Chapter 1 in “Withering Princess”

Sophana ripped a leaf-blade from her arm and slung it across the wretched guest chamber. The metallic weapon pierced the over-sized portrait of her over-sized betrothed—right in his thick forehead. She glared at his red eyes, burning with lust and pride, even in the portrait. His giant foot crushed the neck of a fallen Kaimana warrior. Sophana’s own eyes welled with tears. The knight’s lifeless blue eyes shined like Ave’s—compassionate, brave, noble, normal-sized Ave. 

“Ugh!” She tore another leaf-blade from her forearm and threw it at Prince Cadmar’s foot. Blood dripped from the tear in her flesh, blending into the crimson gown Father forced her to wear on this last day of betrothal arrangements. She turned from the repugnant portrait and faced the full-length mirror. As she stared at her hollow yellow eyes, Father’s words invaded her thoughts: Cadmar prefers braids so you will honor him by braiding your hair tomorrow. A tear escaped as she stroked her long side-braid. Another unwelcome voice intruded: Cadmar’s. Your pink hair is so womanly and ravishing. Everything about you is…delectable. Sophana huffed. “And everything about you is despicable!” She grabbed hold of the scarlet ribbon keeping the end of her braid intact and yanked it loose. 

She clawed through her braid and then rustled her hair, shaking it free. It fell messily to her hips. Sophana chuckled as she strode to the giant bed where her luggage carrier lay open. She dug beneath all the silk and velvet garbs and grasped the leather Servant’s tunic from Knights Elect Academy. Ripped and blood-stained, the tattered garment wasn’t just a testament to all the battles she’d fought for Prince Nuelle, but all the times she’d been rescued by Ave: when she fell off her vanaph during the final challenge to become a Sentinel, how Ave hopped on one of the six-winged creatures and zoomed to her rescue; when she, Elisena, and Surta fell off of the vanaph mountain and Ave stretched his coral-arm and caught them before they could hit the ground; when he expanded those same coral limbs and made himself a giant and yelled like a madman to scare off the frost hounds in the Polarian Canyons who wanted to eat them for morning meal. 

Ave Purine wasn’t just a peasant, like Father so wrongfully labeled him; he was a Sentinel and a hero. He hadn’t just rescued her multiple times from near death, but he also mended her broken heart. That once-prince Ludwig had shattered her already fragile trust of men when he tried to rape her. He burned with the same lust Cadmar seared with, but Ave, though attracted to Sophana, looked at her with different eyes. He didn’t see an object, or an accessory he could wear on his arm like a medallion, he saw a strong, gifted, and dedicated young woman who would be a crown and a life-long companion. Every day the two of them offered their life for Prince Nuelle, for a cause way greater than their own petty lusts, even if that meant never actually courting and becoming husband and wife—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they loved each other and Prince Nuelle—and even Elisena, Surta, Riff, and Javin. 

Sophana brought the worn tunic to her face and wiped her tears. She quickly stripped herself from her gown and shoved into the tunic. After slipping into the rest of her Servant’s attire, she faced the mirror again. With her messy waves and battered appearance, she smiled at herself. No matter who tried to force their will on her, the fact remained: she wasn’t just a princess anymore, she was a Sentinel. 

Sophana looked at the portrait of Cadmar, hanging above the bed. “Goodbye, prince prideful.” She ran to one of the windows and threw aside the burgundy curtains, unlatched the frame, and shoved it open. Dawn’s crisp chill prickled her face. The golden daystar beamed down on six bulky patrolling knights. The usual three marched alongside the palace walls while the other trio lined the Granite Garden’s square perimeter. 

Fifty yards away, the same two guards stood watch in one of the four palace watchtowers. To the left of the Granite Garden, sat a giant boulder-slinging device. Sophana peered below at the red-rock covered ground. It was at least a thirty-foot drop. She tore off two leaf-blades from her biceps and carried one in each hand. With a quick exhale, she hopped onto the lattice and faced the concrete wall. Leaning to her right, she impaled the wall with the leaf-blades and then swung off of the lattice. Using the weapons, Sophana swiftly descended. They screeched and sparked against the stone. Within seconds, her boots landed on the red rocks. A pang rattled her knees as she raced to the boulder-slinger. Pressing her back against the contraption, she loosened her grip on the rose-gold leaves. Bleeding gashes marred her palms. Great, I’m leaving a bloody trail. She stuffed the leaf-blades—and her hands—in her pockets. Thumping boot-heels drew near. Sophana slinked behind the massive sling. Two knights treaded past. She peered up at the west watchtower. From her place against the slinger, she stood visible. 

