Category Archives: Blog


Book Cover Thoughts?

Anyone care to chime in on this book cover? It will be for the second in the Guardian of Morning series. I was going for something with a little bit more moodiness to it. The complaints I heard about the first book was that it didn’t give much feel for the story aside from the lesbian main characters. Below is the cover of the first book, so you can see how vastly different they are. So should I go with this new one or stick with the style of the first one?  Thanks!








Which cover would you be more likely to pick up?


Novella Excerpt

Happy sample Sunday everyone! Enjoy the beginning of my new novella, Voodoo, available now on the Kindle. 



The car was flipping. I felt like the whole thing was in slow motion. I saw the world right side up, and then it seemed to slowly turn until it was upside down. That happened three times. Under all the fear I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the other car. In the background I could hear a girl screaming, but I wasn’t sure if it was me or my sister.

Finally, with the world upside down, we came to a stop. Glass rained down around me, sparkling on the roof of the car below my head. I was hanging by my seat belt, dazed and disoriented, hair in my face. My body still felt like we were flipping, my head still throbbed in pain. I put my hand up to it and it came back wet with warm blood. I stared at my fingers, unable to comprehend that it was my blood. Seeing the blood made it all real and panic raged to life.

I glanced at Claire in the driver’s seat, only she wasn’t there. Her seat belt had failed at some point, and she lay sprawled across the ceiling in a bed of broken glass and scattered CDs. Her hair was matted with blood on one side.

“Claire? Claire?” My voice came out higher than usual. I barely recognized it. My heart fluttered in my chest. She didn’t respond.

That got my mind going. Fumbling with my seat belt, my fingers found the release button. I dropped with no grace to the ceiling. I landed face first, and the world went dark.

I opened my eyes. I knew time had passed, but I had no idea how long. I hoped it had only been minutes. It couldn’t have been much longer; someone would have come to help us if it was longer. I lifted my head. When I tried to push myself up to crawl, nausea washed over me. I made it a couple inches toward Claire before I collapsed into darkness again.

“We got two here,” someone yelled. My eyes fluttered open to see a black man in a paramedic’s jacket looking in the other side of the car. A moment of confusion filled me. Where was I? “Neither of them appears to be conscious,” he added. I would have corrected him if I hadn’t passed back out.

Next I was in an ambulance. Now a woman with hair as blond as my own was holding a large plastic bubble over my mouth, slowly squeezing. She smiled when she saw my eyes open; she had a nice smile. I saw her turn to say something, but I didn’t hear it.

Then lights were flashing by overhead. They were bright fluorescent ones that reminded me of school. I heard strangers speaking over me.

“We got these two, and another two from the other car.”

“Do we have ID on them?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” answered the first voice. “This one’s Alyssa Jacobs. That one is her sister, Claire. The other two . . .” I faded out of consciousness before I heard anything else.

I saw the operating room in jumps and flashes. Bright lights pointed down at me, while men dressed in surgical masks leaned over me. They cut away my shirt, and I felt oddly embarrassed. I welcomed the haze of sleep when it came again, though this time I knew it was artificial, their drugs pumping through me.

Then the world started to get strange.

I was standing on a city street, people walking past me without noticing. I spun in a circle, stumbling in my heels and almost falling. All the women wore pretty calf length dresses while the men were in suits, many with hats on. I looked down to see I was wearing the same sort of dress, black and white striped at the top with a black skirt. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever owned. Pain burned in my temples. I gripped my head, shoving my fingers through blond hair and willing myself not to scream as I teetered sideways. My eyes shut.

“She should be fine,” someone said. The voice sounded far away. “It’s Claire we need to worry about.”

“No, please fix my baby.” My mom’s voice was more a sob.

The street flickered back into focus, old and cobbled instead of smooth and new. I lay at the edge of the street, just on the sidewalk with my hand on the cobblestones. Bright light filled my vision; I was looking up at the fluorescent lights again. From the corner of my eye I could see mom and dad talking with a doctor.

Then I was on the street again. A woman ran by, long red hair seeming to float behind her. When she looked my way before crossing the street I saw it was Claire. Her smooth pale skin almost glowed. I’d never seen her looking so radiant. Relief flooded me; the doctors had no idea what they were talking about, she was fine. I tried to call out to her, but my voice was little more than a croak. I felt the hospital room tugging at me as I closed my eyes. I forced them open again, digging my fingers into the space between the stones of the street and clinging to it. If Claire was here, I wasn’t leaving without her.



Or maybe I should title this post Pinsperation because Pintrest is where I have been getting a lot of story inspiring pictures lately. Now, I know inspiration can hit any of us from all sort of strange places, but I find some pictures to be about the best source of inspiration for me. I’m not sure what it is about these pictures, they can be scary, they can be beautiful, but something about them starts whispering a story in my ear.

Many of these pictures are simply somehow magical to me. They are a quick glimpse into another world that I want to get to know. So here we go, pictures that make me want to write.


When To Shelve The Book You’re Writing

I’ve written a lot of books. Most of them are in no way ready to be seen by the general public, and some may never be. Once again, I’m faced with the idea of quitting my new book about 35k in. It’s an awful feeling, but sometimes it just has to be done. So here are my signs that it’s time to retire an idea.

1. You’re Bored– Here’s the thing, if I’m bored with my book, I’m almost certain you will be. This isn’t the same boredom you get when you’re editing it for the tenth time and you never want to read it again, this is different. This is when you are still writing it and you are thinking to yourself ‘When will we get to the good stuff?’. The nature of this book demanded it have a very slow build up based on timing issues. Now I’m just getting to the meat of it, but honestly I’m bored. I keep trying to come up with how this is going to be exciting later on, but I can’t imagine anything exciting enough to make up for the beginning.

2. You’ve been thinking about giving up for a while– We all have moments in writing when we think about scraping a project. I’ve had them in many books, but they’re usually fleeting. I can think of one book in particular that I didn’t think was working, but ended up great. This is one reason I’m always nervous about quitting a book. However, with this book, I’ve been thinking it off and on since about the 20k mark. The first part of the book flowed well and wrote easy, but then it started to drag and I knew it wasn’t my best work.

3. You’re not in love with your characters– You can have the best idea in the world, but if you don’t love the characters involved then it’s going to fall flat. I think that’s one of my main issues with this book, I just don’t have that drive for my characters. If I go more than a few days between working on it I actually start to forget their names! That’s an awful sign. When I try to think about writing this book, my mind drifts to other books I want to write and other characters who I’m already in love with.

4. You avoid working on it– This has really been the clincher for me, I’ve avoided working on this book. I’ve written three short stories since I started it, I’ve read, I’ve finished a home project, I’ve done anything and everything to step away from writing it. That’s what is really telling me that I need to move on and start a new book.

So there are my signs for shelving this book. Who knows, maybe I’ll pick it up again a year from now and work on it again. Maybe it will just linger half finished forever. Either way, I’m excited to move on to something else, so I know I made the right decision.

As a bonus, you also know it’s time to stop writing it when the flash drive it was saved on dies two days after you’ve made your decision.

How about you? Have you ever shelved a book halfway through?