I’m not a proficient blogger. I never know what to say in so few words, so that’s why I write stories. I’m not someone who writes important, life-changing nuggets of wisdom (I pan for those on my off days). My words are a series of subtle shifts that gingerly guide this intrepid vessel to swaths of open ocean where I feel lost and vulnerable all over again.
So, why am I doing this?
- Because I do, in fact, have something to say.
- Because it will help me focus on something that is (hopefully) bigger and brighter than I could ever hope to be.
I want to tell a story that isn’t about myself, though if you squint at the text long enough you’ll find me, buried in the void between words. I’m a thirty-eight year old woman, a mother, a shameless dreamer and, for reasons I have difficulty explaining, I’m telling the story of a nineteen year old boy who surmounts endless odds to discover who, and what, he truly is.
It’s a world I tuck into when I need to get away. It’s actually not a happy world, it’s full of many of the same difficulties and expectations as the real one. But I’m the mover, the puppeteer. Out here I’m powerless. In there, I have more power than you could possibly imagine.
If you have any interest in reading this story, then stick around.
All books start with a premise, and a promise.
The premise:
Trace was found on the shores of a remote fishing village eight years ago, the same day a devastating storm darkened the sea and destroyed a company of Argentine warships on a mission for the Queen of Vassalia.
Now a young man, Trace has carved a tenuous place in Minreth despite his abnormal appearance: ghost-white hair and a searing right eye that unnerves at a glance. His only friend Kyriel, an ambitious herbalist who dreams of a future beyond their isolated village, knows Trace’s secret–he can draw otherworldly lights from crystalline rock found between the Darkwood trees that inhabit the Wilderlands.
A chance meeting with a man in black and an enigmatic woman on the run maneuvers Trace’s fate onto the precipice of a choice: maintain the life he has won for himself, or brave an encounter with a murderous Queen to unearth memories long forgotten and discover who, and what, he truly is.
And now, the promise:
I promise to surprise you at least once. Make you sad, make you laugh. To balance the protagonist’s incorrigible sass with the soft edges of personal loss and the grit of hard truths. It’s my hope (and aspiration) that you’ll find something worthwhile in this world of mine.
This is all a work in progress: this blog, this website, this story, and me. They’re constantly shaped by worries, anxiety, inspiration and how much sugar I’ve had. I’m not special, but like any selfish human I feel an inexorable need to express myself to the world. Or at least to the handful of net-trotters who might stumble across this page.
So, here I am. Kind of.
Welcome to the Wilderlands.
To Adorn the Stars 