“Princess Sophana?” A knight stopped beside her, his helmet’s visor down, revealing a half-missing upper lip. His red eyes sized her up, lingering on the blood-stained tunic. “Are you—”

“I was just combat training in the North Courtyard.”

His voice spiked with interest. “A princess engagin’ in combat trainin’?”  

She removed her bloody leaf-blades. “I love a good sweat-and-bleed in the morning. I was born lethal.” 

He chuckled with glee. “Yeh make a fine bride for Prince Cadmar!” 

She smirked. “Thank you, but now I must continue training in the Massadon Colosseum before first meal.” 

“Of course, yer highness. Have a dangerous rest of yer day!” He bowed and then marched away. 

Cover blown, Sophana marched ahead onto a dirt path parallel to the Granite Garden. She looked at the knights striding around the garden’s stone gate and nodded. They punched their breastplates in salute. Putting on her war-stricken tunic proved to be a blessing, but every minute that passed was another minute closer to Father knocking at her guest chamber door and discovering she’d fled. Sophana looked up at the watchtower, now thirty yards away. Both guards gazed down at her. 

She raised a leaf-blade and yelled, “I can’t wait to slay a massadon!”

The two laughed. One of them called, “Meh wish meh could see it, yer highness!”

“Next time!” Smiling, she broke into a sprint. The Massadon Colosseum emerged twenty yards ahead, the redwood forest stretching just behind it. She quickly closed the distance. 

“Yer highness!” 

Sophana stopped and turned around. The knight who had told her to have a dangerous rest of her day jogged in her direction, his helmet visor still lowered. “Meh fellow champions back there said meh can take a short break to watch yeh slay a massadon.”

Sophana tensed. “I don’t like being watched while I train.”

His brow furrowed and he spoke slowly. “Oh. I see…”

She forced a smile. “But I can make an exception this once.” 

He grinned, revealing three missing teeth where his lip was partly gone. “Thank yeh, yer highness!” 

“Certainly.” Sophana walked into the wide-open coliseum gate. If only the rest of the knight’s mouth could be swiped off. 

The dome encircled, with two more closed, spiked-gates on the left and right, between rows of stone benches. Bright rays from the daystar reigned upon the dirt, revealing numerous splotches of blood. Sophana closed her eyes. Maybe I can fake a fainting spell. Ugh, but then the brute would carry me out. Or maybe I can just make a run for it now before—

The sound of a rising gate clanged to her left. Half-lip stood nearby behind a concrete podium with two sword-levers protruding from its top. His huge hand gripped the hilt of one sword. “Yeh said yeh couldn’t wait. Let ‘em have it, yer highness!”

A furry, brown, two-headed beast stomped through the open gate. Dried blood stained both snouts, snapping at each other with vicious growls. I guess one normal massadon isn’t enough for these barbarians. Sophana slung a leaf-blade. Both heads snapped in her direction and ducked, the leaf-blade swiping past. The beast dropped to all fours and bounded her way. Sophana sprinted to the right. She hopped onto a stone row and began diagonally ascending. She glanced back. The beast also mounted the rows, but slower. 

Sophana tossed her other leaf-blade. It pierced the beast’s shoulder. It roared and leapt forward, soaring over five rows and landing fifteen feet from Sophana. She tore off another leaf-blade and launched it. The beast jumped again, closing the distance by five feet. It swiped a giant, bloody paw. Sophana dove to the right into a roll. Her feet slammed into the concrete and she sprang upright into a sprint. The beast trailed. Sophana jumped and kicked off the wall on her right as the beast charged beside her. She landed atop it, tearing off another leaf-blade. She jammed the blade into one of the heads. As it wailed, the other head bit into her arm. She yelled as the beast groaned, three of her leaf-blades protruding from its snout. She yanked her arm away and fell off the beast, landing on her feet as it swayed and then collapsed onto a bench. 

