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Fantasy Romance

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Available for Pre-Order: A Knight’s Redemption

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What secrets are okay to bury to save the life of a child? A town? A province? And who will pay the price when those secrets are unearthed?

Sir York buried his noble title and his past to join the Knights of Valor. He then accepted the most difficult of assignments to prove his dedication: rebuild the war-torn province of Marren. But the annual harvest is the least of his worries as a powerful and ancient evil threatens to consume all in it’s path, including every soul in Marren. When a beautiful but reclusive mage saves his life, Sir York will do anything to win her help to save Marren. Anything but fall in love with her.

Tessa couldn’t care less about Marren. Or so she tells herself. But they need her magic to survive, and so does Sir York, a man far too handsome, too charismatic, and too blessed by the gods. After all she’s endured, the last thing she needs is to fall in love with someone that will break her heart as surely as he will. Especially if he ever learns the truth about who she really is.

Just when it seems the people of Marren may actually stand a chance, unearthed secrets lead to a dead woman and a holy inquisition. Now, neither Sir York’s blade nor Tessa’s magic is enough to save them all. As darkness descends, Sir York and Tessa must face their pasts and risk everything, including their hearts, before the ancient evil devours them all.

Available for pre-order now!

Writing: How to Keep Going

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Someone recently asked me how I could keep working on a story after eighteen revisions.

Some would say stubbornness tenacity, others that I might be a little crazy.

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Honestly, it’s a combination of both with a sprinkle of inspiration and perfectionism.

 

Perfectionism

In writing, as with many creative endeavors, perfect is the enemy of good. It’s also the enemy of done. But, I do have a strong need to have things as perfect as I can make them. I won’t be happy until I feel like I’ve created the best thing that I can. Letting go and releasing things that are as good as I can do, even if not perfect, has actually been a journey for me. It’s one of the reasons why I sometimes struggle to reread my older work. It was the best I could do at the time, but I’ve gotten better since then.

 

Tenacity

Sometimes, the writing just doesn’t come. Sometimes, I stare at the blank page and no more than a few words appear on the screen. I still make myself sit and spend at least thirty minutes a day trying. And, I have set myself up to succeed by purposely arranged those thirty minutes to be at a time where I am not exhausted. Yes, it has meant rearranging my schedule, but it’s also increased my productivity. And, if I’m lucky, those thirty minutes will lead to more. But I have to apply bottom-to-chair to have any hope of making it happen.

Tenacity

I Love My Characters

Not sure I’m allowed to admit that I love them, but I can’t spend days, weeks, even months on ends trying to create characters I don’t love. I want them to get their happily-ever-after, so I keep working.

 

Inspiration

Sometimes inspiration guides me, and when it does, I can’t type fast enough to get the words on the page. Those are truly glorious moments. As a writer, you live for them even though they are rare and precious.

 

Crazy

Anyone who can read the same book eighteen times and still be willing to rewrite it again? Yes, we have our share of crazy.

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How about you? Any of you have tips on how to keep at something you know needs to be done but may have lost the inspiration to do?

 

Micro Fiction: Stop Him

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His advisers tried to stop him. His aides. His retainers.

It was only the king’s voice that cut through the desperate haze of grief. “Price Rohan.”

Even now he could not dishonor his father. Standing, he saluted, ashamed of the mud that stained his surcoat and crusted his fingernails.

His father nodded toward the path. “Walk with me.”

Of course his father didn’t yell. His father never yelled.

That made it all the worse.

Micro Fiction: Her Soul

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RohanHerSoul

Staring at her grave, tears glittered in his eyes even now.

He’d lost count of how many enemies had fallen to his blade, how many that swore allegiance to those that had taken her life he’d ended.

Yet she still lay in the cold unforgiving ground.

Uncertainty knotted his stomach.

She’d been dead and gone more than ten summers, yet he still felt her pain. Her torment.

The poison must have been pure agony.

Her soul had not passed.

Short Story: Siren’s Song – Part 2

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Siren’s Song

Elysia had only seen Lorik this bad once before, and it was the night he’d agreed to throw his life away to see justice against Thorne Thaaxune done.

He was sinking back there because of her.

Because she’d tested him rather than trusted him.

After all they had seen together, all they’d been through, she’d known Sy wouldn’t win. But Lorik hadn’t known that, and she wanted him to give him that knowledge.

Elysia sheathed her sword and offered him her hand. He looked at the whiskey and then at her.

“Please.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but she knew he’d come. Lorik had never denied her anything, not even joining her on this fool’s errand.

Lorik groaned, but he pushed the glass away and followed her back to their room.

She closed and locked the door, then took off her armor.

Lorik climbed into bed and faced the wall, counting backward from 100 as he controlled his breathing.

She sat on the bed beside him.

“We both need our sleep. Go to bed,” he grunted. “Sy is too scared of you to come back.”

The hint of regret in his words stung her. She reached for him, then drew back her hand. “The Light doesn’t forbid physical contact.”

“Good thing, because I’ve seen you slay a dozen zombies with one strike. Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She lifted his hand and laid it against her cheek.

“I know what you meant.” He turned and met her intense violet gaze. “And you have no idea what you’re saying. No idea what I want to do with you.”

His dark hair curled over his cheek. He was as battered and worn as his armor. Used and hardened by it. But he was still a good man. One of the best she’d ever met. And she loved him all the more for the dents and dings. Because he’d endured them, and they had toughened him, but they hadn’t broken him.

Lorik thumbed over her cheek as the heat of him caressed her through her shift and the scent of him stole through her.

“Show me,” she whispered as she leaned forward and touched her lush full lips against his.