C.L. Walters's Blog, page 4

The Letters She Left Behind, 3 Years.

When I was in my early twenties—an English major—I wanted to be a writer. I knew I wanted to be a writer before that even, when I would choose to sit at home and pen stories over going out with high school friends. Or when I would close my latest Judith McNaught reread and think: I want to do that. Even before then, when I wrote my first story at eight and read it out loud to my mom.

I read recently in a book by Deepak Chopra called The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success: A Practical Guide to the Fulfillment of Your Dreams (1994), the seventh law was the Law of Dharma or Your Life’s Purpose. To paraphrase Chopra (definitely check out the book if you’re interested), each of us is born with unique talents and a way of expressing it that is original to us. In conjunction with that talent is a set of personal needs matched up to that talent which can only be expressed by us. By fulfilling this need utilizing our talents, we will find fulfillment. 

I understand this. My love and desire for writing and stories started early, and my proclivities and knack for it always leaned in that direction. That doesn’t mean, however, that at eight, or sixteen, or twenty-six, I was prepared to achieve the dream. There was work to do.

Case in point: One of the first novels I wrote (not the first. That one sits in a proverbial eDrawer collecting electronic dust), was The Letters She Left Behind, a romantic suspense that follows Adam and Alex on an adventure to catch a killer, all while given a second chance at love. I was around twenty-seven when I wrote it, a new wife of three years, a new mother. My main characters in this story, however, are in their late forties and dealing with things like grief, being widowed, and the empty nest. Needless to say, at twenty-seven, I was ill-equipped to write this story, severely lacking experience to give it justice. 

“Talent is nothing without hard work”

— Cristiano Rinaldo

While I think we may have a talent or a knack for something, that doesn’t mean it is’t necessary to build the skills necessary to do it. When I look at The Letters She Left Behind (which was rewritten in 2019 and published in January 2020) I can see how much I have grown as a writer since, how much experience I’ve gained. How much practice I’ve devoted to the craft. I love how footballer Cristiano Rinaldo tweeted once, “Talent is nothing without hard work.” I have had to work hard to develop those natural talents toward writing. 

When I reread The Letters She Left Behind, sometimes I think I should rewrite it and re-release. Then I think that would be a disservice to who I was as a writer and all the ways I grown since. It’s good to look back over the bridge to see where I once was to appreciate where I am at now. And hopefully, I’m always working hard to grow.

So in honor of the anniversary of the publication of The Letters She Left Behind 3 years ago, here’s to working hard and growing.

Also, here’s some previous blogs I wrote about this book:

Playlist

Character Interview with Adam and Alex

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Behind-the Scenes: The Trials of Imogene Sol

I promised the story behind The Ring Academy: The Trials of Imogene Sol. So here it is. 

At the end of 2019, I had just released The Bones of Who We Are, and in the in between before a new project was discovered, I decided I wanted to both have fun with writing, develop my craft, challenge myself, and include the people who followed me on Instagram. In my stories, I asked my followers to vote on what they were interested in me writing by choosing their top categories for me to mash up. The winning categories were SciFi and Romance (which is probably much better suited to Maci Aurora than CL Walters, but this was before Maci Aurora made the scene). Thereby, Imogene Sol was created. At the end of 2019, I wrote several chapters, but in early 2020 (pre-pandemic), after a trip to the hospital for an emergency gallbladder surgery, I lost the thread of the story.

For the next nine months, Imogene Sol’s story sat. Toward the end of 2020 in the midst of lockdown, I decided to look at Imogene’s story again, knowing I needed something for my newsletter and wondering if it might be something to include. I wrote another draft—a complete one—and published it in my newsletter in 2021 as a serialized story. 

As I worked on publishing The Messy Truth About Love in 2022, I knew I didn’t have the creative bandwidth to write a new novel yet. So I decided to strengthen The Trials of Imogene Sol with a revision and publish it as a novella, hoping for a bit more time to refill the creative well. I was aware the story needed a few more scenes to help it feel more complete, but knew that could be done given the amount of time I was providing myself.

Now, three months into rewriting, it turns out there is enough story for a novel—and a fun one at that. I’m in the process of the first revision (after the drafted rewrite and armed with some feedback). With a few new scenes still to write, the book is nearing the 50,000 word mark. Shorter than most of my novels, but still considered a full length novel. For comparison, Swimming Sideways topped out around 82,000 give or take a few words and The Messy Truth About Love was around 95,000 words. My longest novel is The Stories Stars Tell which altogether is around 135,000 words give or take (very long for a contemporary).

