Oh, the horror of it all!
October 13, 2025 • No Comments
I’m writing this in October, a few weeks before the heart of spooky season. Already the mercantile machine is pushing Halloween treats from candy corn to Children of the Corn. I wanted to write Children of the Candy Corn, but someone else got there first.
In any event, it has me pondering the function of horror in art. Yes, I know finer minds than mine have written entire books on this, but I’m thinking from a personal perspective. There are entire subgenres that don’t ping on my personal radar. Chopping people to bits while they’re still alive doesn’t push my entertainment buttons. Nor does ambulatory decomposition. I used to love a good plague story until I lived through one. In other words, I’m picky as a consumer and a creator. I want my horror just so, and I want it to pull its creative weight whenever it’s pressed into service.
This is why, in my opinion, so much horror falls flat. The threat (demon, evil house, weird neighbors, giant bug, fungus as a dramatic character, and on and on) is relatively interchangeable. Whether or not it is verbal and/or has a backstory (the bug was unloved as a grub), it wants to kill/dominate and not much else. It scares us a little or a lot, but in the end we just want it to stop munching the cast. We don’t care about its feelings.
What I want in a good monster is the killing machine, but with an artistic and emotional purpose.
Take vampires, that old horror standby. They are not, generally speaking, vegans. They are apex predators, and we are lunch. This is fine. Like Chekov’s gun, one should not introduce a loaded vampire to the proceedings unless one intends to use it. But it needs to do more than be broody and lethal.
Enter Dracula. For the era in which he was birthed upon the page, he is a sophisticated monster. He definitely bites, has a well-defined plan, and is a master manipulator. He represents a halfway point between stock villain and real personality. We get glimpses of his history, but admittedly the reader receives a limited account of his feelings and motivations as compared to the other characters. Our response to Dracula is largely filtered through their experience. How they respond to him and uphold their own self-identities is what really makes him an interesting villain.
But what about paranormal romance vampires, such as in the Dark Forgotten series? Modern readers need a well-rounded character for a romance to engage, so authors have work to do. When I create a vampire protagonist, I try to make that individual sympathetic without diminishing their dangerous instincts. They have their own goals, wants, and desires, but they are still wolves, not golden retrievers. A “safe” vampire, in my opinion, negates the thing that makes them compelling.
And what is that secret sauce? As with Dracula, the struggle between human and non-human impulses is what makes the vampiness of the vampire fascinating. More often than not in paranormal romance, that struggle is taking place within the vampire character. How can they reconcile their instincts and their heart? It’s what makes them mad, bad, and dangerous to know—and oh, such fascinating forbidden fruit.
The same can be applied to any kind of monster. For werewolves, please see The Company of Wolves, a brutally beautiful 1984 film based on a work by Angela Carter. It takes the schoolroom right out of Red Riding Hood and has a lot to say about our animal nature.
The struggle to remain what we believe ourselves to be is the primary occupation of the kind of horror I prefer—what makes us human, or not, and how that sometimes means crossing lines we didn’t even know were there. Good art challenges our assumptions and makes us think. Tearing away our carefully-constructed self-image is uncomfortable, and good horror does that gently, insidiously, or with a force of eleven out of ten.
It’s a good kind of awful.
Useless (or not) to a Degree
June 10, 2025 • No Comments
Debate abounds around careers and jobs and the correct educational path to achieve success. This isn’t new, nor is philosophizing about what success actually looks like. I’m a writer. In my case, success is gathering enough minutes into uninterrupted hours to actually get some work done, and there’s no certificate that can make that happen.
On that note, I am occasionally asked what degree one should take to be a writer. Honestly, that depends a lot on one’s tastes and the options available. A degree is a fabulous achievement and a worthy end in itself, but is not to be confused with a career destination. Put another way, what it says on the box isn’t always what it will mean for your ambitions. This is especially relevant when it comes to the ambiguous domain of the arts.For instance, when I attended university, the Creative Writing department was having a good existential wallow. Anything with a linear plot and clear resolution was shaken from the soles of their Birkenstocks with scorn. They published a well-regarded literary magazine that left me bored and confused. For me, who wanted to write classic adventure stories, it wasn’t a good fit.
