falling From Grace is coming in December

Once upon a time, I wrote a story about a boy who wove visions and a girl who spun light. About how, together, they changed their world for the better.

I love that story. But it had a few problems. Problems I only saw after writing three whole books about Devon, Lenore, Sultiana and Victor. All of my main characters but one were born into nobility and wealth. All of them were mages.

Now, that is all well and good. But it’s also a narrow view of the world. Most of us aren’t wealthy. I’m sure as hell not. Most of us are not gifted with such inherent talent that it cannot be denied, which I feel is the closest equivalent to mages in our world.

Some of us have to get by on working hard, saving money and learning skills.

So I wanted to write a story in the world of Woven about a regular woman. Maybe someone not gifted, or destined to do great things. A woman who chose to do great things instead, and shape the world around her through determination and courage.

This brought me to Grace.

You might remember Grace as the angry woman Victor left behind when he moved to Septa. And if you didn’t like her, I’m sorry. I never meant for her to be even a temporary antagonist. She had every damn reason to be angry. Wouldn’t you be if your boyfriend vanished and ended up dating some rich girl?

I needed to give Grace a chance to tell her own story. And in doing so, I told a little of mine as well. Because while I was writing this book, I was also discovering modern witchcraft.

Falling From Grace was first published in 2020. It was a terrible year for most of us, but at least Trump lost his election bid that year. But this time he won, and I think we need Grace again.

I think we need as many women and men as possible who are ready to fight against a mad king. We need witches, advocates and activists. And we need stories about them. So here is mine.

Preorder Falling From Grace here.

I loved writing this book. And I hope that you love reading it. It’s fun, sweary, irreverent and optimistic. I hope it inspires you to see some light in a dark time.

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The books that inspired me to write Woven

Writers are readers first. I have been honored to know and befriend many writers, and I have never met one who didn’t have a passion for books. Ask any of us about what we’re reading, or what our favorite books from childhood are, and watch our faces light up.

(I am currently reading Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury. Tis the season.)

What we read shapes what we write. Because of course, we want to tell the sort of stories that we love to read.

There are exceptions, of course. I love some good historical fiction, memoirs and biographies of interesting people. But I have no desire to write one of those.

As a child, I loved fantasy, science fiction and horror. As an adult, that’s what I write. And there are three series in particular that inspired my fantasy series, Woven.

Likely, you’ve read these before. If you have, maybe you can see the inspiration already. If you haven’t read them, I cannot recommend them enough. Here now are the three series, what they taught me, and how they inspired me to write Woven.

Dragon Riders of Pern taught me to love dragons and see a place for myself in writing fantasy.

This might surprise you, but Dragon Riders of Pern was my first introduction to dragons. It shouldn’t surprise you, because this introduction took place when I was about five, being read to by my aunt. I immediately fell in love with the relationships between humans and dragons. And when I discovered dragons who were just as smart, if not smarter, than humans in the film Dragonheart, I was hooked.

Dragon Riders of Pern was also the first time I remember seeing a woman’s name on the cover of a book. At least, a fantasy book. I was fully aware that The Babysitter’s Club and Sweet Vally High were written by women. And I was already hooked on Ramona. I mean no offense to Francine Pascal, Ann M. Martin, and certainly not Beverly Cleary. They wrote great books that I loved as a child. But they always wrote about, well, children and teenagers. They wrote about the real world, and all the problems girls and boys got into. The people who wrote about robots and dragons and ghosts were, well, men. Stephen King, J.R Tolkien, R.L Stine, C.S Lewis. I loved them, but I had a hard time seeing myself among them. Anne McCaffrey showed me that I could belong in that world first.

Chronicles of Narnia taught me to write about faith.

Speaking of C.S. Lewis, I love him. I love the Chronicles of Narnia.

The story is fantastic, I cannot stress this enough. But it’s also faith-affirming.

Gently. And that is the important part here.

Chronicles of Narnia is not judgemental. It’s not the Left Behind series. It’s not one of the many books I read as an LDS child. It is a gentle story that teaches real morals about being a good person.

While Woven doesn’t have a strong religious component, it is a little bit about faith. Lenore specifically learns about celebrating your faith when it doesn’t celebrate you. She deconstructs and removes herself from the Church, but not the Creator.

Gee, wonder why I wrote about that.

Chronicles of Narnia gave me the inspiration to write about faith, as I experienced it, without worrying that I was going to be judgemental towards others.