Besides the length of the story, the biggest difference is the category. All my books up to this point have been contemporary stories with the exception of The Ugly Truth and The Bones of Who We Are which while still mostly contemporary, both contain elements of magical realism. Imogene Sol’s story is going to be the biggest change. 

Set on a planet in an interplanetary federation, Imogene’s story takes place at a Federation Academy called The Ring Academy during her final year. She’s competing for job placement in the Federation, only it becomes very clear that someone is after her, and it isn't just her job on the line but her life. This story is going to be more plot driven than many of my other stories, but there’s still an important emphasis on interpersonal relationships, including a budding romance. While not strictly science fiction, I’d label it more space opera, or a subcategory of science fiction that emphasizes space warfare while capitalizing on the melodrama of high-stakes and high risk adventure, interpersonal relationships, and romance. A famous example of a space opera is Star Wars.

Ultimately, I am enjoying the opportunity to write outside the “norm” of what I’ve offered so far in stories I’ve published. I absolutely adore contemporary stories, but I am also a huge fan of other categories. Imogene Sol isn’t the last story you will get from me that steps outside the bounds of contemporary stories. I hope you are as excited about that as I am.

The Ring Academy: The Trials of Imogene Sol is scheduled for publication on August 1, 2023.

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Behind-the-Scenes: Reading & All My Rage

An important part of my process as a writer is reading. I’ve mentioned this before… repeatedly. Reading across genre and category on a continuum from amazing reads to mediocre to needs so much work is a powerful tool. This practice helps me with my own craft and style. It helps me see amazing author choices and technique, to varied narrative structures, to how not to approach writing. All powerful lessons.

Some of my auto-buy authors.

Every once in a while I come across a book that blows me away. These books are the ones that linger long after I’ve closed the book. They make it hard to sleep because I’m thinking about the characters and the dilemma. They make me want to slow down and savor them, but I can’t help but burn through it page after page because I need to know what happens. These are the books whose authors have a way with words that somehow connects with my bones and takes up residence in my marrow. Language so powerful that it somehow changes my DNA.  

I want to share these books with you, so here we go. The first one this year is All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir.

All My Rage sat on my shelf since its release in 2022. I preordered it. Got a signed copy. Tahir is one of my favorite authors, and I have made the claim that Ember in the Ashes series is one of the best YA fantasy works I have ever read. And still All My Rage sat on my TBR shelf and sat and sat. Why? I knew I was going to love it,  and I didn’t want it to be over. So rather than read it, knowing it was there waiting for when I was ready was comforting. Do you know what I mean?

Well, I finally pulled it from the shelf as my first read of 2023. I was right. I knew what it would be, how I would feel reading it. All My Rage is magic (and an award winner. It deserves all the awards!).

The story follows Noor and Salahudin during their senior year in the small town of Juniper. While they are in a fight and avoiding one another, the failing health of Salahudinʻs mom brings them back together. As they navigate the complicated and painful landscape of their lives, they can count on one another to weather the awful storms each of them face. But when circumstances tear them apart, they find themselves clinging to a solitary life preserver. Will they be able to find their way back to one another?

Tahir has a way with words that burrows under your skin. Her ability to get right to the heart of a thought with succinct clarity is powerful. She creates characters that are flesh and bone, trapped inside the black and ivory pages, ready to leap fully formed into the world. The narrative is adeptly pieced together revealing truths both ugly and beautiful in a way that isn’t rooted in blame or pain but rather in the matter-of-fact humanness. It is what it is. And yet still offers us a slice of hope that we can navigate the uglier parts to find the beautiful.

All My Rage is a tapestry layered with themes of grief, addiction, anger, abuse, racism, and poverty. A tour de force, this is a story that conveys the truth. From being a teen, to being caught by one’s circumstances, to finding love, to giving and accepting forgiveness, Tahir’s All My Rage captures the beauty of the human spirit in all it’s flaws and all its beauty. 

When I closed the book with tears in my eyes, I wanted to read it for the first time… again. I had experienced something great. A work of perfection that I needed to share. All My Rage is everything, and the very reason I am in love with stories, with reading, and with writing. 