I took myself to the English Literature department and signed on for four years spent reading books, which is what I did everyday anyway. It was bliss. Plus, it taught me things I wanted to know. We studied plot structure, literary technique, the use of language for effect, and how great works both reflected and changed societal attitudes. We studied comedy and drama and how plots with a bit of each weaved together to keep the audience’s appetite engaged. And, we studied characterization, from Homer to Shakespeare to Dickens and Austen. The material ran the gamut from antiquity to living authors to romantic poets and Victorian gothic fiction. Nothing was off the table, and it was up to me to decide where to focus. What a banquet!
Not every new author would be as besotted as I was, but I loved learning how to break down a work of literature and analyze what made it tick. More than that, I loved the autonomy to like what I liked without apology. I spent my time between semesters workshopping a series of totally unpublishable novels using what I’d studied. Those books will never see daylight, but they formed me as an author. When I graduated, I still had lots to learn about specific genres, but I came away with a voice and a respectable toolkit of techniques.
Today, universities have more options. There are degree programs in popular fiction. There are also tons of on-line workshops and conferences, which is infinitely more doable for most than signing on for four years steeped in literary criticism. I recognize that I was extremely lucky to have scholarships, indulgent parents, and the kind of time that only exists when you’re nineteen.
What I realize in retrospect is that I was operating on a very old method of teaching, which was copywork. Art students used to learn their brushwork by reproducing the masters. I was learning by studying and replicating as well. This method doesn’t need a degree, just good observational skills and a wide appetite. I personally recommend learning a bit of literary analysis, but I’m biased.
The point is, think about what you read and don’t stick to the familiar. Look at poetry, drama, and essays as well as fiction. The real value of my degree was examining a huge variety of material. However you choose to study—formally, casually, with a specialization or ad hoc—it’s about stockpiling your brain with ideas and the skills to make them work. Future you on book 40 will be thankful, because you won’t be repeating yourself.
A certificate in a frame is nice, but its real value is whether or not it contributes to your artistic survival skills. That’s up to you. Keep bringing new content to the table. Don’t get stuck in a genre echo chamber. Keep readers engaged by offering them something fresh. In the end, serving your audience is what matters.
Moody, Broody, and Tropey
May 12, 2025 • No Comments
The title does not refer to yet another remake of Snow White. I’m pondering the genre referred to as Dark Academia. I’ll say off the bat that I’ve found more references to clothing and décor than literature, and that some of it looks a bit like All Creatures Great and Small had a love child with The Munsters. All the same, I get (and adore) the overall preponderance of antiques, leather-bound books, mugs of tea, autumn rain, and resplendent classic fashion. Add a little string quartet music in the background and one is ready to think deep thoughts and get all moody and Byronic.
But, material trappings aside, what tropes define the literature? This isn’t the “high school for vampires” academy stories. This skews older and generally unhappier. Romance may or may not be the central theme. My favorite entry in the genre has so far been Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House series, which has paranormal elements, but many Dark Academia books do not.
So what’s common to most of the genre? To start with the obvious, a school. Preferably an old one with appropriate brick-and-ivy trappings. It should have a Classics department or an arts focus, definitely a lot of quotable literature about the place. Astronomy would be acceptable, but modern technology—y’know collider thingies or genetic whatsits—would require special handling. Mad botanists is one thing, but leather elbow patches just look odd on lab coats.
The characters are important. There’s usually a mentor figure—the resident Dumbledore—and close-knit friends. The protagonist is often an outsider, whether a newcomer to an elite group, or a super-brilliant person in an elite group, or an elite person with deep dark secrets in an elite group or—did I mention that there is an element of elitism here? Probably because those are the only social strata who can afford tuition at one of those old schools.