Cheers resounded from below. The boulder-headed knight and three others with him hollered, standing around the sword podium. Sophana rose, blood pouring from her arm and onto the stone. As she descended the bleachers, the knights approached. With her wounded right arm, she tore off another leaf-blade and jogged down. When she reached the bottom, she strode toward the brutish group, as they chuckled and applauded from the center of the colosseum. 

“What a show, Warrior Princess!” one of them said.

“No wonder Prince Cadmar wants you for a bride!” said another.

She flung her leaf-blade. It zipped between two of them and slammed into the second sword’s hilt on the podium. The weapon pushed forward. The second gate began to rise. Sophana raced to the colosseum entrance as its gate closed. She slid on her heel and bent beneath the spiked wood before it slammed shut. She pushed off the ground with her hands, rose, and then glanced back as she continued running. The knights yelled and unsheathed their swords as a five-headed lizard-like beast charged their direction. Sophana smiled as she ran toward the redwood forest. Though her arm seared and throbbed painfully, she’d escaped! Somehow she’d get back to her palace in Athdonia where Ave and the others waited for her. Her stomach swelled with a bubbly tingling and her chest burned within. She’d kiss Ave if he’d let her. 

The red covering of leaves cloaked her. She weaved around thin and thick scarlet trunks until her lungs and bleeding arm forced her to stop. She doubled over, panting. Slowly, Sophana raised herself. With a trembling right hand she yanked off a leaf-blade from her forearm and used it to cut the bottom of her tunic. Using the leather, she wrapped it around her bloody bite-wound and then walked onward. 


Her heart stopped. She ripped a lead-blade from her bicep and turned around. 

Cadmar stopped walking and raised both of his giant hands. His crimson eyes shined like his ridiculous ebony braided man-bun. “And where are you off to in such a hurry? Your future palace is back this way.”

“Your brutal fortress will never be my home.”

He stepped forward. Sophana pointed her leaf-blade at him, her hand shaking. 

“You’re hurt, Sophana.” He took another step.

She backed away. “Turn around and go or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

He chuckled. “Like you hurt Ludwig?”

The few remaining leaves on Sophana’s arms quivered. 

Cadmar’s lustful eyes grazed over them. “I see you’re also still hurt by his…” He slapped the leaf-blade away, snatched her wrist and raised it as he clasped her waist and pressed her close against his hard abdomen, “…desire for you.”

Sophana opened her mouth to scream, but a whiteness clouded her vision. She blinked as Cadmar’s bulging chest and the surrounding trees blurred and doubled. A sharp pang sliced through her brain. Her knees weakened as her temples pounded. Cadmar’s grip around her waist tightened and he spoke softly. “You have fallen in love with me. You want nothing more than to be my bride.” 

His words filled and echoed in her thoughts. I am in love with Prince Cadmar. I want nothing more than to be his bride. Her temples stopped throbbing. The whiteness cleared. She peered up. The dashing Prince Cadmar held her close in his grip. He frowned at her arm. “My love, you’re hurt. Let’s bring you back to the fortress so a medic can take care of you.” He gently released her, but she grabbed his hip and held him, wanting nothing more than to enjoy his warm, powerful embrace. A sweet, husky chuckle tickled her ear and Prince Cadmar kissed her forehead. “Ah, my future queen, I cannot wait to be yours.” 

Sophana smiled at her beloved. “Neither can I.”

Want to read the full story? Get Book 1, Prodigy Prince, and Book 2, Withering Princess on Amazon.

Short Story: Owner of the Bank of Souls

Meg is dying–fast. There’s only one way for her boyfriend to save her. The Bank of Souls.

“Tomorrow it’ll come and tomorrow she’ll be dead!” Danner stood over my cot, all dark and shadowy, though the fireplace crackling behind him did cast light on one thing—his shining green eyes. Or I guess that’s two things technically. To the right of the fireplace, Birdie hunched, sunken and gray like the armchair he sat in.

“Well darn, Danny,” I coughed, “quite the inspiration.” 

He leaned over and softened some. “Shh, Meg, please, just rest.” 

“Well, according to you, I’m about to have plenty of that in eight hours—give or take.” 

His glistening eyes laid on me and though the darkness in my cabin’s living room obscured it, he curved his lips in a smirk—the same smirk he gave me at the prison courtyard before introducing himself as my future husband. But like my health over the last forty-eight hours, it quickly vanished. 

