Tag: books

Nothing But Time: A Story About What We Lose When We’re Too Busy to Notice

There’s a particular kind of silence that fills a downtown apartment at 3 PM on a Tuesday. It’s not the peaceful quiet of a weekend morning or the contemplative hush of a late evening. It’s the silence of a man who suddenly has nowhere to be, and worse, no one waiting for him to arrive.This is where we meet Jack.

The Weight of an Empty Calendar

For forty-three years, Jack’s identity was stitched into the fabric of a company logo. He knew the precise angle of morning light through his corner office window. He could recite quarterly projections in his sleep. His fingers knew the keyboard shortcuts of Excel the way a pianist knows Chopin.Then came the merger.They called it “restructuring.” They handed him a plaque, a modest severance, and a handshake from someone half his age who couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Just like that, the man who built departments, mentored executives, and sacrificed weekends for deadlines became… what, exactly?In “Nothing But Time,“ I wanted to explore what happens to a man when the thing he traded his life for suddenly decides it doesn’t need him anymore.

The Ghosts That Live in Silence

Jack sits in his sleek, expensive apartment—the one he bought because it was close to the office, not because it felt like home—and the memories arrive uninvited.His wife, Diane. The way she used to leave dinner in the oven, then eventually stopped. The way she’d ask him to come to bed, then eventually stopped asking. The night she said, “You’re already gone, Jack. I’m just making it official.”His son’s baseball games he missed for board meetings. His daughter’s wedding, where he gave a toast about “investments and returns” because he didn’t know her well enough to say anything personal. The grandchildren whose names he sometimes has to pause to remember.He built a monument to his career.He built it out of the people who loved him.

The Letter That Changes Everything

And then, one gray morning, an envelope arrives. Heavy paper. A law firm’s embossed seal. An roomate from college left him a farm, acres of rolling green somewhere far from spreadsheets and quarterly reports.What does a man who has spent his life optimizing efficiency do with soil, sky, and silence?That’s the question at the heart of “Nothing But Time.”

Why I Wrote This Book

I didn’t write this novel to entertain you, though I hope it does. I wrote it because I’ve watched too many good men and women trade the irreplaceable for the replaceable.Here’s the truth nobody puts in a corporate handbook:

The company will replace you before your desk is cold. But your daughter will remember the recital you missed for the rest of her life. Your son will remember whether you showed up. Your spouse will remember whether you were present or just physically in the room.We chase the watch. The title. The bonus. The corner office. We tell ourselves we’re doing it for the people we love, while the very act of chasing it takes us further from them.And then one day, the chase ends. The company merges. The title evaporates. The watch stops mattering.And what’s left?For Jack, what’s left is a farm and forty years of regret. What’s left is the possibility—maybe, just maybe—of learning a different way to measure a life.

From a large city to a small town Jack Harper gave everything to his career.

Now he’s retired, redundant, and utterly lost.

Then he inherits a farmhouse from the friend who tried to warn him, the friend who escaped to Vermont and died alone, the friend who left behind one final message: Tend the roses. Stop and smell them. Live.

But something strange is happening at the farmhouse. The old radio plays broadcasts from 1943. The rose garden blooms when Jack kneels in the dirt. And Ed, his dead friend, keeps appearing at the edge of the orchard, smiling, beckoning, waiting for Jack to understand what he spent a lifetime refusing to see. Some second chances come with instructions. Some come with ghosts.

An Invitation

If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re building the right kind of legacy… if you’ve ever looked up from your desk and realized the seasons changed without you… if you’ve ever felt the quiet fear that the people you love are becoming strangers… then Jack’s story is your story too.“Nothing But Time” is available now. It’s a novel about loss, yes, but more importantly, it’s a novel about what we can still choose while we still have breath.Because here’s the thing about time: we all think we have more of it than we do. Until one day, we’re sitting in a quiet apartment, holding a letter, realizing that time is the only thing we ever really had.And the only question that matters is:Who did we spend it with?

Don’t chase the watch. Chase the people. They’re the only thing that ticks back.Get your copy of “Nothing But Time” today—and maybe, tonight, call the person you’ve been meaning to call.

Are You A Witch?

What the Bones Whisper: Meet the Bog Witch Who’s About to Change Everything 🖤🌿

Are you a witch? You might want to sit down before you answer that…There’s a girl in the bayou who talks to crows.Her name is Sarah Beaumont, and for fifteen years, the small town of Jefferson Davis has kept its distance from her. They whisper Swamp Witch behind cupped hands. They edge away in the locker room. They call her obsession with the black water “a coping mechanism.” But here’s what they don’t know: the bayou has been listening to her this whole time.And one afternoon, it finally answers back.