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Goal Setting 2023

I went back in time. No literally. That would be cool though. Could you imagine it? ZAP! I’m standing in front of my ex-boyfriend in high school who’s about to break my heart, and I know exactly what to say to empower myself. *Sigh. While this kind of time travel is still only a theory, wouldn’t that be something? I’ve found that journaling (or blogging) provides me a way to time travel backward, and I’m one of those people who finds clarity when reflecting on what was to inform my present and realign my future. So I looked up last year’s first January blog post which was about the goals I had for myself. 

As you know (if you’ve been following me for a bit), I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions, and instead set goals, but here are a few fun facts about New Year’s Resolutions

The first New Year’s Resolutions are linked to the ancient civilization of the Babylonian empire which thrived 4,000 years ago. According to History.com, the Babylonians would reaffirm their commitment to their ruler and take care of any loose ends like debts or make new promises to affirm their intentions.

Resolution which in modern context means “the act or process of resolving” or “analyzing a complex notion into simpler ones” was derived from the French word resolucioun which means to break up or dissolve. 

It’s interesting to mean that in both of these instances, both etymologically and in history, the idea of resolutions meant to dissolve or break apart. Somewhere along the way, we looked at this as a way of looking forward to “change” or  “make a new” habit—the idea of building—when the word is actually about breaking down and apart. I suppose the idea of building something new is also deconstructing something old. 

And so there, my friends, is why I have traveled in time, going backward to check my goals (here’s a link to the blog post) to see how I did. 

Last year’s goals:

Publish a new CL Walters novel this year: The Messy Truth About Love. I shared an exclusive scene from that novel in my newsletter and on my Patreon page (sign up for all kinds of exclusive content).

Met! The Messy Truth About Love was published September 6, 2022! 

Work forward on publishing the fantasy The Many Shades of Lies.

Met! I rewrote The Many Shades of Lies and even queried it this year. In the months since rejection, I’ve retitled it to Shades of Lies (with an idea for a new title because I’m still not sold on this one), and asked some amazing readers to read and share feedback to help me so I can set some new goals for this story. I also shared the first three chapters here.

Draft three new novels this year (the second in the fantasy series, the third Maci Aurora novel, and a new YA book).

Met (but in a way I didn’t exactly plan for). I drafted two novels for the Maci Aurora pen name, one is the second In the Shadow of a Hoax which publishes this month, and the third in the series. I also rewrote The Ring Academy: The Trials of Imogene Sol originally from a novella into a novel with the intent to publish in 2023. I’ve started two new novellas for my newsletters. I also was the ghostwriter for a nonfiction business book and completed that draft. The one I didn’t get to was the new YA book. So while I didn’t meet the goal exactly, I did move forward and make progress as an author.

Publishing August 1, 2023

Start a Patreon—or some other way to develop an income—that will allow me to continue publishing (it’s really expensive to make books well my friends, and book sales alone won’t see it done).

Met! I did start a Patreon and stuck with it for a year posting 2-3 times per month. But while I met the goal, it didn’t turn out as I had hoped, so at the end of December, I suspended this platform for myself until further notice. I’m not sure how to use it yet, and maybe it isn’t a platform for me. The other thing I did was work more diligently on my Mixed Plate Press Services. I edited several projects this year and was a ghostwriter for a project.

Publish a newsletter each month for followers.

Met! I published a new newsletter for both my CLWalters followers and my Maci Aurora followers. One each month for a total of 24 newsletters.

Blog consistently.

Met (sort of). I wrote a total of 34 new blog posts in 2022 five less than 2021 which saw a total of 39. But I am not upset about this statistic. It still seems consistent to me, and while not each week, I am proud of the content created for these posts. I highlighted a few of my favorites of last year here. 

And so (drum roll), to keep me honest and offer clarity about my own processes, here are a list of my goals for 2023:

Publish In the Shadow of a Hoax and The Ring Academy: The Trial of Imogene Sol.

Write In the Shadow Book 3 and draft book 4.

Draft a new Maci Aurora secret project and a new CL Walters project.

Write 2 new novellas for my newsletters.

5. Maintain consistency for my newsletters and blogs.

6. Read 100 books and make them a mixture of fiction and nonfiction.

Happy New Year, my friends, and thank you for being on this writing journey with me.CLWalters Blog RSS

Work in Progress Sample: Shades of Lies

The first three chapters are posted here.