“All we can do is pray for dayligh’,” Birdie said, his voice hoarse.

“I’m sick of praying, Birdie!” Danner rose. “We’ve got to do something!” 

“You willin’ to go out there durin’ curfew and risk meetin’ the courier halfway?”

“I think my odds at taking a bullet are better than hers right now.”

“That so?” Now Birdie rose, wrinkled and still hunched, he managed to meet brawny Danner eye-to-one-eye. Like it did for Danner, the flames shined off Birdie’s single iris and only deepened the shadow in his crater of the other. “I know the odds, kid, and they ain’t good. You’re better off sittin’ your stubborn butt down and waitin’ for her medicine to come.”

 “Dad, please—” I shut my mouth. Birdie’s singular stare darted to me. Despite the warmth, a shiver tore through my bones. 

Birdie walked around Danner and slowly approached. “What did you call me?”

“Dad,” I said it lower, but stronger somehow. Of all the eighteen years he’d raised me, never once had I called him Dad. He never taught me to. 

A tear welled and he knelt beside me and laid his heavy, thumbless hand on my whole one—another friendly reminder from the dictatorship not to ever buy cow meat from the black market again. “Darnit, Meg. I told you what to call me.”

“God forbid, right? Even on my death bed.”

“You’re not gonna die, Meg.” 

“Just like Mom wasn’t going to?”

A tear escaped and he quickly turned away. My own eyes remained dry. I didn’t have the luxury of thirty years of memories. Not even a full twenty-four hours. I only had the reminder of the curse, the plague I was from birth. 

Danner returned to my side, soft again. “Do you want me to stay?”

Sweat dripped from my temples; heat, pain, and love will do that to you. “Kinda.”

He chuckled. “But I’ve got to do something, Meg.”

“Then kiss me.”

He grabbed my hand in his and whispered, “With this audience? I’ll really die before you do.”

“Romeo didn’t care.”

“Yeah, and look how that ended up.”

I sighed. “But unlike Juliet…I am really dying, Danner.” 

His head bowed and he kissed my hand. Hot tears landed on my skin. He peered up again. After what felt like eons, he slowly leaned in and pressed his soft lips to mine. Bitter sweet, like black coffee and milk. Another luxury we’d been deprived of for years. My aching muscles eased. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing hastened. 

Danner recoiled. “Meg? Meg!”

“Meg!” Birdie cried out. Their loud voices drifted as my head throbbed. Burning stabs cut through my heart. I gasped and grabbed my chest. But I couldn’t feel my hand. Only my heart. The rapid slicing. From every angle. Cutting through my veins. Ripping at my arteries. My lungs squeezed in. A million pounds. I dropped back. This. Was. It. My odds. Maybe I’d meet. Mom.

 Finally. Say hi. Or sorry.

Blackness reigned.


“Meg!” Danner shouted, her lifeless, thin body like the weight of a child in his arms. He held her tightly. “Please, don’t do this. I need you.” Tears soaked his face. And rage consumed his heart. They did this to her. To her mother. To his grandparents. Their neighbors. Scraps and shackles. Crap hospitals. Criminalizing private anything. 

Birdie dropped to his knees and sobbed. “Meg, my Megan. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Danner shut his eyes. Meg’s face that day in the prison courtyard filled his mind. Still thin, but fuller. Her skin glowing with sweat and her dark eyes plain yet penetrating. Makeup was for rich girls. Not that she needed it. 

She sat against the iron gate, writing on a torn piece of bed sheet with a pen she’d stolen from an officer. She had wrapped the flashy pen in some bed sheet, too. Danner was the only one who saw her do it. 

The meat-head sat in his cozy desk chair, writing in the new prisoners on his clipboard with an old, red-feathered ink pen. He prided his penmanship—refusing to use the government provided tablet. Meg had been eyeing the pen the whole time she waited in line. By the time she was third, she feigned the most believable sneeze attack you’d ever seen. Everyone panicked—not wanting to catch the latest pestilence—even Meat-Head. He sprang from his comfy chair like someone jammed a dagger through his cheeks, dropping his pen and notepad. Meanwhile, Meg stumbled forward, still sneezing, and slapped her hands onto the table. As she turned around, she swiped the pen and slipped it into the back of her pants, her sneeze explosion finally ceasing. 