When “Weird” Isn’t a Diagnosis … It’s a Bloodline

Picture this: cypress knees rising from the shallows like ancient sentinels. Metal that stops corroding under your fingertips. A dying spider plant that springs back to life just because you felt sorry for it. For Sarah, the swamp has always been the one place where she belongs , where animals don’t flee from her, where the mud remembers the shape of her footprints, where a girl who eats lunch alone in the library can finally breathe. Then a voice rises from the black water like something that’s been holding its breath for fifteen years:

“Finally. Your mother used to stand in that exact spot.”

Her mother — who didn’t leave. Who the town says the bayou took. 😳

Grandmère Knows Something. And It’s Terrifying.

When Sarah runs home trembling, her grandmother doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t say “it’s just stories.”She goes pale as bone and whispers one word that changes everything:Magick. Turns out, the Beaumont women have been hearing the bayou at sixteen for seven generations — going all the way back to a woman named Mathilde who “walked out of the Louisiana bayou with nothing but the clothes on her back and a head full of knowing.” They’re traiteurs. Conjure women. Root workers.Bog witches. 🕯️But Sarah’s mother? She ran from the calling. And now something is coming for Sarah … early. 🐦‍⬛

Three Knocks. Black Salt. And a Word Planted in Her Chest.

That very night, the lights die. Footsteps cross the porch. Something hums her mother’s lullaby in the dark … and leaves behind footprints of oily black mud that refuse to dry. Then a crow the size of a nightmare opens its beak and says a single word straight into her bones:

“Soon.”

By morning, the protective salt at the threshold has turned black. A single feather waits on her windowsill. And a mysterious boy named Eli Corbeau , who stands on the water, not in it, appears at the edge of the swamp. Corbeau. Sarah’s rusty French unfolds the word like dark wings.Crow. 🖤

So… Are You a Witch?

If you love stories where:

🌙 A girl discovers she can untangle death itself with her bare hands
🌿 Southern gothic bayous hum with generations of secret power
🐦‍⬛ Mysterious boys who might not be entirely human show up on the water
🔮 The line between “gifted” and “hunted” is razor-thin

…then the swamp has been waiting for you too.Something is beginning. And once you hear it, there’s no going back to not hearing it. 💀

Are You a Witch? … A Bog Witch Novel. Coming from Purple Pen Publishing.

Yes, I just released my latest project. If you know someone who appreciates these types of stories, do them and me a favor and tell them about it.

Some questions, once the swamp asks them, can never be unheard. So before you turn the page, ask yourself one more time. Blessed be or dear reader?

I just published it today, so the link takes you to all of my books. It will show up as soon as Amazon does their thing.

Tell us in the comments: If the bayou whispered your name, would you answer… or would you run? 👇

If you could go back in time and leave yourself a message, what would it be?

We have all had that dream or thought, especially when we think of all the stupid things we did as kids. Some of us wonder how we survived it.

While my book Echoes of Tomorrow deals with this prospect in a science-fictional way, we all know that time, at least at present, does not allow do-overs.

The difference between knowledge and wisdom boils down to one question:

Just because we can, should we?

We just lived through a pandemic that still has lasting effects on many. COVID was most probably an early attempt at biological warfare situated in China (and other countries) to give the United States plausible deniability.

That is most probably why there were so many Biden-era Democratic pardons, including Anthony Fauci’s. To make a virus even more dangerous through gain-of-function research is about as irresponsible as creating other weapons of mass destruction, i.e., nuclear weapons.

We will never know if the dropping of the first atomic bombs was the only way to put an end to World War II.

Through treasonous acts, several spies shared (or sold) nuclear information to the Russians, making technological adolescence a real and immediate thing.

Today we are creating AI and robots that if given weapons would make The Terminator look like Winnie the Effing Pooo!

While Echoes of Tomorrow addresses this as a theme, there is another novel I am currently editing in which mankind goes to Mars after making Earth uninhabitable. Unlike Echoes in Time, where aliens facilitate time travel, Quiet Dust is set in a future where humans have already been on Mars for over forty years. Subscribe to this blog for more info on when it drops.

There are theories suggesting that evidence of humanity will be erased over time. The reasons humanity may never make it off the planet in any meaningful way are as follows.