Circle of Magic taught me to write about tactile magic

Finally, Tamora Pierce’s Circle of Magic was the biggest inspiration for Woven.

Pierce once said that she was inspired by her mother and sisters doing handcrafts. She saw magic in creating cloth from string. This is something I agree with. I knit and crochet, and that’s always felt like a very attainable magic.

Great, grand magic is loads of fun. It’s fun to read about people who wave a sword and bring lighting down from the sky. So I wrote that. But it’s also somehow comforting to imagine magic coming from such a simple act and powerful act.

Now it’s your turn. What books inspired your current WIP? Let us know in the comments.

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Starting Chains is available now on Amazon. Check it out.

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Starting Chains, Chapter One

By the way, if you’re interested in starting at the beginning for free, Broken Patterns is free on Amazon today. Click here to check it out.

Prologue

You think you know anger, you silly thing. You think you understand fury, betrayal. It’s hilarious when you little nothings think you have an understanding of those emotions.

Your hero failed you, didn’t he? The Great Calvin, who everyone thought would be the champion for the common man. They all fail, after a while. Heroes are just people, after all, and people fail. Certainly, your hero failed me. The greatest fault of the males of your species is always your obsession with the females.

But it is not as though he was important. Not so important that he cannot be replaced by a hundred others. After all, you’re hearing me now.

Your new hero will arrive soon, and he will fail you, too. The difference is, this time you will know my rage. Soon, you will learn the true meaning of anger.

And while you take care of the shining one, the precious little vessel, I can deal with other matters. My blood waits in the rip of the land. It only needs a drop of blood to awaken, and I’m sure it will get it. There is always blood when two neighbors fight over history.

Chapter One

Victor paced the floor of the game room, a low growl barely contained in his throat. Everything about the room, from the soft backed chairs to the heavy curtains and the thick wooden tables irritated him right then. Including every single other man in it.

Lord Lewis, Victor’s uncle by marriage, and his son Howard played pool. They were knocking the balls together louder than he thought was really necessary. Every now and then Lewis would look up at Victor and chuckle. He was a broad man, with gray hair and a paunch he hadn’t had in his youth. Howard looked much like him, but with darker hair and no paunch to speak of yet.

“First time jitters,” Lewis said finally. “I was just the same when my twins were born.”

Oliver sat on the couch by the fire with Lord James. “Sit down, Victor,” he said. “The king will be back in a moment to tell us how it’s going.”

Oliver was, in Victor’s opinion, too good looking for a man. His hair got far too much attention; his perfect face was in need of roughening. The only thing that redeemed him was the kindness in his eyes.

Lord James chuckled, flipping through the pages of a book. He was the only other man besides Victor in the room with light hair, a sign of their shared Montelarian heritage. But where Victor was tall and broad, James was a thin man. “It’s hard for you to be away from her right now, isn’t it?” James asked.

“It is not right,” Victor snapped. “I should be with her, she needs me.”

“That’s just where you shouldn’t be,” Lewis said, pointing his pool cue at him. “You have no more place in a birthing chamber than Lenore would have on a battle field.”

Victor thought of his wife and how she’d looked on the battle field, digging her dagger into the back of the neck of the man who’d killed her brother. He thought she’d done just fine.
“That is the way things are done in Montelair,” Victor said. “My da was with my ma when she had us.”

Howard set a hand on his shoulder. “You know you shouldn’t talk like that,” he said. “The people of Septa are having a hard enough time accepting a Montelarian so close to the throne. If we can’t let you wear your furred boots in public, we can’t let you follow Montelarian birth customs.”

Victor glanced down at his high polished boots. As far as he could tell, their only benefit was to match his black silk pants and Septan blue jacket. “Don’t remind me; they pinch,” he muttered.

“Victor, we all know how hard it’s been, getting used to Septa customs. But Montelair has been our enemy for so long. You can see why it’s been necessary, can’t you?” Oliver asked.

“You would think killing my brother would be enough to prove my loyalty to the Mestonie family,” Victor said, “Maybe even give me enough leeway to actually take care of my wife the way I think she should be taken care of!”

There was a scream from the other wing of the palace. Victor recognized Lenore’s voice. He started towards the door, but it opened before he could reach it.

King Samuel, his father in law, stood there. He was one of the few men in the palace big enough to look Victor in the eye. His hair was thick, with a steady streak of gray coming from both of his temples.

“Where are you going?” he asked with a smile.

“Lenore is screaming,” Victor said.