Meat-Head was so disturbed he’d called in backup and took an abrupt break from his post. 

And that’s when the thought hit Danner and he just knew it. He knew one day he’d marry that crazy girl. And he had to tell her. 

“I saw what you did.” Danner opened with.

She stopped writing and looked up at him with those eyes. “And?”

He smirked. “And I’m your future husband.” 

Meg huffed, but then smiled, too.

Danner opened his eyes. And gently pulled Meg away from his chest. Her mouth hung open slightly. But now she was dead.

A knock rattled the front door.

 Birdie continued sobbing as Danner carefully laid Meg on the cot and then rushed to the door. He opened it. Night masked the surrounding woods up to the porch, but a ray of moonlight snuck through the trees and onto a brown paper box on the doorstep. Danner glanced around. The courier couldn’t of disappeared that fast. Danner grabbed the box, slowly, before shutting the door and locking it.

Birdie looked up, his face wet with tears and snot. He frowned at the odd package as Danner scanned it. Not the Black Market’s usual white, imitation government box with realistic insignias and a fake return address.

“Who’s it from?” Birdie finally spoke.

“Doesn’t say.”

“Then don’t open it. Could be a bomb or something from the Regime.”

Danner clutched the box, his eyes traveling to Meg, her skin paler than ever. He strode from the room and into the half kitchen. He snatched a knife from a drawer, set the box on the counter, and then sliced the tape that sealed it. 

As Danner opened the box, Birdie stepped into the kitchen. A clipboard with a paper lay at the bottom. 

“What the hell is it?”

Danner slowly removed the clipboard and read the crimson printed words:

I, Danner Adam Mitchel, on this sixth day of September, year 2033, hereby choose to pledge that in the place of Megan Marie Blackwell, I shall offer my life in exchange for hers. 

Danner’s heart pounded. Beneath a line with an empty space, cursive writing spelled: Anticus Mordem, Owner of the Bank of Souls.

Danner looked inside the box again. A red-feathered pen lay in the center. 

Birdie rushed to his side and grabbed the clipboard. As he read it, he shook his head. “What kinda sick bast—”

Danner clasped the pen and snatched the clipboard back, then walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Meg still lay there. Her skin now yellowing. Danner approached her. He suddenly remembered what he’d stowed in his left pocket. A ring he’d traded five batteries and a week’s worth of flour for. A six month’s wage. He had the proposal all planned. 

He’d built a small table from two of his dining chairs and set it in his backyard beneath the best looking tree he could find and then sprinkled it with purple flowers—her favorite color. He was going to cook wheat pasta for her and then ask the big question. But before he could, she got food poisoning from spoiled berries and now here they were, two days later. 

Danner reached in his pocket and removed the ring. Rose gold. Plain but beautiful, like Meg. Lifting her limp hand, he slid the ring onto her ring finger. “If this works, I’ll see you on the other side, Juliet.” He gave her one more kiss before pressing the red-feathered pen on the empty line and filling it with his name. 

A pang thrust through his chest. He staggered before hitting the floor. 

“Danner!” Birdie dropped beside him and began compressing his chest. “No, you ain’t goin’, too, kid! C’mon!” He pushed down hard. Over and over.

“Dad?” Meg’s voice. 

Danner’s chest seared at the sound and he forced himself to look at her. Her skin shone its normal pale, kissed with red. Her dark eyes alive—and terrified. 

As she jumped out of the cot, Birdie stopped compressing. “Megan? But…”

Megan took over. She pumped and pumped. Pressed her lips to Danner’s. Breathed out. Pumped some more. Breathed out…

“No, no, Danner, don’t you dare!” She cried as she pressed harder. 

The pain spread until it swallowed. And Danner gave his life.


“No!” I cupped Danner’s cheeks. His eyes were open. But distant. I touched his neck. Nothing. I slowly scooted away. What kind of nightmare am I living? I died only to wake up to this? No. It isn’t real. I’m still dead. Maybe this is hell. My punishment for killing Mom during labor. 

“Meg.” Birdie smashed my dark hopes. He held out a clipboard, his hand trembling. 

I took it. Read the words. And Danner’s signature. 