And secrets. Always secrets, and the unveiling of guilt, and squishy emo everywhere. Sometimes that means murder, corruption, and the explosion of the friend group. The protagonist—typically a young adult—learns that the world is a cruel place and their innocent little heart just got stomped. But fashionably, and with excellent black coffee, and while quoting Jacobean poetry.
I love this stuff. It’s aspirational and ridiculous in equal measure. Best of all, it slides into my steampunk world with ease. Olivia attends the University of Londria, so creating a Dark Academia adventure for her—complete with murder mystery—was a perfect fit in Queen’s Tide. I’m having a ball. Watch out for the sea monsters.
Once Upon a Time is Now
April 3, 2025 • 1 Comment
It’s not often that I can pinpoint a specific inspiration for a story. Usually, it just lurches from the swamp of my brain and lands on the page with a muddy splat. But the spark of the Camelot Reborn series had a very clear beginning, even if it sat dormant for a very long time.
I remember standing in Salisbury Cathedral when I was about twelve, staring down at the stone face of a knight. Although it was August, the medieval building was cold, the only light filtering through towering windows of stained glass. The vaulted ceiling created echoes that went on for days, and my imagination went into overdrive.
The statue was life-sized and in full armor, an effigy stretched in eternal sleep upon his tomb. He grasped a sword against his chest, and a lion curled protectively at his feet—a symbol of courage.
Who was he? Could I wake him with a kiss, Sleeping-Beauty style? Would he sit up and look around at the new modern world? Of course, he would be devoted to twelve-year-old me, infinitely grateful to be revived. And, naturally, there would be an equally interesting villain just waiting in the wings. What fabulous adventures would follow!
I’ll pause to add that I knew very little about knights when I was twelve. If Sir Whatever had awakened in good health and sound mind, I doubt he would have been happy to learn his estates were now a warehouse grocery emporium. Furthermore, no, he could not use the longsword to emphasize his opinion on the matter. And even further furthermore, I doubt he’d understand a word anyone said. The English language has changed dramatically since the Crusades.
But I digress. My tender tween heart was an innocent thing.
When I began the Camelot Reborn series, I remembered my knight in his lonely sleep. What if the Knights of the Round Table—enchanted into sleeping stone—had been scattered to museums and private collections? If they had to be awakened one by one to reunite with their brothers and defeat a threatening enemy? What if Sir Gawain, a hot-tempered, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome knight, was roaming about town, eager to fight or carouse or sweep my heroine off her feet?
Apparently, I liked that notion and stuck with it. My heroine is a thoroughly modern historian named Tamsin Greene. She’s the key to finding the other knights, but she’s also a powerful witch—and if there’s one thing that Gawain refuses to trust, it’s sorcery. But he’s not going to get the maid without her magic, and little does Tamsin know that Gawain holds the key to an ancient secret that changes everything she believes about her own past.
Not even Merlin can prevent these fireworks and, yes, he gets a few of his own.
Want to learn more? Check out Enchanted Warrior here.
Glitter and the Crown of Fae Series
February 9, 2025 • No Comments
The first words of the first chapter are a careful choice. We’re told to launch the narrative at the moment when everything changes, withholding any background explanation until such time as the reader is thoroughly hooked by the drama. Building an entire fantasy world and figuring out where to start is even harder. Or, in the case of the Crown of Fae series, starting when the end of the world begins (and figuring out how to end that beginning).
Initially there were four orderly novels, then a prequel (Flicker) and now a prequel to the prequel (Glitter) designed to fold in all that backstory we’re not supposed to tell. I blame the Brightwing dragon shifters, who keep invading my carefully plotted history with yet one more family member wanting a story of their own. First it was Fliss and her boarding school adventure. This time it was big brother Telkoram and the school’s headmistress, Caliste. I won’t say they have a meet cute, but they definitely meet and are about as cute as a dragon can manage.
About that backstory. Those who have dipped into the books may remember the four groups of elemental fae wish to summon their High King to rescue Faery from the Shades. Quake features the earth fae—especially the wolves–and also the outcome of the quest for the High King. The seeds of this story are sewn in Flicker and Glitter, where there was more scope to detail the history of the story world in an entertaining way. In other words, sometimes a prequel of a prequel is entirely necessary and not the hyper-indulgence it first appears.