“She’s in pain,” Samuel replied, “Women suffer to bring our children into the world, and we should never forget that.”

“Did they let you in to see her?” Victor asked.

“No, of course not,” Samuel said with a chuckle. “But Lorna spoke to me in the outer chamber and told me that all is going as well as can be expected.”

“Lenore’s got two midwives, Lorna and her auntie Heather,” Lewis said, naming his wife. “She is well supported.”

“Ramona and Tabitha are with her, too,” James said. James was common born, too. He knew the presence of Lenore’s own nurse and maid would be more of a comfort to Victor than a noble aunt neither of them was fond of.

Samuel sat down at a table that supported a chess set. “Come and have a game. It will make the time go faster,” he said.

Victor thought this unlikely, but to please Samuel he took a seat. But for the gray in his hair, Samuel looked just like he had the night they met. Victor had been so afraid that night, desperately trying to stop his mad brother from murdering Lenore and her family. He hadn’t expected to survive, let alone be given a job. Nearly three years had passed, and now he was the husband of the princess who would someday be queen.

“I remember when Lenore was born,” Samuel said, setting up the chess pieces. “It was the first time I ever heard Lorna raise her voice.”

“Not much like Lenore then,” Howard answered with a grin.

The men laughed, but over their laughter Victor could hear Lenore’s voice. It didn’t sound like just a scream this time.

“Is she calling for me?” he asked.

Samuel’s cheeks turned red. “No, you’re hearing things,” he said. But the scream came again, and this time it was clearer. “Victor!”

He was out of his seat and to the door before anyone else in the room had time to react. As he ran through the halls of the palace, no one dared stop him. The other noblemen didn’t even bother to follow.

Lenore’s new body guard, Anthony, was standing in front of the door to the entry chamber. A tall, lanky man with a long tail of hair, he looked as bored as ever. He saw Victor coming and moved aside.

“Thanks,” Victor said.

“Queen Mother is only going to throw you out anyway,” Anthony replied.

Howard’s twin sister Harper sat in the chamber with Lady Hannah. They were Lenore’s ladies of court and closest noble friends. Harper was a tall woman, thinner than her brother. Hannah was shorter, with a broad, soft build.

Lenore’s hound, Shepard, was lying in front of the door to the birthing chamber, looking forlorn. She, like Victor, was unaccustomed to being away from Lenore this long.

Both women jumped when he burst into the room. “What are you doing? I nearly put my needle through my finger,” Harper cried.

“Was Lenore calling for me?” he asked.

“She was,” Hannah said with a nod. Unlike the rest of court, she had not yet removed the black mourning cloths for Prince Octavian. “But I don’t think the queen will let you go in.”

“Don’t you tell me what I want!” Lenore screamed. “Victor promised me he would be here, and I want him here now, not later when I’m all fancied up!”

“Are you entirely sure you want to go in there?” Harper asked.

“Of course. She won’t yell at me like that.” He opened the door to the birth chamber while Harper snorted.

The room was large and circular. In the center of the room was a bed on which Lenore sat, her nightgown pulled up around her waist. Her long, curly hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her face was covered in sweat. A midwife knelt in front of her, hands between her legs. Queen Lorna stood between two waiting bassinets, looking tired.

“What in The Creator’s name took you so long?” Lenore cried.

“I am sorry,” he said, coming to her side.

“Oh, no,” Lorna stopped him with a raised hand. “You’re not staying, not with her in this state.”

“Mother, shut up!” Lenore cried. “He put the babies in there, he’s seen it. And if anyone makes him leave I’m going to make them as miserable as me!”

Ramona and Tabitha glanced at each other. “No, that’s all right,” Tabitha said.

“He’s not bothering me,” Ramona added. “Make yourself useful, boy.” She handed him a clean cloth and pointed towards a bucket of iced water.

Victor took off his jacket and dipped the cloth in the water. He sat down behind Lenore on the bed so that she could lean against him and set the cloth to her cheek. “Your uncle said to me that I had no more place in this room than you would have on a battlefield,” he chuckled.

“Then you should do fine,” Lenore replied, tensing with pain.

“He must not remember the last time Montelair attacked,” Victor said. He washed her face. “We’re changing all the rules, aren’t we, my girl?”

Lorna sniffed, but brought a fresh towel to the bed. “I suppose the next thing will be that you want me to teach you how to run the bloody palace,” she muttered.

“I’d be honored, if you have the time,” he said. When Lorna gave him a sharp look he shrugged. “My old job is taken. I cannot be idle while my wife works.”