I shook my head. “This isn’t possible.”

“You…” Birdie’s voice quaked, his blue eye wide. “You died. I—I saw it. And then Danner signed. Dropped to the ground.” His body shaking, he muttered the rest. 

My heart raced. Beside Danner lay a red-feathered pen—exactly like the one I swiped from that tool at the prison. I snatched it and then noticed a rose-gold ring on my wedding finger. Oh my God.

I clasped my mouth. My head thrashed as my mind swirled. This is hell. A living hell. 

I closed my eyes. Tried to breathe. To think. What would Mom do? Dumb question. I’d never know. Birdie forbade asking about her. And he never brought her up. She could’ve been a dream this whole time. A good dream. Not like this. I took another deep breath. And opened my eyes. 

I looked at Danner. Gone. Somewhere else. But I wasn’t ready to let him go. 

I ripped the paper from the clipboard and shoved the feathered pen in my back pocket. As I stood to my feet, Birdie did, too.

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m going to find this Anticus Mordem guy. And make him bring Danner back.”

Just Finish the Darn Novel Already

I am preaching to myself–I, who have been slogging through completing my second novel for three friggin’ years. Yes, I do have four children six and under, with the youngest being 14-months-old, BUT surely, in three years I could’ve made more time to write–I just didn’t.

It is soooo much easier to just find an entertaining escape; watching YouTube videos, binging a on a streaming site, doing another artistic hobby that takes a lot less brain power and time (for me it was designing mugs and t-shirts). Writing. Is. Grueling. ESPECIALLY when it means so much to you and you gotta be all freaking superhero with it–wanting your book to do more than just entertain. You know, when you would rather your book be significant in impacting readers more than you’d like it to just be successful in a popularity/fiscal sense. Because I want my book to be powerful and used by God I laid this pressure on myself that makes my novel daunting.

I can’t shake the desire for my book to be more than just an exciting and wonderfully written tale so my only other option is to force myself to keep writing despite the weight of it. The annoying yet freeing thing about this dilemma is that when I finally do get to writing, I just flow. It’s getting myself to that point that’s been my struggle.

I feel like Moses. And no, my book won’t be as impactful as his calling from God was, but I mean the sentiment and the hesitancy the man struggled with to just go and do what he was told. He did it, but it wasn’t an easy task. Sometimes, no one can get you to write your book. You’ve gotta just choose to stop making excuses and do it. This is a long-haul passion/career. I’ve invested in the craft for over eight years and spent thousands of dollars on it. I cannot give up.

What about you? What is your biggest roadblock to writing?

All right, off to homeschool and then, dare I say it, I will write for a second day in a row! Off to the races!

Make Life Really Freaking Hard For Your Hero

There comes a point in your hero’s journey where stuff has got to become very, very difficult. In the beginning, we’re meeting her for the first time, and life doesn’t have to be so super duper hard right now. But something’s gotta go wrong shortly. Once we’ve got a taste of her “ordinary world” what life is like normally for her, that’s when we throw something at her: the inciting incident–and then just keep pounding her with bigger and bigger problems–consistent resistance, obstacle after obstacle, one step forward, two steps back. BUT, don’t forget that leading up to this incident and its problematic cousins there must be tension. Nope, we don’t need an action packed fight scene showing off her nifty moves. We don’t need a bunch of interior monologue info-dumping her life to the reader, but we do need that sense of tension, of something brewing, or something off, or something looming.

Then, when that inciting incident happens, life suddenly becomes harder and harder for the hero. Beat her up. Let her go through the ringer. She’s gotta feel the pain so your audience feels it with her and is itching for justice, for relief, for the answer, for things to finally work out for her.

The death alarm sounded, that phantom punch in the gut I always dreaded. I touched the metallic gateway valve embedded in my chest at the top of my sternum–warm but not yet hot. The alarm was real. Someone in my territory would die tonight, and I had to find the poor soul. -Reapers, Bryan Davis

BAM, the inciting incident hits you immediately, wonderfully, and then every sentence is dripping with tension, dread is oozing from every word. I think this is one of the best examples of a not-so-ordinary world with a very quick, in fact, and instant inciting incident that gets the story rolling and this snowball only grows larger and larger–things begin to get harder and harder soon, but first we get to know Phoenix a bit more. We see him in his dingy apartment, gathering important items for his mission; we get insight into his dystopian, supernatural Chicago life by the environment not only inside his apartment, but outside of his window where a ghost who doesn’t know it wanders by a street corner and then the interaction Phoenix has with a fellow “reaper” who lives in the apartment building directly across from his.