No wonder Tolkien had entire volumes about all the stuff that came before Bilbo and the gang. It takes a very large canvas to paint an entire universe.
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Out of Winter
February 2, 2025 • No Comments
January and February are such odd months. If we get snow here, it’s usually now. On the other hand, my yard is full of early blooms. We’re stuck in a half-and-half holding pattern, ready for spring but not yet out of winter.
This season leaves me restless. The bright sun draws the whole city outside, so on my walk this bright afternoon, the park was crowded. I witnessed a cricket match, wandering peacocks, and ducks in love. A few people sat outside, bundled up to their eyebrows but still eating ice cream sundaes. It seems everyone else is ready to shake off winter, too.
The same impatience infects my writing. My work in progress is so last year. I finished the rough draft of Glitter last night and of course there will be plenty of editing to do, but my heart is already leaping toward the next adventure. I can hear the characters’ voices luring me on. They have secrets, and I must know what they are.
Every new book is different, but there is always a dance, a courtship with the essence of the story. The tale has to be unique, and there must be a challenge to keep my interest—a new technique or unknown subject matter. I can’t write the same book time and again any more than a reader wants a repeat.
Equally important, the characters must be willing to surrender—not all of them are—and be ready to spread out their loves and heartbreaks like wares in a hidden market. If I must be worthy of their trust, they must woo me as well. I won’t weave just anyone into a tale.
Which is why I’m always intrigued by new voices in my imagination. I’m ready to be seduced. It’s time to leave my creative winter even if the real-life season isn’t done. A new story is demanding to bloom.
A Simple Revision Tool
July 21, 2024 • No Comments
One of the first writing workshops I ever taught was about a simple revision tool for structuring a novel’s plot structure, and over a decade later I still use the same principles.
I’ve never been a great out-of-the-gate plotter because I’ve never seen a literary butterfly I didn’t want to chase. But, If I plot too much, I get bored with the story because I know what happens. If I fail to plot, I end up with a big steaming mess. Because I can’t avoid this struggle, I learned to get words on the page and revise later. Usually, I go through some kind of a course-correction process about every 5 to 10 chapters. It’s a chore, but it works.
The process is extremely simple. I know the main two or three characters have a character arc. If it’s a romance I know there’s a conflict between the two lovers. I know there’s an external plot—the mystery or adventure that drives the book. Maybe there’s a theme or two I’m keeping track of, a subplot, or other notable thread. So I make a table with each of these as a row, and create a column for each chapter. It will look something like this:
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 |
Story Action | |||
Hero’s Arc | |||
Heroine’s Arc | |||
Romance Conflict | |||
Mystery/External Plot | |||
Subplot 1 | |||
Subplot 2 |
I recall the participants of that first workshop looking wild-eyed at the prospect of using a spreadsheet. In truth, any table will do. Hand draw the squares and stick it on the wall—whatever works. The object of the game is to have a container for your notes. Under each chapter, list what happens in that chapter that advances each arc, conflict, or plot. If there’s nothing for a particular row, that’s okay, but most of the squares should have something. If they don’t, why is that chapter in the book?
I like doing this because it allows me to a) not lose a plot thread, b) spin out the threads evenly across the story, and c) ensure my timeline makes sense. Also, if I have a lot going on that doesn’t fit on the table, I can either weave it in better or get rid of it. It’s also helpful to flag key points (climax, black moment, point of no return, etc) that are important to the story structure. One wants the emotional conflict and psychological development of the characters to track properly with external events.
This is terrifically helpful if I get stuck. If I put down what has happened to date (say, up to chapter 6), I can make sure I know what needs to come next. If I’ve wandered off course or I’m not driving to the next plot point, it’s obvious. I’ve heard that most “writer’s block” is actually “writer is lost in a web of their own devising.” Creating a map helps.
