“You know the world can hold the weight of all things, but notice it is trembling.”

It has to stop.

Black lives matter

rest in power


I loved participating in the YA Scavenger hunt! To Check out my post at the bestselling author of Dorothy Must Die, Danielle Paige’s website, Click Here

The winners for the have been announced! Congratulations Megan S!


It's over



YA Scavenger Hunt

During this difficult time, I’m happy to tell you about the YA Scavenger Hunt. This is a bi-annual event organized by author Colleen Houck.  I’m elated to be participating for the first time! This provides readers with an opportunity to gain bonus material from their favorite authors while learning about new and emerging authors too. It also gives you the chance to win some awesome prizes.

On this hunt, you also collect and add up the secret numbers to enter–one lucky winner will receive one book from each author on the hunt in my team! But play fast: this contest (and all the exclusive bonus material) will only be online for 120 hours!

Entry Form: Once you’ve added up all the numbers, make sure you fill out the form here to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number qualify to win.

Rules: Opens internationally on March 31st to anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian’s permission to enter. To be eligible for the grand prize, you must submit the completed entry form by APRIL 5th, at noon Pacific Time. Entries sent without the correct number or contact information will not be considered.

Make sure you don’t forget to enter the contest for a chance to win so many books! This is the perfect time to read them:

To enter, you need to know that my favorite number is 5. Add up all the favorite numbers of the authors on the red team and you’ll have all the secret code to enter for the grand prize!


Go To

There’s even more. I am excited to be hosting bestselling author Kristin Jacques! 

Kristin Jaques

Kristin Jacques writes primarily speculative fiction, dabbling with dark adventures, monsters, mayhem, and the occasional sarcastic zombie.
When not at her computer spinning tales she is generally herding cats or snuggling with her gremlins.

Marrow Charm

Marrow Charm (Gate Cycle #1)

Character Perspective: Oswin Brixby

Ochre dust stained the tips of his fingers as he worked, a vibrant splash of color against his dark skin and the worn stone table top. Always working, must always keep one’s hands busy as one’s mind churned. That is what the alchemical master taught him, along with all the secret names of long forgotten herbs, their potency, and their uses. He paused. How had he gotten here? Where was here? 

Brixby looked up, his gaze roving the familiar layout of his workshop in the deep recesses of the Heap, a tallow lamp providing him a shallow illumination against the ever creeping night. Light was a habit he no longer needed for his work, memorizing the texture and scent of each ingredient he used. He could tell the differences between various crushed herbs by how coarse or fine the powder. A necessary skill born of a life underground. Still, he kept the tallow burning for his sleeping wards above. A smile played on his lips as he worked, wondering when Azzy would wander down to see him…

It wasn’t a sound or a scent that alerted him. She gave off no odor, and she sat in stillness, unmoving as the dead.

Which she was.

“Lia,” he whispered and the name felt like sacrilege on his lips. He knew then this was a dream, before he turned his gaze to look at her, because only a dream would torment him so. The mother of his wards, his oldest and dearest friend. She sat, pretty as a nightmare, her skin cracked, glowing from the fire within, her red hair burnt to gray ash. She tapped her blackened fingertips on the worn stone table, at contrast with his own. When she spoke, he could hear the crackle of flame in her words. 


Kristin was also kind enough to share a scene from her upcoming novel, Skin Curse, the anticipated sequel to Marrow Charm:

Skin Curse (The Gate Cycle #2)

Through the thick glass of her bedroom window, the city lights flickered, like trapped stars in a jar. A city of monsters both hidden and seen, and yet for the first time in as long as she could remember, Azzy was safe.

A bewildering sensation, one she struggled to accept as she twirled the feather between her fingers. She wasn’t fleeing from creatures of the Above or Below. She’d survived the Snatcher’s caravan. Ensconced behind the walls of Lord Wallach’s estate, she was beyond the reach of those finely dressed monsters swarming the streets of Avergard.

She was truly here.

Azzy pinched the feather between her fingers so tight her bones whined, her mouth pressed into a hard line as the image played over and over through her mind. The boy with wings, the vacant storm shrouded eyes so achingly familiar and so very vacant of recognition. She sucked in a breath, broken by a withheld sob. She was here, she made it to the city, and everything she’d lost to reach this place left the taste of ash in her mouth.

What had she gained but an insurmountable set of tasks? A tremor ran through her limbs and Azzy wondered if it would ever stop when the soft trod of footsteps approached down the hall. She looked up as her doorway filled with a figure swathed in smoke and shadows.

“Hello, Azzy, will you come down to dinner?” A feminine voice emerged as the smoke receded lustrous dark eyes.