The next scene arrives and it’s one difficulty that leads to another and then another, and all the while the tension is like a hissing tea kettle and, in my opinion, is actually more gripping than a wild battle.

He crosses a dangerous park where baddies lurk, you sense this whole area, this whole walk to find who is dying is ominous, but then he arrives safely to find it’s a little girl on the brink, and he’s only got one pill to offer her. First, she struggles to take it. The family is dripping with desperation and the tension is rising as this little girl just can’t swallow the darn pill. But then, a DEO shows up, a death enforcement officer who isn’t here to try and save little Molly from death–she’s here to enforce it. Now Phoenix has a very difficult problem because she also isn’t just any old DEO, she’s also an Owl–she’s got supernatural abilities and a high government position. But there’s more. She finds the pill and oh snapping turtle–it’s illegal to smuggle medicine so now Phoenix’s problems are really piling up. And THEN someone–I hope by now you’ve got the point so I can stop spoiling this amazing novel for you.

In fact, reading and studying how Bryan Davis wrote Reapers would benefit you more than this blog can–and leave you flipping pages into the wee hours of the night even though you’re a sleep-deprived Momma who’s bound to be woken up early the next morning by her other kiddos.

Happy writing!

Update! Where I’ve been and What’s Next

Hello, my creative preciouses. It’s been quite some time. Do forgive me. Sleep deprivation hasn’t fled from me for over a year now. This is mostly my ten-month-old’s fault, but my four-year-old has also been waking in the wee hours as well, causing this momma to awaken four or so times nightly. Three espresso shots barely help, but it’s just a season. I hope. (That was a lot of numbers and I loathe math.)

So yep, that makes four kiddos now, all five and under, two of which I homeschool.

Me. Plus one.

We also bought and sold a home after a year of living in it, then moved to another state, and it took seven months to finally close on a new home to which we finally moved into five months ago.

In writing news, I revised the first book I’ve ever written, turning the over 100K manuscript into three novellas. WANTED: A Boyfriend Who Doesn’t Suck drives you into the drama that began with my first love at seventeen, onto my second, and then my third and last. It’s my true, supernatural love story. I am looking for readers/reviewers so if you’re interested, do leave me a comment with your email and I’ll shoot it over to ya.

Excerpt from The Phantom Lover

What about you? What have you been up to? Feel free to leave a comment regarding your happenings.

At the end of the day, I’m thankful to God for the life He gave me. Mostly, for giving me Himself, because without Him, I don’t know where I’d be.

Happy reading!

Get the New Edition of My YA Fantasy for FREE!

Copy of FREE-2

My goodness, it has been quite a while. I have FOUR wee ones now–all five and under, and one is three months old, we sold our house, moved to another state, and still haven’t closed on a property–five months later. In other words, please have grace for my extended absence.

This sleep-deprived Momma had an epiphany a few days ago, a desire that I wanted to give my book away to 100 people. However, the more the merrier! So until July 4th, you can snag this new edition of my YA fantasy for FREE. If you’ve read it before, you’re in for a treat because there’s more story, more character background, more world building, just more in general! I hope to write more on here, perhaps even release sneak reads from book two: Pandemic Princess (a title hubby came up with BEFORE the Corona craze).

What’s new with you all? What are you working on or reading? How are you holding up in the 2020 chaos? Much love!

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Withered writing hand, but I’ll extend it anyway

I’ve been writing-deprived for some time. I wanna get back in the groove, share, flow, pour out whatever this imagination can come up with. But I have some serious frienemies (friend/enemies), these Thing 1, Thing 2, and Thing 3’s: my precious children. I adore them. They’re far more important than writing, but my sleep deprivation makes it quite difficult to squeeze in time to type. I have other duties as well, that shove this to the back burner. But alas, I wanna find time, I wanna make time, I wanna fight for this…

This is influence. I’m not in this for the money (as my four-year-plus KDP account will testify). But I can show my fellow young people (I’m not thirty yet so I can say that), something fresh, some new perspectives, though truly, they aren’t new, they’re ancient, they’re infinite, but in our culture’s context they’re new, unique, and refreshing, especially when embraced. Valor with integrity, valor with purity, valor with hope, and with genuine love. My goodness, how many stories there are to tell, how many characters there are to display.

