When I’m not writing or reading, I’m usually found playing fantasy RPGs, watching TV, or cross stitching. I mostly write fantasy because that’s the genre that’s held nearest and dearest to my heart, since I was raised on a steady diet of Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and the legend of King Arthur.
More than anything I want strong women in my books. If I’m reading a book and there are no well-written, powerful women, I’ll put it down. No, it’s not “historically accurate” to make all of your women meek and submissive. If you think that’s the case you need to do some actual research. This doesn’t mean that all women are warriors. If a female character could belong on Rejected Princesses, I’ll probably love her.
I love witches, LGBTQ+ characters, fae, fantastical creatures (esp. dragons and unicorns), and settings inspired by Japan, Ireland, or the Netherlands (but will read any fantasy setting)
I love so many authors, but some of my favorites are Leigh Bardugo, Holly Black, Jay Kristoff, Sarah J. Maas, Margaret Rogerson, Rin Chupeco, and Tomi Adeyemi.
I’m not a good fit for science fiction. Urban fantasy is a hard sell for me, but if it’s weird and dark like Holly Black’s tone I’ll give it a shot. Love triangles and insta-love are a quick way for me to give up on a romance.
If, at any point, the degradation of women is used for shock value then I don’t want to see your work. I’ll get up on my soapbox and it’ll be a bad time for both of us.
I’m not interested in horror. Plain and simple. Scary elements and Eldritch beings in a fantasy novel are one thing, but pure horror has never appealed to me.
Hazel is a meek young woman who wants an unremarkable life. Destiny, however, has other plans, and Hazel’s life changes forever when she unearths and hatches the last dragon egg in the world. Shipped off to the capital to meet the king and queen, Hazel’s peaceful life is shattered as she struggles to navigate her new role as a dragon rider. She finds herself targeted by humans and witches who all seek one thing: the dragon.
Meanwhile, in the monster-infested Wastelands, Alastríona, an exiled princess, receives a dangerous offer from the Witch Queen across the sea: the army that the princess needs to win back her country in exchange for a vial of the last dragon’s blood. Embarking on her journey with a new companion, Alastríona is haunted by the trauma of her past and the uncertainty of her future, forcing her to ponder the morality of her mission.
Three Years Earlier
Twelve men faced her, accusatory eyes shaded as they looked down at her from their high seats. Dozens more sat at her back, accounting for almost the entire population of the tiny village. She fixed her eyes on her wrists, bound in chains. Briar Glen didn’t often deal with crime worthy of the council. The shackles were neglected, spotted with rust that chafed her wrists. Her skin was raw underneath, smarting with every movement, but she couldn’t register it under the tears in her eyes and deep ache in her chest.
The choice was laid before her. Two paths given, neither pleasant. She raised her head enough to look at her family through a veil of black hair. Their eyes were downcast like hers, their cheeks stained with tears. Her mother was sobbing into her father’s shoulder, her sister’s face buried in her hands as her shoulders shook. Her father had his arms around both, his face still but his eyes still freely shedding tears.
The girl at the stand turned her eyes back down to her wrists, focusing on a single trail of blood crawling from underneath the shackles like a red river against the deep brown of her skin. She didn’t like blood. She’d never been fond of it before, but now it made her ill.
She thought of the cold beneath the earth, dark and suffocating with nothing but more and more tunnels, digging deeper and deeper until the sun was a myth. The entrance to the coal mines, a gaping maw ready to swallow her whole.
She thought of the wild beyond the village limits, empty and alone, and as endless as the tunnels, but directionless. A journey without shelter, a wilderness with no protection. It offered freedom, but freedom meant danger. The choice hung in her mind, dangling like two equally poisonous fruits. Her throat grew thick with tears, but she swallowed them down. She’d cried enough.
She took a deep rattling breath and raised her head to look up at the council.
“I’ve made my choice.”
I always have a few projects on the backburner. Right now I’m almost done with the first draft of a novel for a different series, and I’m in the brainstorming stage of a novel (very) loosely inspired by Snow White, Rose Red and Beauty and the Beast.
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