In the Margins

I don’t always go looking for the next story... Sometimes it just shows up. Not fully formed. Not perfectly planned. But enough to know it’s there. Just because I am a writer, doesn't mean new story ideas always come fully formed—they start as something small that slowly builds into more. A moment. A dynamic. A situation I can’t quite let go of. And then it builds. Not all at once—but steadily. Layer by layer, as I start asking questions I don’t have answers to yet. Who are t

You spend so long trying to finish. Trying to get the story right. Trying to make it feel like something worth holding onto. And then one day… it’s done. Not almost done. Not “I’ll fix it later” done. Actually done. And for a second, it feels like that should be the moment. The part where everything clicks into place. Where you finally feel like you made it to where you were trying to go. But it’s not. Because no one really talks about what happens after. What to do after wri

Not every love story begins the way people expect it to. Some don’t start with connection. Or attraction. Or even the possibility of something good. Some start with impact. The kind that changes everything in a single moment. The kind that divides a life into before and after. And for some reason… those are the kind of stories I’m drawn to. The ones that center around love born from trauma. Connections shaped by what happens after everything changes. Where the damage is alrea

I don’t think anyone really prepares you for this part. The part where the writing is done… and everything else begins. The querying process for new authors isn’t something you fully understand until you’re in it. You spend so much time focused on the story—getting it right, finishing it, making it feel like something worth sharing. And then suddenly, you’re asking a different question. Is it enough? Not just to you. But to someone else. To people who don’t know you. Who don’

Are happy endings actually better… or do the ones that hurt stay with us longer? Because if you really think about it—the stories we remember most aren’t always the ones that wrapped everything up perfectly. Sometimes they’re the ones that left something unresolved. Something unfinished. Something that didn’t quite give us what we wanted… but made us feel it anyway. The Comfort of Happily Ever After There’s a reason happily ever after exists. It gives us closure. It gives us

Emotional tension isn’t something you can fake. Readers can feel the difference between a scene that’s written… and a scene that’s lived in. It’s the quiet moments that stretch too long. The words that don’t get said. The weight behind a single glance. That’s what keeps readers hooked—not just what happens, but what almost happens. If you want your story to stay with someone, it’s not about adding more drama. It’s about making them feel what your characters are trying not to

Dark romance tropes aren’t popular because they’re easy. They’re popular because they make you feel something deeper—something a little uncomfortable, a little consuming, and impossible to ignore. The stories that stay with us aren’t built on perfect love. They’re built on tension, conflict, power, and the kind of connection that feels like it could either destroy everything… or become something unforgettable. That’s where dark romance lives. Not in perfection—but in intensit

I came across the book that inspired me to write the other day... Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. And standing there, in the middle of the aisle, I didn’t expect what it would do to me. Because for some people, this book is just a collection of poems. For others, it’s controversial—challenged and even banned over the years for being “too dark,” too rebellious, too honest about things children aren’t always meant to question. It’s been criticized for encouraging

I wrote three books. That still feels strange to say out loud. For so long, writing a novel was just something that lived in the back of my mind—somewhere between everyday life, responsibilities, and the constant thought of “maybe someday.” And then somehow… someday happened. Not once. Not twice. But three times. And now I’m sitting here, staring at the three books I wrote in a standalone series—linked by one thing: trauma—and wondering what comes next. Because no one really

I don’t write soft, easy love stories—because love isn’t easy. The stories that stay with me—the ones that linger long after I close the book—are never the simple ones. They’re the ones that leave something behind. I’m drawn to love that feels real. Not perfect. Not polished. Not easy to explain. The kind of love that breaks you open.The kind that forces you to face the parts of yourself you’d rather ignore.The kind that asks you to choose someone anyway. That’s what I write.

I probably shouldn’t admit this, but fictional characters vs real people... I would choose fictional characters every single time. There’s just something about them. They’re intense, complicated, a little broken in all the right ways—and somehow, they make more sense than reality ever does. They feel everything deeply, say the things most people won’t, and live in a world where emotions actually matter. It’s the quiet debate—fictional characters vs real people—no one really s