The Great Filter from the Fermi Paradox is the correct framing of the problem. Sagan’s technological adolescence is likely a real and significant component of that filter, perhaps the dominant one for civilizations that reach our stage. But it probably is not the only filter. The total improbability of a civilization reaching interstellar maturity is likely the product of multiple bottlenecks, with self-destruction during technological adolescence being the final and perhaps most severe.

The darkest implication is this: even if a civilization survives its adolescence, it may face recurring filters. Each new transformative technology (nuclear, AI, nanotech, or whatever comes next) reopens the vulnerability window. Adolescence may not be a single phase but a repeating pattern, each iteration more dangerous than the last. If that is true, then the two frameworks converge completely. The Great Filter is technological adolescence, experienced not once but perpetually, with the cumulative probability of survival approaching zero over sufficient time.

So, before I leave you for today, I have an idea that needs wings. It needs to get to Elon Musk, who has the means to make it happen.

This device would visit the earth once in a lifetime to remind those here not to be an idiot!

We sent two satellites, Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, off into interstellar space on one-way trips to nowhere. What if, like Halley’s Comet, we created a device with a similar elongated orbit that passes by Earth every hundred years, making itself known? In that way, after we either blow the planet to bits through our hubris or our flat-out stupidity, we could send future inhabitants a message, much like we might send to our younger selves:

“Don’t do this, idiot!”

Why the future? Have you watched the news? Do you see how irresponsible the media has become and how violence seems to perpetuate into more violence?

Money for clicks and viewership for advertisements are more important than the boring truth.

Dehumanizing your political opponent will trigger the emotionally unbalanced to act, and politicians know this. Politicians are desperate and will do anything to keep power, including importing twenty million new voters. Power is money and those two are addictive, much like Felony Glitter…

I hold little hope for humanity, and I have to wonder if Elon’s vision of Mars has him thinking the same thing.

Please like, comment, and follow, as well as read Echoes of Tomorrow.

Authors like me need all the assistance we can get in order to provide more thought-provoking, entertaining novels for you, when you are not watching hypnotoad programming, designed to make you disbelieve your lying eyes.

my version of hypnotoad feeding the masses lies.

That Flattering Email in Your Inbox? It’s Probably a Scam.

Let’s be honest: authors have egos. I’m no exception. We pour our souls into our work, and when someone notices—really notices, it feels like validation wrapped in a warm hug. Scammers know this. They count on it. And they’re getting disturbingly good at exploiting it.I’ve seen my fair share of suspicious emails over the years, but I have to admit—this one nearly got me.

The Email That Almost Fooled Me

Picture this: a polished, professional message lands in your inbox from someone claiming to be a “Consulting Publisher at Bloomsbury Publishing (UK).” The tone is warm. The praise is specific. They mention your book by name and describe it with the kind of glowing language that makes your heart skip a beat.Here’s what “Faiza S. Khan” had to say about my novel, The Ocean Within:

“I was genuinely impressed by its compelling blend of scientific speculation, environmental intrigue, and high-stakes suspense… The novel’s focus on the fragile balance between human progress and the immense, often unpredictable forces beneath the Earth’s surface creates a story that is both intellectually engaging and emotionally compelling.”

Flattering, right? They even praised its “strong commercial appeal” and suggested it “extends beyond genre conventions.” This email knew exactly which buttons to push.

The Red Flags Hiding in Plain Sight

Here’s the thing about well-crafted scams: they sound almost legitimate. But when you slow down and look closer, the warning signs emerge:

Unsolicited contact from a major publisher. Traditional publishers like Bloomsbury don’t typically cold-email unknown authors gushing about their self-published or small-press work.
Vague next steps. The email asks about your “current publishing arrangements” and whether you have an agent—information that helps scammers tailor their pitch (or their ask for money).
Too much flattery, too little substance. The praise is elaborate but generic enough to apply to almost any thriller with environmental themes.
No verifiable contact details. A quick search often reveals these “consulting publishers” don’t exist on the company’s official website.

Why This Matters

Scams like this prey on our deepest hopes as writers. They exploit the dream of being “discovered” by a prestigious publisher. And once they have your attention? The requests begin…fees for “editorial reviews,” payments for “international distribution,” or contracts that sign away your rights.So what should you do if an email like this lands in your inbox?

Pause before you respond. Excitement clouds judgment.
Verify the sender. Search the person’s name on the publisher’s official website or LinkedIn.
Contact the publisher directly. Use contact information from their official site—not the email.
Trust your gut. If it feels too good to be true, it probably is.

