I imagine my answer is the same as almost everyone else’s. I loved reading as a child. I devoured every book that fell in my lap, regardless of the intended audience or age group. I became obsessed with storytelling and world-crafting. I fell in love with worlds and characters; before long, my head was filled with my own. I have veritable piles of notebooks filled with ideas and short stories (unsurprisingly, most of which are horror stories). My journey to becoming an author was far less clear-cut. I didn’t show anyone anything I’d written (outside of my poetry) until I was in college. My first-ever manuscript was passed to an editor who told me I had “something special.” In the end, I sat on that manuscript like a chicken safeguarding an egg. It took years for me to do anything with my writing. To make a long story very short, I decided to self-publish. I wanted complete control over what went out into the world. I wanted to ease myself into the idea of people reading my work. And now, here I am!

My writing process is a unique brand of organized chaos. I believe wholeheartedly in the power of “front-loading.” I spend a lot of time conceptualizing my book, starting with a comprehensive character write-up. From there, I dive into the world-building, adding little touches until I feel like the world feels real. From there, I storyboard, outline the story, then fine-tune the chapters. Then, it’s time to write! At some point during the writing process, I usually end up deviating from my notes, which leads to correcting my outlines, my spreadsheets, and all other data sheets. As you can imagine, my brain is just two hamsters on a wheel. When I have to alter something, the hamsters start running in opposite directions from each other, and it becomes a whole mess.

I’m sure, like most authors, one of my favorite pastimes is reading. I’m a bit of a gym rat when I’m not reading. I enjoy lifting heavy weights, running, and yoga classes. I love gardening and spending time outdoors (particularly in this part of the northern hemisphere where warm weather is fleeting). I also enjoy cooking. I have regular daydreams about starting my own vegan food blog, but I have the awful tendency of never writing down my recipes.

The immediate celebration comes in the form of Thai or Indian food and a few days off.

I keep myself busy on release days. Typically, this involves inviting friends over for a few drinks, some good food, and a night of playing board games. My friends typically will continuously check Amazon or my socials to see what is being said (because they’re the real MVPs). I get wildly nervous on launch days, so having friends around keeps me grounded!

Sometimes, ideas come out of nowhere and burrow into the gray matter of your brain without warning. I can’t pin down the exact moment this story came to me, or where the inspiration came from. It feels like it was simply a part of me that I one day woke up and realized was there. The only thing left to do was write it. Funnily enough, I didn’t go to the Appalachians until after I had written Redemption and its sequel.

I do my best to never base characters directly off anyone in my life, though, it’s impossible to avoid likenesses entirely. I think my characters are amalgamations of the best parts of those I love and the worst parts of myself.

Balancing lore with story. I’m terrified of the idea of info-dumping. It took A LOT of editing to get this book to a point where I felt lore and story were balanced.

I had so, so much fun coming up with the lore. Especially the big-bad. I love creating monsters most!

Anne Bishop is one of my all time greatest influences. But, T. Kingfisher, Stacey Marie Brown, Anne Rice, Jim Butcher, and Joe Abercrombie were the authors who dominated my TBR list at the time of writing this.

Every part of her body ached for him. She couldn’t think of a time she desired anything more than to feel him inside of her. To make her bow until she broke, trembling with the weight of her release. 

She scrambled with his belt, her fingers sluggish in her drunken stupor.

A low, feral-sounding growl escaped him. Not the kind a lover would make. Not the kind that awoke desperation between her thighs. It was the sort of sound that cut her to the quick. Panic bubbled up in her breast. A frightened gasp shuddered past her lips as he clasped a hand over her mouth.

When he pulled back, his eyes had begun to yellow — to brighten in the dark. His lips peeled back, revealing many sharpened, brown teeth. Skin began to lose its luster, sinking into the hollows of his cheeks and over the ridges of his eyes until his stretched skin looked to be little more than leather. Lips pulled back until they all but disappeared, creating a hideous, protruding mouth.

The stench that came off him was otherworldly. On his breath, she could smell whiskey and rot.

His free hand pulled back, his gnarled hand closing into a fist. A sharp blade began to protrude from the skin above his wrist, growing with every frantic beat of her heart. It was not made of metal — it was white, its sharpened edges a worn yellow. A hiccupped sob spilled between his fingers when she realized that she was staring at a knife made from his own bone.

He snarled; his once gray eyes now full yellow as he watched her.

“You should have stayed dead.”

Erik. Purely because he has Golden Retriever energy, and that’s my vibe. As far as what I would say? No idea. I think we’d have fun just talking about nothing the entire time.