Gray Is My Second-Favorite Color

I’m finding myself in a little bit of an identity crisis. Not me, specifically, but my writing self, and my blogging self.

I’ve gotten some recent feedback that suggested that my blog doesn’t exactly reach out to my readers, and my books don’t exactly fit into a single, marketable genre. That I’m not specific in execution, that I’m not aiming at a target audience for my writing.

They’re totally right. I don’t have a target audience that I can squeeze into one little box. Some of you are young. Some of you aren’t. Some of you are female. Some of you aren’t. Some of you have kids. Some of you don’t. Some of you are highly educated. Some of you aren’t. Some of you think pickled cabbage is the best thing since sliced bread. Some of you don’t.

I know Shrilugh is a YA novel, but so many of my readers aren’t young adults. And honestly, I’m not a YA writer. The novel I’m currently working on isn’t young adult. It’s adult fiction, with an edge of fantasy/paranormal and sci-fi and romance (it sounds like a mess, but I promise, it’s not).

I don’t write traditional fantasy. I don’t write traditional paranormal. I don’t write traditional science fiction or romance. My books don’t fully fit in any of those categories. I jumped into this profession with the some-what selfish intention to write the kind of books that I want to read – books that are about people who are normal enough to relate to, with enough fantastical elements to take a person away, but not so much that a reader like me would feel alienated. There’s nothing wrong with fully-immersed fantasy or paranormal fiction (obviously, people love it and are whole-heartedly devoted to it), but it’s never been my thing, and it’s not what I write. But I’m not sure where that leaves me in a genre-hunt. Half-Assed Fantasy? Sorta-Para-Normal? Almost-Romance?

I’m a misfit. My books are misfits. And you guys, dear readers, are a bunch of misfits, too. (I hope you know how much that endears you to me.)

I know I’m rambling on, and that this is more like a journal entry than a blog post, and I’m sorry.

Anyway, I think I’m going to have to lay this issue to rest, and be content. We are all what we are, and while I’ll always, always strive to be a better me than I was yesterday, I think I’m ready to hang my hat on a hook and make myself at home in the gray land I’ve seemed to have fallen into. Gray’s always been one of my favorite colors, anyway.

{end of journal-like entry. i won’t indulge like this again, promise}



Countdown to SHRILUGH: 3

{ 3 }

Three days until SHRILUGH comes out! 

To help tide you over until then, here is a snippet from Part One of the book. How did I choose this snippet? Why, because it has the word ‘three’ in it, of course. This bit of the story is told from Brig Cooper’s perspective. He’s a good guy, a boy-next-door, take-home-to-meet-your-parents kind of guy.


Brig sighed heavily.  “Why?”

“It’s Josie, Brig.  She’s evil.  She pulled it out of me.”  Shannon grinned sheepishly at his son.  His grown-up version of a crush on Josie O’Leary was no secret to Brig or Aydan.  Though he’d never summoned up enough courage to ask her out in the three years since her ex-husband took off, he’d managed to develop a knack for frequently bumping into her.  If it had been anybody else, Brig would have goaded him to go for it, but the thought of being Sarah O’Leary’s step-brother, or anything remotely close to that, was almost enough to make him want to call his mom and beg her to come back.

“You won’t mind a little extra company, will you, Brig?  You weren’t planning anything special tonight, right?”   Shannon’s keen eyes were trained on his son.

“It’s Aydan’s graduation, Dad,” Brig answered defensively, wondering if Shannon’s questions meant he suspected what Brig was set on doing.  “She doesn’t want to spend the evening with those girls.”


For more information on SHRILUGH, click the button on the right side of this page. Or, like me on Facebook. Or, check me out on Goodreads. Or, follow me on Twitter. Or take a look-see at this Pinterest board. This one, too.

That’s right, social media. I own you.

Hey, and while you’re at it, check out this uber-cool review. Prudence got an advance copy of SHRILUGH, and this is what she had to say about it.



MAKING IT HAPPEN: Time, it doth fly. Fo’ reals.

I used to think that summertime went by faster than any of the other seasons.

Now I know for sure it does.

It feels like yesterday that I was getting ready to give birth to Little Miss Took.  Now she’s going on four months old. Where the heck does the time go?  (By the way, in case you’re wondering, Took is pretty much the easiest, sweetest baby ever.  And that’s saying something, because her older bros and sis were pretty stinking spectacular themselves.)

Anyway, August is looming around the corner.  School starts in less than a month.  I’m getting ready to ship the MS off to an editor.  I have a pretty solid cover idea.  I’m fine-tuning my log-line and blurb.  Mostly, though, I’m trying not to freak out too hard about how quickly time is going by and that pretty soon my first attempt at a book will be out there for all the world to see.

Gulp.  (Feel free to barrage me with comments about how awesome you’re sure my book is going to be, how you can’t wait to read it and buy copies for all your friends and co-workers, how this blog has utterly changed your life and you’ll never be the same, yadda, yadda, yadda, because hey, I’m just like every other writer out there and I crave affirmation like a zombie craves brains.)

A couple weeks ago I had y’all vote on whose undie drawer you’d like to dig through.  ‘Little Old Lady’ won by a landslide.  I can’t decide if that means the lot of you are sweet (to care about Little Old Lady so), or a bunch of sickos (I mean, who snoops in Little Old Lady’s underwear drawer?)  But you voted, and it’s my job to satisfy, so here we go.  You sick freaks.

‘Little Old Lady’ is actually a woman named Opal.  She’s a widow, mother, and grandmother.  She likes to think she has an impeccable judge of character.  Most of the time she does.

Her dresser is an antique.  I don’t know if it’s a good antique, but it’s old and lovely in her eyes.  She keeps a tatted doily on top – a wedding gift from some obscure relative too many years ago to mention.

She keeps her unmentionables in the top right drawer.  The smell of vanilla and lavender greets you – she keeps one of those papery satchels filled with potpourri tucked in the bottom.  Also tucked in the bottom is a yellowed stack of love letters from her late husband, Leo, along with a fading black-and-white photograph of the couple when they were young and love was something new.  A nearly used up bottle of Leo’s cologne rests nearby.  When she misses him she holds it up to her nose and breathes deeply.  She doesn’t spray it often – it’s too precious a thing to use freely.

If you dig around a little, I think you’ll find a stash of chocolate.  Nothing fancy, just a couple Hershey’s bars.  She started keeping them there when her daughter, Connie, was young.  Connie could never keep her hands out of the candy, and so Opal would keep it here, and sneak off to eat it in the bathroom in peace.  Now the habit is so old that it doesn’t ever cross her mind to do it any other way.

Under where she keeps the chocolate are two ticket stubs to game three of the ’89 World Series.  That was a day she’ll never forget.

The last thing of note in her drawer is a black velvet box that contains an unset black opal, slightly smaller than the palm of her hand.

That’s it for Opal’s drawer.  Put everything back how you found it, if you don’t mind.

Thanks for stopping by!  And if you’re interested in SHRILUGH and what’s coming, go check out my Pinterest boards, SHRILUGH and SHRILUGH AS YOU SEE IT.  The second one is put together by my BETA readers, and is a ton of fun!

Super big grins,