The Bottom Line

I won’t pretend I wasn’t tempted, even for a moment to believe that Bloomsbury had stumbled upon my work and fallen in love with it. That’s the power of a well-crafted scam. But the best defense we have as authors is awareness, skepticism, and community.If you’ve received something similar, you’re not alone. Share your experience, warn your fellow writers, and remember: your talent is real, even when the emails praising it aren’t.

Have you encountered a publishing scam? Drop your story in the comments—let’s help each other stay vigilant.

About the cover:

The Ocean Within is a gripping, science-driven thriller that explores the fragile balance between humanity and the forces of nature. Perfect for fans of Michael Crichton, Andy Weir, and Kim Stanley Robinson, this novel will leave you breathless—and questioning how much we really understand about the world beneath our feet.

Get your copy here.

The Woman Who Learned to Listen

Elena had forgotten the sound of her own breathing. Forty-seven years of city noise, deadlines, and the electric hum of fluorescent lights had buried it somewhere beneath layers of static, pressed into that velvet darkness where forgotten things take root and wait.

So when her doctor (a soft-spoken woman whose silver-threaded hair caught light that wasn’t there, holding it like small, patient ghosts) told her to “find stillness,” Elena drove until the road turned to gravel and the gravel turned to sand.

The highway signs began to lose their letters somewhere past the third town, words slipping away like names from an aging tongue. She did not find this strange. The sand, when she finally stopped, hummed a frequency just beneath hearing, a sound her lungs seemed to recognize before she did. When she inhaled, truly inhaled, the breath tasted of salt and years, and something inside her chest unfolded like a letter she had written to herself long ago and never sent.

The beach was unremarkable at first glance. Gray-blue water. Foam curling like lace against the shore.

A weathered wooden bench that seemed to have grown from the dunes rather than been placed there; its grain twisted in the same spirals as the seagrass, its wood soft and salt-worn, remembering tides it had no business knowing.

She sat.

For the first hour, nothing happened. Her mind churned with grocery lists and unanswered emails, those small tyrannies of the living. But as the sun dipped lower, painting the clouds in shades of apricot and rose, Elena noticed something peculiar.

The waves were speaking.

Not in words, exactly, but in rhythm; a language older than syllables, older than the naming of things. And stranger still, she understood them. Each wave that kissed the shore carried a message: Let go. Let go. Let go. The words arrived not through her ears but through her sternum, settling into her ribs like birds returning to a familiar roost.

She laughed, thinking herself foolish.

But then she saw the herons. Three of them stood in the shallows, perfectly still, their reflections unbroken on the water’s surface (as if the sea had chosen, just for them, to hold its breath). And as Elena watched, they turned their long necks toward her in unison, not with curiosity, but with recognition, as though they had been waiting for her all along, as though her name had been written in the tide charts for forty-seven years.

Over the following days, Elena returned to the bench. She learned that if she sat quietly enough, the sea would show her things. Memories rose from the water like mist: her grandmother’s hands kneading bread (flour dusting the air like small, edible stars), her daughter’s first steps, a summer evening when she’d felt, for one perfect moment, completely whole. These visions arrived without explanation, and Elena did not ask for one. The sea gave what it chose to give.

The tide pulled her grief out gently, grain by grain, carrying it past the breakwater to wherever sorrow goes when it is finally ready to leave.

One morning, an old man appeared beside her. His skin was weathered like driftwood, and his eyes held the silver of deep water; not the color of it, but its weight, its patience, its memory of every drowned thing it had ever cradled. He smelled of salt and woodsmoke and something older, something before.

“You’re learning,” he said.

“Learning what?”

He smiled and gestured toward the endless horizon, where the sky stitched itself to the sea with threads of light. “That peace isn’t something you find. It’s something you become when you stop running from the silence.”

When Elena turned to respond, he was gone. In his place, a single white feather rested on the bench, still warm, as though it had only just remembered how to be still.

She never told anyone about the speaking waves or the herons or the old man who might have been the sea itself wearing a human shape, trying on bones and breath the way one tries on an old coat. Some truths aren’t meant for telling; only for carrying, quietly, like a stone smoothed by centuries of water. They live best in the body’s hidden rooms, in the spaces between heartbeats where language has no jurisdiction.

But her daughter noticed the change.

“You breathe differently now,” she said one evening, her voice soft with something close to wonder. “Like you finally have enough air.”