So if you’re a Christian, do pray for me…And to all my readers, I want to do this for you.

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Have you tried Canva for book covers?

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I made this for free with They have a really cool section with ALL book cover templates, even ones specified to Wattpad and it’s great quality text and whatnot for FREE! Look at that, 50,000 templates!

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Check out some of the Wattpad specific covers:

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Seriously, how cool is this? Have you used this tool. If you have, feel free to let me know and share a link with your cover. Happy cover making!


Read my ongoing, NA urban fantasy story for free on Wattpad: CORYN OF BELLSFERRY: BLOOD THIEVES.

“With long snaking roads enshrouded by dense woodland and only smatters of clarity along the rolling hills, the beautiful countryside of Bellsferry was the perfect place for predators to stalk.”

Coryn knows fate when she’s pricked by it–she thinks.

In a world where American law has been overthrown, and wanna-be supernatural, self-made vampires exist–who by the way, are really creepy and demented and have started preying on the small town of Bellsferry–there also exists Coryn, a twenty-three-year-old single mother who’s just trying to survive through life–and give her daughter a somewhat decent one. But when Coryn is taken under her gunslinging neighbors’ wings and something…otherworldly happens, forget decent; she and her daughter’s lives are now even more dangerous than before. Sigh. That’s what happens when you accidentally become the only real nemesis to the deranged psychopaths who have iron-gripped your hometown.

Since before the demolition of law, Coryn grew up surviving through life, but now she has to protect not only herself and her seven-year-old daughter, but their entire town–doesn’t she?


Coryn of Bellsferry: Blood Thieves -Chapter 5: Unexpected Guests

Hunter aesthetic! 

Brown Plain Collages Facebook Post

Coryn Aesthetic!

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Chapter 5 of Coryn of Bellsferry: Blood Thieves is here! Check it out on Wattpad!

“I shivered, despite the summer heat. What if something happened to me? What if the Blood Thieves got to me? What would that do to my daughter, losing the person closest to her? She barely knew Gunner and Dixie. She’d be devastated and scared, and the security and joy of her childhood bubble would burst and she’d be thrown into the dark, confusing maze of this dangerous world. Death was banging on all of our doors, especially mine and Krista’s, and who knew when it’d break through and seize its loot. It could happen tonight…”-from chapter 5

Chapter vibes:




Coryn Aesthetic!

Brown Plain Collages Facebook Post (2)


“With long snaking roads enshrouded by dense woodland and only smatters of clarity along the rolling hills, the beautiful countryside of Bellsferry was the perfect place for predators to stalk.” Coryn knows fate when she’s pricked by it–she thinks.

In a world where American law has been overthrown, and wanna-be supernatural, self-made vampires exist–who by the way, are really creepy and demented and have started preying on the small town of Bellsferry–there also exists Coryn, a twenty-three-year-old single mother who’s just trying to survive through life–and give her daughter a somewhat decent one. But when Coryn is taken under her gunslinging neighbors’ wings and something…otherworldly happens, forget decent; she and her daughter’s lives are now even more dangerous than before. Sigh. That’s what happens when you accidentally become the only real nemesis to the deranged psychopaths who have iron-gripped your hometown.

Since before the demolition of law, Coryn grew up surviving through life, but now she has to protect not only herself and her seven-year-old daughter, but their entire town–doesn’t she?


Have you been following along? If so, what are your thoughts so far? Got a WIP you’re working on? Are you on Wattpad? Let me know! Happy reading! -Natasha

Do you make image quotes from your stories?

Pinterest got me starting to make quote images from my books and stories. I also make some for Instagram from time to time. I use quotes I really liked and I think they’ve generated some interest. What about you? Have you made image quotes for your stories? Feel free to share your Pinterest links with them or Instagram account with them. Here’s some of mine from my latest WIP (available on Wattpad), a New Adult urban fantasy, Coryn of Bellsferry: Blood Thieves:

Hunter2 copy





Happy discussing!