Lenore screamed, and pressed against him. He put his arm around her. “Deep breaths,” the midwife said. “In, hold, out.”

Lenore breathed for a few minutes. When the pain subsided, she said, “I wish Devon could have stayed to meet the girls. And Octavian, they’ll never even get to meet him.”

“Octavian will watch over our girls like a guardian angel,” Ramona said. “And I’m sure Devon and Sultiana will visit soon.”

“We haven’t thought of any names yet,” Victor said, trying to change the subject.

“You pick,” Lenore said.

“You can’t give them Montelarian names,” Lorna said.

“Hush, Lady Mother, you are upsetting my wife,” Victor replied.

Hours passed. Lenore’s pain grew worse. Victor started to get worried. He brushed stray bits of hair from her face. “Tabby, will you come and fix her braid?” he asked, thinking that getting her hair out of her face would be some relief.

Tabitha nodded. She brushed Lenore’s hair and set it in a neat plait while she napped between bouts of pain. “One of the many benefits of being sapphic,” she whispered. “Girls don’t get other girls pregnant.”

“Does it normally take this long? The midwife would know if there was something wrong, wouldn’t she?” Victor asked.

Tabitha gave him a smile. “Yes, she would know. She’s the best midwife in the country.”

The midwife in question moved Lenore’s knees apart, and said, “Don’t you fuss about me. The princess has only been in labor for six hours. Many women take days to bring their children into the world. They will come when they’re ready and be cared for like every other baby born in this palace.”

“My heir, the first girl ever to be born heir to the throne,” Lenore said with a smile. Then, she drifted back into a light doze.

Lorna shook her head. “You should talk her out of that, you know. It’s one thing for Lenore to rule, Octavian chose her. But your daughter doesn’t have to.”

Victor raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m only thinking of the baby,” Lorna said, “Lenore’s life is going to be hard. Don’t you want something better for your daughter?”

“My Lady Mother, how about you suggest to Lenore that her daughter not inherit?” Victor asked.

Lorna sighed. “I only want what’s best for you all.”

Lenore was stirring, moaning in pain again. The midwife looked between her legs, and said, “She’s crowning.”

“Are you ready?” Ramona asked.

“I’d better be,” Lenore replied.

“Push!” said the midwife.

Lenore pushed. Victor held her close and whispered, “You are so strong, so brave.” Lenore screamed, and soon her screams were joined by those of her daughter.

The midwife pulled the baby girl out and held her up. “Look at that blond hair,” she exclaimed.

Victor looked at his daughter, aching to hold her. But there was another baby coming, so Ramona took the first born to clean her.

Lenore was screaming again, and another ten minutes of pain followed. Finally, the second daughter, tiny and dark haired, came into the world.

“Our girls,” Lenore murmured.

The midwives hurried to get Lenore cleaned up and in a second waiting bed.

Ramona and Lorna brought the babies to the bed. They placed the girls into Lenore’s arms, and she set them to her breasts for their first meals.

“I’m so tired I don’t know if I can hold them,” she whispered.

“I’ll help,” Victor said, placing his arms under hers, supporting them all.

“What do you want to name them?” she asked.

Victor smiled. “The one with the golden hair, we’ll call Eleanor, for you my love. And the dark haired one can be Loralie.”

“To match,” Lenore said. “That’s good. Eleanor will need her sister. She’ll need all the help she can get.”

Lenore fell asleep, and Victor held his little family close. There were so many dangers waiting outside of those doors, he thought. The people in Septa who didn’t want a ruling queen, much less one with a Montelarian husband. A bitter Montelair, full of men furious at how the war had ended, hung over their heads as well.

“Other das just have to worry about scraped knees and boys,” he whispered. He looked up at Tabitha, who sat nearby. “These girls have inherited all of our enemies.”

Tabitha gave him a sleepy grin. “Good thing they’ve inherited all of your friends, too,” she replied.

Lorna wiped tears from her face. For the first time ever, Victor felt close to the cold woman. “You should take Eleanor out to see her people,” she said.

“Just her?” Victor asked. “Won’t the people want to see both of them?”

“She is the heir. She will always be the people’s first priority,” Lorna said.

“She’s sure to curse us for that one day,” Victor said. Nevertheless, he took his daughter with care, and carried her to the balcony attached to the birthing chamber to see her people.

Want to read the whole thing? Starting Chains will be launching on Friday. You can pre-order it right now on Amazon.

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