Elena smiled and thought of the ocean, still murmuring its ancient lullaby miles away, singing her name in a voice made of foam and forgetting.

She thought of the bench that grew from the dunes, the feather she still kept in her pocket (warm, always warm, as though it remembered flight). She thought of how silence, when you stop fearing it, becomes a kind of homecoming.

Somewhere, past the city lights and the hum of a world that never rests, the tide was turning. And deep in her chest, where her breath had finally learned to settle, Elena felt the waves answer.

Let go. Let go. Let go.

She had. And in the letting go, she had, at last, arrived.

When clickbait and other forms of noise enter your life, remember this story. The clamor of the city does not stop at your front door; it slips through your screens like water through cracks, hums from the radio in frequencies designed to unsettle, and arrives even through friends who carry their own static, their own buried breath, their own need to hear what the waves have always been saying.

Fear and anxiety are not merely emotions. They are small, patient thieves. They breed toxins in the marrow, shorten the years the body was promised, and fill the spaces where stillness ought to live with a noise that masquerades as urgency.

But somewhere, there is a bench growing from the dunes. Somewhere, herons stand in the shallows, waiting with recognition in their ancient eyes. Somewhere, the tide is turning, ready to carry your grief out past the breakwater, grain by grain, to wherever sorrow goes when it is finally ready to leave.

Sit by the ocean (or by whatever ocean you can find; silence wears many shapes). Listen for the rhythm older than syllables.

And let it go.

Let it go.

—Scott

He spent his whole life working. Now he has nothing but time.

Jack Harper was the most dedicated employee his company ever had. Forty-one years without missing a deadline. Forty-one years without truly living.

When a forced retirement leaves him lost in the silence of his empty apartment, a letter from beyond the grave changes everything. His oldest friend, Ed, has died and left Jack a farmhouse in Vermont, along with a message he can no longer ignore:

“You’ve spent your whole life working. Now, it’s time to actually live.”

But the farmhouse holds more than memories. An antique radio plays songs from decades past. Fireflies rise from the grass like childhood returning. And sometimes, in the golden light of sunset, Jack sees Ed standing at the edge of the overgrown rose garden, waiting. Can a man learn to live when he’s spent a lifetime forgetting how?

12 Activities to Energize Your Writers’ Group and Elevate the Craft

May 28, 2026

As the director of a League of Writers, I’m constantly searching for activities that bring genuine value to our members. Over time, I’ve realized that writers’ groups exist everywhere—each one filled with passionate individuals striving to improve their craft and find community. With that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of activities that have worked well for us and might benefit your group too.Whether you’re leading a small local circle or a larger organization, these ideas can transform your meetings into dynamic spaces for creativity, learning, and mutual support.

1. Guest Speakers and Workshops

Inviting guest speakers breathes fresh energy into any group. Consider reaching out to published authors, editors, literary agents, or experts in fields relevant to your members’ interests.For example:

A sci-fi author could discuss world-building techniques
A psychologist could share insights into crafting realistic characters with complex psychological profiles
A comedian or humorist could explore how to weave humor into prose

These sessions expose members to new perspectives and provide invaluable insider knowledge.

2. Critique and Feedback Sessions

Constructive feedback is the lifeblood of improvement. Establish a structured critique process that feels safe and productive:

Writers read their work aloud or distribute it beforehand
Listeners provide constructive feedback while the author listens quietly—no defending or explaining during the critique
End with a Q&A where the author can ask clarifying questions

This approach helps writers truly absorb feedback rather than react defensively, allowing them to refine their craft with fresh eyes.

3. Creative Writing Prompts and Challenges

Prompts spark imagination and push writers outside their comfort zones. Try these approaches:

Write a short story based on a single evocative word or phrase
Use provocative music or artwork as inspiration for a scene
Challenge members to write in a genre they’ve never attempted—sci-fi, psychological thriller, romance, or horror

The element of surprise and constraint often produces surprisingly powerful work.

4. Themed Writing Exercises

Align exercises with your group’s collective interests:

Humor Writing: Craft a comedic piece inspired by a favorite comedian’s style
World-Building: Collaboratively create a fictional universe, with each member contributing a unique element—technology, culture, history, or geography
Character Deep Dives: Develop a character harboring a dark secret and brainstorm how it could drive an entire plot

Themed exercises create cohesion and allow members to learn from each other’s interpretations.

