Blog
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The 12 Miracles of Fiction
Poor pity to the man or woman who has not discovered the fascination of books, the wondrous miracle! Are they to suffer through this bleak, colorless existence forever? I cannot imagine. What a…
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We Are Happier Now
We never realize to be happy in today. It always happens later, when the thing or moment or person is gone, that we realize. How strange is that feeling, that cold and empty…
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We Had Better Watch the Sky
Over two thousand years ago, people were just living their lives. The carpenters were going about their woodwork. The tentmakers were building their tents. The merchants were selling their goods. The scribes were…
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My Friends, the Trees
They stand like green-clad towers, As silent as you please, I do not doubt you know them, They are my friends, the trees. They wave their finger branches, In every quiet breeze, I tell them all my secrets, For…
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You Can’t Fall Up: A Guide on Eliminating Redundancy Monsters
In every manuscript, there are tiny little monsters. Most of the time we, as the author, can’t find them. They’re much too clever to be discovered, and often times it takes a new…
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I Must Go to the Hills
I must go to the hills, girl, They wait for me, Each rock and tree, I must go to the hills, girl. Stay in the valley low, boy, Your home is here,Your memories dear,Stay in the valley…
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The Point in Pointless Things
Sometimes we’re riding through life and something hits us. Something hard. Something that hurts. And all through the trial, we keep whispering to ourselves to trust, that God has a reason, that somehow…
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Book Signing!
So, I had a book signing. What a wonderful, delightful experience! Signing and selling books never loses its excitement! Thank you, thank you! A big hug to everyone who stopped by to show…
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Cover Reveal!
For the oddest of reasons, I’ve had the most difficult time feeling happy about my covers for Garden of the Midnights. Something was always off, always untrue to the nature of the story.…
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The Song of the Troubadour
How steep the red-stained cliffside, Oh, cursed is me! The French in me! ’Twould be better if I had died! And ne’er soiled the village place, Oh, Roussillon! Poor Roussillon! My sins art…