The Three Inspirations of Leena: building a character
June 26, 2021 • No Comments
Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world. ― Voltaire
Fire is light and movement and passion. It comforts and terrifies, gives life and destroys it. To embody this element, my heroine of the fire fae had to be a creature of contrasts, so it
seemed natural that she’d be a dancer. Few things demand such primal abandon and rigorous discipline at once.
*
Where do characters come from? It’s one thing to imagine the type of character we want—a fire fae, a spunky barista, a master thief. However, creating a protagonist who can lead a complex story goes beyond a simple archetype. We need broad strokes, but we also need emotions, contradictions, history, and a deep well of desires that are completely unique to that individual. Real people are messy and complicated. Characterization should capture some of that, even if the heroine is a paranormal being.
My characters come to me in many different ways, but in this case Leena and Smolder arrived through three inspirations. The first came from Stravinsky’s 1913 ballet, The Rite of Spring. At the time of its premier, both the music and choreography shocked audiences—a lusty depiction of ritual sacrifice was just too distant from the floaty tutus usually seen on the Paris stage. But if anything could summon flame from the core of the universe, it was this creation, and I loved its strangeness and power at first sight. Stravinsky also wrote The Firebird, so my subconscious clearly owes him a debt for my book about a dancer and a phoenix.
So, I had my concept of what a fire fae should be—the flavor or keynote of her nature. But Leena is a person and not a ballet, so I used a writing meditation to find the core of her psychology. It’s perfect as a second step, when an author knows the basic facts about a character and it’s time to find out more:
Imagine yourself in a character’s room. What is there? What does it tell you about the character?
Leena’s room in the poorer district of Eldaban has little in it, but I found a woolen shawl woven in a pattern that is typical of her mountain tribe. What does it say about her? A shawl is used to keep warm, but it’s also good for carrying possessions, gathering apples, making a baby sling, or as a shroud. The wool would come from the family’s sheep. The women of the tribe would spin and weave it. A mother might make a shawl as a gift for her daughter as a sign that she was ready to forge her own future. That told me a lot about Leena’s people—humble, independent, and steeped in the love of their home and family.
I did a similar exercise around Leena’s chatelaine, which she carries with her in Smolder. (For those who don’t know, chatelaines were a short of tool-holder that clipped to a belt. Here is a beautiful example of one from the nineteenth century.) At first, I didn’t know how Leena would use the chatelaine in the story, but she insisted on having it. It turned out to be essential to the plot, so sometimes the character knows best!
So now that I knew who Leena was, I had to know how she finds the courage to walk into extreme danger. My third inspiration was Fionn, her brother. She held his hand when they
fled the destruction of their homeland. She raised him from the time they were orphaned children, but now he’s a grown man with ambitions of his own. When he makes a terrible choice, what’s a big sister to do? Try to save him, of course, even if it’s a task far beyond anything she’s braved before. This was the motivation that launched my story’s plot.
So, to return to the initial question of where do characters come from–mostly they walk into my head fully formed, but once in a while I get to know them in a more organized way. These three steps describe how I discovered enough about Leena to begin writing her adventure. I found the inspiration, developed her backstory, and gave her strong motivation. They helped me find her spark at the start.
As befits a fire fae, she needed no help from me to set the rest of the story ablaze.
Pawsitive Attraction
June 20, 2021 • 2 Comments
Never work with animals or children. – W.C. Fields
Pets steal the show, whether at a family picnic, in a meme, or as part of your story. Thousands of cat videos prove the magnetic attraction of furry characters, the more 
ridiculous the better. As a case in point, readers of Smolder, third in the Crown of Fae series, talked as much about Kifi the talking temple cat as the hero, heroine, and villains combined. Small, sassy, and very much the star of her own story, she got to be outrageous in ways that human characters could never pull off.
Writing such characters well isn’t always easy. Stage management is a constant problem. If your book is a romance, Fido has to be parked before the humans can have alone time. If it’s an action-packed thriller, one is in a constant state of saving the cat. As a rule, I carefully control the amount of time the little scene-stealers are on the page. Otherwise, as the storyline becomes a logistics nightmare, dog-napping starts to look like a practical plot twist. Plus, while any side character can hog the limelight, animals are the worst. Don’t give them all the best lines.