5. Book and Style Analysis

Studying the masters sharpens our own skills. Dedicate sessions to analyzing published work:

Compare the opening lines of two novels to discuss style, tone, and hooks
Have members share a favorite book and explain why the author’s voice resonates with them
Dissect humor writing techniques by examining essays or routines from beloved comedians

Understanding why something works teaches us how to replicate that magic.

6. Writing Retreats

There’s something transformative about stepping away from daily life to focus entirely on writing. Organize a retreat where members can immerse themselves in their projects:

A weekend getaway at a cabin, hotel, or retreat center
A virtual retreat with scheduled writing blocks and group check-ins

The camaraderie, shared goals, and uninterrupted focus can be profoundly motivating—and often produce breakthrough progress.

7. “Brags” and Celebrations

Writing can be isolating, and achievements often go unnoticed. Dedicate time at each meeting for members to share their wins:

Completing a chapter or draft
Submitting a manuscript to agents or publishers
Publishing a piece, receiving positive feedback, or hitting a word count goal

Celebrate these milestones with applause, small rewards, or simple acknowledgment. This fosters a sense of accomplishment and reminds everyone that progress—however small—matters.

8. Collaborative Projects

Working together builds community and teaches valuable lessons about the writing process:

Anthology: Each member contributes a short story around a shared theme
Collaborative Novel: Use the Snowflake Method or another plotting technique to outline a novel together, then divide chapters among members
Round-Robin Stories: One member writes the opening paragraph, then passes it to the next person to continue

These projects create tangible results the group can be proud of—and potentially publish.

9. Skill-Building Sessions

Target specific craft elements that challenge your members:

Writing natural, compelling dialogue
Crafting openings that hook readers immediately
Editing and revision techniques
Show versus tell
Pacing and structure

Use writing craft books, online resources, or invite a writing instructor to guide the session. Focused skill-building creates measurable improvement.

10. Fun and Interactive Activities

Not every meeting needs to be serious. Inject playfulness into your group:

Storytelling Games: Use random prompts or words to create a story collaboratively in real-time
Writing Roulette: Each member writes a paragraph, then passes their paper to the next person to continue—chaos and creativity ensue
Genre Swap: Rewrite a scene from your current project in a completely different genre (turn a thriller into a comedy, or literary fiction into sci-fi)

Laughter and play unlock creativity in unexpected ways.

11. Unconventional Inspiration Exercises

Draw writing prompts from unexpected sources:

Craft a story based on overheard conversations, mysterious radio transmissions, or strange signals
Use historical photographs or news headlines as story seeds
Write from the perspective of an inanimate object or an unusual narrator

Unusual starting points lead to original stories.

12. Psychological Exploration for Character Development

Deep, believable characters drive memorable fiction. Create exercises that explore psychology:

Write a scene from the perspective of a character with a specific psychological trait, fear, or condition
Explore how a character’s past trauma influences their present decisions and relationships
Develop detailed backstories that never appear on the page but inform every action

Understanding the human mind—its quirks, defenses, and desires—makes characters leap off the page.

Final Thoughts

A writers’ group should be more than a meeting—it should be a space where creativity flourishes, skills sharpen, and writers find the support they need to keep going. By incorporating a variety of activities, you can keep your group fresh, engaged, and continuously growing.I hope this list proves useful to writers’ groups everywhere. After all, when we lift each other up, we elevate the entire craft.What activities have worked well for your writers’ group? I’d love to hear your ideas.

Happy writing!

Here are a few of my projects…

Ellie Morrow: A Tale of Grief and Magic

Ellie Morrow has spent six years in the foster care system learning one lesson above all others: she breaks things.

Televisions implode when she’s angry. Pipes rupture when she dreams. Crows gather wherever she goes—silent, watchful—as though waiting for a signal only they can hear. And deep behind her sternum, something that is not quite a heartbeat pulses with a power she never asked for: a residual fire left over from the night a mysterious golden light filled her parents’ car on Route 9, killed everyone inside except her, and left a seven-year-old child without a scratch or an explanation.

“You are not broken, Ellie. You are not dangerous. And you are not disposable.”

But the foster care system disagrees. And so, when an estranged grandmother named Agatha Morrow arrives to claim her—a woman who chose thirty years of silence over the burden of explanation—Ellie is pulled from the only world she has ever known into something older and stranger: the breathing, sentient world of the Morrow women. A bloodline of immense power stretching back centuries. A house on a nameless mountain, built above a nexus of forces older than language. A legacy of magic and grief, of doors that should not be opened and things that sleep beneath foundations, of wards that answer to family and a home that has been waiting for the right Morrow to return.But Ellie is not merely inheriting power. She is awakening something. The blood moon is coming, and whatever has been dreaming in the deep places beneath the Morrow house—vast, impossibly old, and stirring for the first time in generations—has begun to rise, drawn upward by a girl whose emotions can crack buildings and whose light can fill a room with the color of old gold.