Favorite Posts Digest

Since itʻs December, I tend to get reflective about where I’ve been because pretty soon (a few weeks, ahem) I’ll be looking ahead. I thought I would take a moment to share some of my favorite blog posts from this year with you. And if youʻre new here, a good way to see what kind of stuff you’ll find in this space.

One of my favorite series I did this year was the posts on what I’ve learned about writing through reading various categories. Here’s a link to my favorite one in that series: 5 Things I’ve Learned About Writing Reading Romance Novels. There are 5 or 6 additional posts in this series looking at a variety of fiction and nonfiction categories.

Another series I enjoyed writing was the posts for The Messy Truth About Love release that focused around healthy relationships. Two that stood out to me were the Love Bomb post and The Why behind The Messy Truth About Love. I wrote 4 or 5 other posts as well about relationships warning signs versus what a healthy relationship should strive for.

Finally, I always enjoy sharing fiction bits here. Two I shared this year were ghost story snippets and a horror story called The Invalid I submitted to a contest for Indie It Press. Just last week I posted a scene from In the Echo of this Ghost Town to celebrate Thanksgiving.

So there you have it. Some highlights of what I accomplished on the blog this year. I’m getting ready to think about next year. Anything you’d love to see? Shoot me a comment!

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In the Echo of This Ghost Town: Thanksgiving Scene

In honor of the season of Giving Thanks, I thought I’d share one of the two Thanksgiving scenes I’ve ever written. One of those two scenes is in The Letters She Left Behind, but I’m sharing the one from In the Echo of this Ghost Town . To give you a bit of a recap, Griffin and Max are friends (they met during the summer) and have continued their friendship through the fall, but Griffin is beginning to realize he might have more feelings for her than he’s acknowledged:

November

I’m fucking coming out of my skin waiting for Max—and Cal—to arrive for Thanksgiving. Thinking about our tiny-ass ranch style house with a tiny-ass living room and dining room, all of us packed in like sardines in a can, makes me hot and sweaty. The discomfort isn’t the space, it’s the idea of being so close to Max. Since my misguided attempt to share what happened with Coffee Lauren, my texts with Max have been different—not as easy as they once were. I’m afraid I’ve ruined us somehow, and I just want to fix what happened, to go back to the way things were.

I check my reflection in the bathroom one more time, to make sure I look okay. I’ve changed—sort of—since graduation. I’m not as skinny. I’ve got more defined muscles now from the physical work of construction stuff, and the running. My neck is wider, my face a little wider but sharper. I went and got a haircut because my hair was looking shaggy. I’d been inspired by Phoenix whose hair looks like shit—all long and ratty. I run my hands through my own hair one more time, then smooth my dark blue shirt, as if it will ease the ants crawling around inside my chest. I take a deep breath to douse their fire, but they crawl down my arms and out into my fingertips. I crack my knuckles.

“Griffin!” my mom yells from the kitchen. “Would you grab the door?”

I walk into the dining room and take an olive from a dish on the table set for six. Mom, Phoenix, and me. Bill. Cal and Max. Whatever Mom’s doing has my mouth watering. Who knew she could do the whole feast? She refused my help because Phoenix was in the kitchen helping her. She said, “It’s a two-butt kitchen, Griffin. You’re on house-straightening duty.” That took less than an hour. The rest of the unstructured time has added to the way my brain and nerves are spinning. Even the run hasn’t helped today.

“Stop eating the olives and get the door.”

Bill is on the other side. It’s clear he’s put some effort into his appearance for my mom, and I recall just looking at myself in the mirror, wondering why I went to the effort. His grayish hair is neat and trimmed. His red shirt buttoned up under his black leather bomber jacket. He’s tucked the shirt into gray slacks so his belly presses against the buttons a smidge. The cologne he’s wearing is strong and hovers around him like a cloud, but he offers a warm smile. He’s got a bottle of wine, flowers, and something store bought in a paper bag. “Hi, Griffin.”

I step back to let him in. “Hey.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says.

I offer him a peacekeeping smile. “Yeah. You too.”

He passes me, drops everything but the flowers on the counter, then disappears from my view, but I can hear my mom’s pleasure and exclamation over the flowers.