Azzy tucked the feather into her frayed sleeves, wishing to keep it close to her skin, comforted by the contact. A sanctuary it may be, separated from the city by glass and stone, but her brother was out there. And who knew what other secrets the city held. The whispers plucked at her mind as she rose to follow the woman of smoke, delicate notes like the barest ripples across her thoughts. She hesitated, listening, but the inaudible voices that had carried her so far slipped from her grasp, tangible as the vaporous trails that poured into her room.

“Please, you need to eat. A stiff breeze will tip you over,” said the woman, misinterpreting her hesitation.

Azzy offered a tentative smile. “My apologies. I’m simply tired.”

“You’ll be given plenty of time to rest this eve,” said the woman. “Now come, the others are waiting to meet you before we dine.”

Add it to Goodreads today

Yes, I’m fangirling a little!! Check out all the great books on the Red Team!

Red Team


Welcome to this leg of the Filles Vertes Publishing MASKS blog hop!

masks-3pre-order (2)

If you somehow landed on this page and haven’t heard about the blog hop, click: here
If you haven’t already, add MASKS to your Goodreads: TBR
Also, pre-orders are available at, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Book Depository, or your favorite bookseller:
Barnes and Noble
Book Depository
Enjoy glimpses of intriguing stories awaiting you in MASKS.
My story, The Axeman Among Us is inspired by true events: In 1918, two young teen boys encounter the deadliest serial killer of their time, The Axeman of New Orleans. Fearing he will return to kill them; the boys implore the service of a voodoo priestess.

The cries dwindled to nothing by the time we set foot on the Romano’s yard. Then I saw something: someone exiting from the Romano’s back door. My heart pounded furiously as I better contemplated the figure dressed in dark clothes, wearing a slouch hat and clenching an axe. Heat spread across my chest and Mikey’s mouth fell open like a trap door. We froze like two idiot deer in the path of an oncoming locomotive. Mikey muttered a “What the…?” I wanted to run but still stood there. The man drew closer; the bloody axe gleamed in the moonlight, and a chill ran down my spine. I shuddered but remained rooted in my spot.

The man dropped the axe to the ground and lifted his index finger to his mouth, and I swear a smile flitted across his lips. We watched as he ran away, jumping a white picket fence in a seamless bound.

“What just happened, Vincent?” Mikey shakily asked.

“I think he killed them,” I replied. The rapid beating of my heart hurt my chest. “He got away.” For a second, I thought we should have chased after him.

“Did you see? Oh, God. He had an axe.”

Both our eyes shot down to the bloody weapon on the lawn, which had nauseating hairs and pulpy matter along its edge. “Of course, he had an axe. He’s the fucking Axeman.”

Newspaper Axeman

I hope you check it out <Because> (keyword) truth is stranger than fiction.
Now hop to the Next Blog


The Lovely Awful Thing


I thought I’d repost my blog on depression in case someone who stumbles on it needs to hear it.


Buffy the Vampire Slayer once revealed a great truth. The truth is the hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. Buffy had to battle vampires, demons and prevent apocalypse on a regular basis. What almost destroyed Buffy was depression.

What is depression? It can be a lack of serotonin to the brain, which can now be treated with an antidepressant and that’s okay. It can be situational, including but not limited to regular teenage angst, like a break-up or the feeling you don’t belong.

Years ago, I even wrote a poem about my depression:


Depression doesn’t have a type. It can happen to you if you’re pretty, young or old. Although there is no blood test to diagnose depression, it attacks us from within like a disease. It can be fatal. There are well-established symptoms. If you’re depressed, you know you’re depressed. Tell someone. You won’t want to, but make yourself. You’re worth it.

“Everything will be okay in the end.

 If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”



She moved with the ease of a person who knew their place in the world. She joined all the clubs. She even started a few new clubs. Almost everybody liked her. Okay, that girl is cool, too, but she’s definitely not a wallflower.


What is a wallflower? A wallflower can be male or female. They are thinkers and have a lot more figured out than many of their peers. They don’t have the confidence to announce it over the PA system. They stay back and prefer to blend in. They only have one photo in the yearbook. They aren’t big on social media but might have an interesting, anonymous blog.  A wallflower is a type of loner but may have one, or two close friends. They are never the bullies and are even interesting if you take the time to get to know them. They possess the trait of being good listeners which is very rare among the masses of high school kids.

If you are a wallflower you probably write poetry, or maybe haikus, hardly anyone ever reads. He might be the boy who sits in the back of the room in your visual art class and never says a word and wears the same hoody every day. He doesn’t really do anything to his hair, but it remains perfectly tousled. She may be the girl with the shy smile, you pass in the hall. For Charlie Brown, she was the little red-headed girl. The conception of a wallflower has a little mystery, angst, and allure to it. Do you know a wallflower? Are you a wallflower?