Part coming-of-age story, part Gothic supernatural mystery, and part meditation on grief, survival, and the terrible weight of belonging to something larger than yourself, the Girl Who . . . series asks one question and dares its heroine to answer it:

Get your copy here…

Plotter + Pantser = Planster: The Best of Both Worlds

What happens when you stop choosing sides in the great writing debate and embrace the chaos and the structure? You get what I like to call a Planster — and it just might be the most productive approach to writing you’ve never tried.

The Pantser Days

When I first started writing, I was a pure stream-of-consciousness writer — much like Stephen King, who famously describes his process as uncovering a fossil, brushing away the dirt one sentence at a time. I’d sit down, let the words pour out, and trust the story to find its own shape. There was a raw, electric energy to writing that way. The surprises my characters threw at me were my surprises too.But here’s the thing about pantsing: for every story that found its way to a satisfying ending, there were others that wandered into dead ends, spiraled into subplots that led nowhere, or simply ran out of steam halfway through. I had hard drives full of half-finished manuscripts collecting digital dust — stories with heart but no spine.

The Shift to Plotting

Eventually, I began studying story structure — the beats, the arcs, the underlying architecture that makes a narrative work. I dove into frameworks like the three-act structure, Save the Cat, and the Hero’s Journey. I learned about inciting incidents, midpoint reversals, dark nights of the soul, and satisfying climaxes.And suddenly, I understood why some of my old stories had stalled. They had voice. They had characters I loved. But they were missing the bones that hold a story upright.So I became a plotter. I outlined. I structured. I mapped every scene before writing it.And something was lost.The outlines were solid, sure — but sitting down to write a scene I’d already planned in detail felt like retracing someone else’s steps. The spontaneity, the discovery, the magic of pantsing had dried up.

The Planster Revelation

Then a thought hit me: What if you plot the structure but pants the beats?What if, instead of choosing one camp or the other, you used story structure as a roadmap — just the major landmarks, the critical turns — and then let your pantser brain run wild between them?That’s the Planster method in a nutshell:

Create a beat sheet. Identify the key structural moments your story needs — the hook, the inciting incident, the first plot point, the midpoint, the crisis, the climax, the resolution.
Know your destination for each beat. Understand what needs to happen at each structural turn and why it matters.
Pants everything in between. Let the characters breathe. Let the scenes surprise you. Let the dialogue flow the way it wants to. Trust your creative instincts to fill the space between the signposts.

You get the reliability of structure with the energy of discovery. The bones are there, but the flesh is alive.

The Proof Is in the Publishing

I decided to put this method to the test — not with a brand-new idea, but with those old stories buried on dusty hard drives from my pantsing days. Stories that had voice, had spark, but had never found their shape.I pulled three of them out, built beat sheets around their cores, and then pantsed my way through the beats.The results? Three completed novels in a fraction of the time it would have taken me using either method alone:

📖 Written in Skin — published on Amazon
📖 Nothing But Time — published on Amazon
📖 The Girl Who Broke Everything — coming soon

Three abandoned stories. Three finished books. That’s not a fluke — that’s a process that works.

Why the Planster Method Works

Structure prevents you from getting lost. You always know where you’re headed next.
Pantsing keeps the writing alive. You’re still discovering the story as you write it — just within guardrails.
It’s faster. You spend less time staring at a blank page and less time rewriting entire drafts that went off the rails.
It resurrects old work. Got abandoned manuscripts? They might just need a skeleton to stand on.

Are You a Planster?

If you’ve ever felt torn between the freedom of pantsing and the security of plotting, give yourself permission to be both. Grab a beat sheet template, sketch out your structural landmarks, and then let yourself fly between them.You might be surprised how many stories you’ve already started that are just waiting for the right structure to finally be told.

Have you tried the Planster method? Got old manuscripts collecting dust? I’d love to hear about your experience — drop a comment below or find my published works, Written in Skin and Nothing But Time, on Amazon. And keep an eye out for The Girl Who Broke Everything, coming soon.