Phoenix appears at the end of the hallway. He’s dressed, though not with as much attention to detail. Jeans and a blue t-shirt with a Star Wars Boba Fett encircled on it. His hair is pulled back into his version of a man bun, most of the hair hovering over his shoulders. He glances at whatever is happening in the kitchen and looks away, his eyes catching mine. For a moment, our brotherly language returns crossing space and time. That’s fucking annoying, he says without making a sound.

I roll my eyes in acknowledgement.

We smile together as he sits on the couch. I join him. He turns up the volume on the football game, so we don’t have to listen to the disgusting flirting occurring in the kitchen. Side by side, we watch the game. I like that our brother language has begun functioning again.

“You hear from Dad?” Phoenix asks between an offensive and defensive series on the TV screen. The game goes to commercial.

Mom laughs in the kitchen at something Bill’s low voice has said, though I can’t hear what it was.

I glance at my brother, who is avoiding my gaze. His is fixed on the commercial. “No. You?” I already know the answer to this question.

Phoenix clears his throat and runs his open hands across his denim-clad thighs. “Yeah. We’ve been talking.”

I look at the TV and watch some guy standing at the edge of a mountain cliff with his new SUV parked behind him. My heartbeat tightens in my chest, keeping things small and compact. I want to say something about it, but the feelings are first, surprise, given how much Phoenix hated our dad when we were younger, and second, insecurity, so I don’t know what to say.

“He wanted me to tell you Happy Thanksgiving.”

I press my teeth together and cross my arms over my chest. The words ‘go to hell’ surface on my tongue, but I don’t voice them. I just nod to let Phoenix know I’ve heard him, then watch as the uniformed men pummel each other on the TV screen.

When there’s a knock on our front door, my heart stalls because I know it’s Cal and Max. My hands start to sweat, which is weird.

“You just going to sit there?” Phoenix asks and pushes me. “You’re closer to the door.”

I find a way to get my muscles moving, swipe my hands over the back pockets of my jeans, and open the door.

Cal’s in front, taking up most of the real estate on the porch. He smiles, and I offer a distracted smile, more interested in seeing Max. I haven’t seen her in person since my visit to her dorm a month earlier, and I recall the way I hadn’t wanted to leave her. My heart speeds up, and my stomach dips and rolls tying itself up into knots. I’m not sure this is how other friends feel…

Cal steps into the living room, and Max is behind him. “Hey, SK.” Her honey hair is down, draped over her shoulders like a pretty waterfall. She looks up at me, and her eyes crash into mine like a wave. Feeling floods me.

…because I like Max. Oh my fucking god. I like Max, and it’s definitely more than friendship. The realization makes my breath logjam in my chest, and my head spin in the thought. I have feelings—real feelings—for Maxwell Wallace.

I recall the feel of her body pressed against mine that morning, and the way I wanted to crawl back into bed with her. The wish that I hadn’t had to go.

The way I feel bright and warm when she texts.

I remember laughing with her at Triple B.

I picture her working on the cabinet and the way her focus makes her lips look soft and kissable.

I feel her sly smile across the table at the pizza parlor, filling the empty deep spaces inside of me with joy.

My stomach does a dizzy dance, and I fist my hands at my sides to keep from reaching for her.

I’ve been so stupid.

Max is the way forward.

I don’t want her to date the Bens or Dereks or Hanks. I want it to be me she chooses—and then realize she tried. I ruined it, like I always do.

I clear my throat so that I can get words that disguise what I’m feeling out. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

She smiles, and her cheeks bloom roses. She swipes a lock of hair, tucks it behind her ear and looks down at her feet to navigate crossing the threshold. When she leans forward, she gives me an awkward hug with her hands on my shoulders. Unsure where to put my hands, I lean closer, breathing in cinnamon and spice, a hand on her back.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

“Close the door. It’s cold,” Phoenix says.

I glance at him, see he’s shaking Cal’s hand, and close the door. “I can take that,” I tell Max.

She hands me the package she’s holding and removes her coat. She’s wearing a blue dress and an open sweater over the top of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress. She looks so pretty that it hurts, a lump in my chest that my heart can’t seem to get around to function properly.

I lead her and Cal into the kitchen, where I introduce them to my mom and Bill.

“Thank you so much for your invitation,” Cal says. “Our kitchen doesn’t look much like a kitchen right now.”

“Yes. Griffin told me,” Mom says. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

They talk like grown-ups, and I tune them out in favor of focusing on Max.