So why include an animal as a side character in your book? The cute factor wears off eventually, but pets can be effective character extensions of their humans. What does it say about the lumberjack when it turns out he picks a goggle-eyed pug over a pit bull for his rescue project? Have you noticed how many B-movie villains own smug 
felines? The Game of Thrones series (especially the books) used a litter of wolf puppies as shorthand for the lives and fates of the Stark children. Through their presence, animals can contrast or comment on the rest of a narrative and its characters.
Or, they can level up and play a role in the action. Murder-solving pets are a staple of the mystery genre. A favorite of mine is Monty the golden retriever and his handler, Sarah Patrick, in Iris Johansen’s mysteries. Monty is a cadaver dog, which gives him an important role in the stories. He knows his role and understands when he’s done his job—or when he’s failed—in a very realistic way. An animal’s vulnerability naturally heightens the emotion of a situation, whether that’s for laughter or nail-biting drama.
Integrating an animal character into the plot can mean giving them a story goal and character arc. In Smolder, Kifi joins the quest so she can meet her queen, a decision that turns out to have important consequences for the human characters. Kifi is also a feline, with all the sassy good and bad that entails. There is a temptation to make pets too adorable, and a dash of naughtiness avoids sentimentality.
The gold standard, in my opinion, remains the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis. He writes about talking animals, but they are memorable creations with personality, flaws and a 
purpose. The author treats them as fully formed characters and so makes them integral to the story. No one who has met Reepicheep or Mr. Tumnus will soon forget them.
Even if that’s going deeper into fantasy than is appropriate for your story, it’s worth considering what’s on your fictional pet’s mind. The trick is to make those fuzzy characters work hard for their time on stage and deliver good story value. When W.C. Fields warned that animals can easily steal the show, he understood their power to entertain.
It’s all in the cards!
August 20, 2020 • No Comments
Would you like me to tell your fortune? For a silver coin, I will consult my tarot cards. Ah, yes, I foresee you’re about to encounter a large to-be-read pile…
I imagined a unique set of tarot cards while planning the Hellion House series. The images in the deck came to me very strongly while I was first making notes about the books. Scorpion Dawn, Leopard Ascending, Chariot Moon—these are all airships, but those vessels got their names from the cards. Fortune’s Eve recounts the first time that tarot comes into play. For those who like to follow story breadcrumbs, pay attention to that scene.
Of course, it had to be a deck I’d never seen before, which meant recording the entire thing as it appeared in the story a bit at a time. Here’s what I know so far…
Suites
The deck has five suites (sky, fire, earth, water, spirit) of thirteen cards each. Each suite relates to an aspect of being. For instance, earth rules the material plane.
Images
Most of the images on the cards are single animals, plants, or other straightforward objects.
Readings
To cast a reading, lay out the cards in a triangle. They naturally fall into the rising, descending, or hidden positions on the three sides. Therefore, the leopard in an ascending position means that its influence is on the rise and all that fiery animal passion is going a-prowling. The closer it is to the apex of the triangle, the more pronounced its energy will be. If the leopard is on the other side of the triangle, it would indicate the hunt was waning or going awry. If the card was at the bottom of the triangle, it would mean kitty’s energy was turned inward, either asleep or rebuilding for a future time. A fulsome reading would involve a dozen or so cards.
Scorpion Dawn refers to the first awakening of the protective scorpion. The legend has it that when the mighty hunter Orion slaughtered far too many animals, the goddess sent the lowly scorpion to protect her creatures. Too small to be noticed, the scorpion nonetheless poisoned Orion with a sting to the heel. Never underestimate the little guy—or girl—especially if she gets this card.
The main function of the cards in the story is as a means of exploring the characters and their drives. Like all such elements in fiction, it’s a seasoning and not a main dish. Too much and it gets awkward, but it’s a useful way to highlight a moment here and there.
Custom illustration by Leah Friesen