A Tiny, Totally Non-Desperate Plea From Your Friendly Neighborhood Author

If you enjoyed this post — or even if you just tolerated it with mild amusement — I have a few small, completely reasonable requests:1. Share this post. Hit that share button like it owes you money. Text it to a friend. Email it to your mom. Print it out and leave it on a stranger’s windshield. I don’t judge distribution methods.2. Spread the word. Tell people about this blog. Whisper it in crowded elevators. Mention it casually at dinner parties. Skywriting is also acceptable.3. Buy a book. Look, I’m not starving. Let’s not be dramatic. But I am a coffee-dependent creature with a very real and very expensive caffeine habit, and those lattes aren’t going to fund themselves. Every book purchase keeps a moderately-fed author adequately caffeinated and typing away at the next thing you’ll (hopefully) enjoy.So if you’re feeling generous, kind, or just impulsive enough to click “Add to Cart” — I salute you, you beautiful human.☕ Keep the coffee flowing. Keep the words coming.

The Uncomfortable Truth About Writing Contests: Where’s the Feedback?

Let us speak of something that has been troubling me, and likely many of you, about the writing contest industry. It is a thing that hums beneath the surface of our submissions like a second heartbeat we have learned to ignore.

The Business Behind the “Opportunity”

Here is the hard truth, plain as the words that appear unbidden on a blank page at three in the morning: writing contests are a money-making business. There is nothing altruistic about the companies that hold them. They rely on your ego, your dreams, and your hope to willingly surrender that entry fee for a chance at recognition. The fee slips from your fingers like sand, like memory, like the last line of a poem you swore you would remember. Sound familiar? It should. This strategy is not new. The lottery counts on your optimism (and perhaps your misunderstanding of probability) to keep buying tickets. Vegas has built an empire on this exact psychology for generations. Writing contests? They are playing the same ancient game, only dressed in literary clothing, their true nature hidden behind promises that shimmer and shift like heat rising from summer pavement.

My Real Frustration: The Silence

What bothers me most is not the business model itself; everyone needs to make money. It is the complete lack of engagement with the work we submit. Our stories vanish into the void, swallowed whole, and we are left listening for an echo that never returns. Is it too much to ask for some modicum of evidence that someone actually read our stories? Even the smallest bit of feedback would transform the experience:

“Your opening didn’t hook me.”
“Did you read the prompt?”
“Strong voice, but the pacing faltered.”

These words, however brief, would be enough. They would prove that our stories had weight, that they existed somewhere beyond the submission portal, that they touched, however briefly, another human mind. With platforms like Reedsy, I understand that a five-dollar entry fee is not breaking the bank. But still, is it really too much to ask for something in return beyond silence and a form rejection? The silence is its own kind of haunting. It lingers in the inbox, in the space between refreshing the page and accepting, once again, that no reply will come.

The Bottom Line

We are paying for a service. Should that service not include at least a sentence of human acknowledgment? A single line to prove that our words, however flawed, were witnessed? Tell me your thoughts in the comments below. Am I asking for too much, or is it time contests stepped up and broke their long, strange silence?

The Girl in the Gilded Frame

Some love stories are eternal. But at what cost?

I took a short story and turned it into a full fledged novel. If Dark Romance of the Vampire type is your thing, look no further.

How far would you go to save someone who’s already stolen your heart?

The painting had always hung in the east corridor, though no one could say precisely when it arrived. It existed the way certain old things do: quietly, with the certainty of having been there longer than the walls themselves. It was not supposed to matter. And then, one October evening, it did.

Peter Thomas had taken the night guard position for ordinary reasons. A young art student with empty pockets and a reverence for beauty, he believed that proximity to masterpieces might teach him what textbooks could not. He did not anticipate the portrait of the woman in the guilded frame, nor the warmth that radiated from her canvas on cold nights, nor the way hunger could live inside oil and pigment.

The painting breathed. This was not metaphor.

As Peter wandered deeper into the museum’s shadowed galleries, he uncovered the story of Vanessa, a king’s daughter folded into gold leaf and varnish by an ancient curse, and the vampire who had spent centuries whispering promises of liberation through the lacquer. But freedom required an exchange: one living soul for another. Under October’s blood moon, Peter understood what the portrait had been asking of him all along.

Caught between a love story older than memory and the quiet horror of Vanessa’s imprisonment, Peter faced an impossible choice: his life, or hers.

For readers who cherish Crimson Peak, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and stories where love and sacrifice blur into haunting beauty, The Girl in the Guilded Frame invites you through a door that cannot be closed.

How far would you go to save someone who has already stolen your heart?

Click here to see the books I have published.