Her eyes slide to mine. She smiles, and it hits my heart like a sharp dart in a bullseye of the board. I can’t keep looking at her because of the weird way it hurts, and I need to reset myself. I’m acting like an idiot. I go to the table and take some olives.

I track Cal as he returns to the living room to sit with Phoenix to watch the game. They talk though I can’t hear them.

Max, who’s standing next to me, has put olives on the tips of her fingers. She wiggles them at me. “I love olives.”

I smile. “I don’t think I’ve done that since I was a kid.”

“Then you’re missing out,” she says and bites one of her fingertips.

I follow her movement with my eyes, her fingertip to her lips. They close over the flesh of the olive, and it disappears. My belly constricts. When I reconnect with her eyes, she’s watching me. She smiles.

I clear my throat, look away because my skin is overheating, and coax myself not to be an idiot. Find something to say, I tell myself. “How are things with your dad?”

“Fine.” She eats another olive.

I beckon her to follow me and lead her down the hallway to my room. When I stop in the doorway, I realize I haven’t thought this through. The room might be sort of neat, but there aren’t a lot of places to sit.

Max doesn’t seem to mind and moves past me to sit on the end of my bed. She looks around.

I follow her in and stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s good. Dad and I talked.”

“You upset at him?”

“No. I was never really upset with him. Just the circumstances, you know. Indigo disappeared like I figured she would, and I realized that’s what he’d been trying to protect me from.”

I sit next to her.

She turns to face me.

I look down at my hands. It’s easier than getting stuck on the pretty way she looks. “He missed you. And when he got back, whatever happened shook him up.”

“Yeah. It shook me too. He’s all I’ve got.”

I can’t help but look at her then. I search her face. This close in this light I can see she’s got a beauty mark just under her left eye. Her eyes have these deep blue striations and a splash of green in the left one. I’m drawn to the pretty pink sheen of her lips. They’re not smiling at me but downturned just a touch. Kissable. I can feel her eyes measuring me, too, and it feels a little reminiscent of that day in August, when she kissed me. Hope offers a tentative pulse inside of me. Could she still want to kiss me?

“You have me,” I tell her.

She looks away, turns so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and examines her fingers. Her nails are painted blue to match her dress. “I’m glad.”

I realize even if she is still interested in me, she’d never be the one to cross the line of friendship. Not after what happened in August. I rejected her. Fear coils up like a snake inside of me, tight around the terror of ruining our friendship. Knowing me, that is exactly what I would do. I’ve left a trail of ruined friendships.

She stands, moves away. “So, this is SK’s room.” She glances over her shoulder at me with a fun smile. Dimple.

My belly responds, flopping about. I want to touch her, draw her back to the bed, kiss that dimple.

She moves about the small room with her hands clasped behind her back. “This doesn’t look like a serial killer’s room.” Her voice is low when she says it, like she’s imparting a secret.

“That’s because it isn’t.” I lean back on my hands to watch her move. “What does a serial killer’s bedroom look like?”

Her upper lip quirks with one of those sassy smiles. “Oh. Full of all the news clippings of all their nefarious activities.” Her eyes sparkle as she says it.

“Nefarious? Speak English.” I purposefully goad her.

“I am. Sinister. Come on, SK.” She resumes looking around. “But there isn’t much here. I mean, it doesn’t really reflect you. Where are your posters? Trophies? Pictures of friends?”

I sit back up and glance around. She’s right. There isn’t much of me in this room. “I took down the one poster I had.”

“Oh.” Her eyes light up. “I bet I can guess what it was.”

I raise my eyebrows to invite her to guess.

She returns to the bed and sits next to me. “A picture of a hot girl in a bikini.”

I smile. “Close.”

“And a car.”

This makes me laugh. “Closer.” I wish we were sitting closer.

She smiles. “Why did you take it down?”

I look around at the room, which suddenly feels like a stranger’s space; I don’t know who this person is, and there’s nothing here to tell me. It’s empty. “It just didn’t feel right anymore.”

She hums a response. I don’t know what it means. It doesn’t sound judgmental.

“Would you like me to take your sweater?” I ask her.

“Sure.” She gets up.

I stand, stepping up behind her—closer—to help her.

She turns her head slightly, and I notice the way her lashes fan over her cheeks.

My fingertips graze the bare skin of her shoulder.

She stalls, and her eyes flash to mine.

I freeze.

Someone laughs in the other room.

She shivers, looks away, says something about keeping the sweater, and shrugs it back on.

I don’t catch all of what she’s said more cognizant of the fire burning from my fingertips straight to my center. “Max.” I don’t know why I say her name. I just need to. I can’t find my balance without saying it. I don’t reach out and touch her. I don’t move. I’m in suspended animation.

She draws her hair from under the collar and turns to face me. “Yeah?” Then her eyes flick up to mine, and I know she can see all the feelings my features are telling her. While I may have been able to hide them from everyone else, I’ve never been very good at hiding them when it comes to her. She saw them the very first time she met me when she sat down at the table. She hadn’t even known my name.

She steps closer.

When she takes a breath, I can feel the shift in my shirt, whispering a caress across my skin.

She tilts her head slightly to meet my gaze. “Griffin?”

Griffin.

Not SK.

Griffin.

My heart is in my throat, filling it with its mass rather than words because I don’t know what the words are. I just know there are flashes of lightning electrifying me. I notice her breathing—it’s erratic, faster than a moment ago. These tiny observations make me think that maybe she wants me to kiss her. That whatever happened last August is still between us, that all the tension I felt at her dorm wasn’t just me.

I’m afraid.

“Me too,” she says.

“I said that out loud?”

She offers a tentative smile, nods, then leans toward me as if to tell me she’s willing to meet me halfway.

I reach out and pinch a strand of her hair between my fingers, afraid to touch her, but she tilts her head so that her cheek presses against my hand holding the strand of silky hair. I release it and lay my open palm against her cheek.

“I want to kiss you,” I say, but the words barely make a sound.

“Hey!”

I straighten, and Max whirls around at the sound of Phoenix’s voice.

Standing in the doorway, his eyes darting between us, Phoenix smiles a toothy grin, which makes me want to punch his face. “Dinner,” he says.

“Okay.” I offer him a frustrated look.

He winks at me before he disappears, and I grind my teeth together.

Max, who is suddenly intent on looking at the stuff on top of my dresser, has her back to me.

“Ready?” I ask.

She turns, her cheeks pink with a blush, and nods. “Starving.”

I wonder if she’s talking about the meal. The thought excites me that she isn’t.

Happy Thanksgiving. I am so thankful you are here with me. I’m going to be taking a blogging break for a the rest of the year (unless something super cool happens and I MUST share). You can join my newsletter for more information (and I’ve got some cool stuff happening soon!) Happy Holidays.

Book Hangover List

Tomorrow is my birthday. When I was little, I loved my birthday. My parents made it magical. Ask anyone, and one of the first things out of my mouth was the date of my birthday. My cousins loved to tease me because I always said it backwards (at least in the US). “When’s your birthday ,Cam?” they’d ask. “Seventeen November,” I’d answer. I still love my birthday, though as an adult, I don’t struggle to go to sleep the night before excited about presents. Truthfully, now I wouldn’t mind the clock slowing down because I realize how much quicker each birthday arrives.

Speaking of gifts, one of my favorite things to receive are books. So to celebrate, I thought I would share with you the books that have given me a book hangover. You know those books that when you close the cover after the final page, you sit in silence. And sometimes, it’s even hard to move forward, since you’re walking around in that story fog as it lingers. In no particular order, these are books I read that left me reeling in some way (needing a debrief) so that I had to pick up a book in a different genre to read something else.

So in no particular order:

Marcus Zusak’s Bridge of Clay (OMG! I love this book.)

Carlos Ruiz Zaffon’s Shadow of the Wind (Pure magic.)

Sabaa Tahir’s Ember in the Ashes quartet. (The last one is A Sky Beyond the Storm. But I reread the series. Read the whole thing again. Seriously.)

Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner (Dear God… ugly cried.)

Jennifer Niven’s Breathless (Closed the book and felt empowered. My life finally made sense. )

Jeff Zenter’s  In a Wild Light (Every book by Jeff Zentner has given me a book hangover. He has this way of capturing character and then they worm their way into your heart.)

Fredrick Backman’s A Man Called Ove (They’re making a movie of this one. I loved it so much.)

TJ Klune’s The House in the Cerulean Sea (Amazing characters and humor? Can’t go wrong.)

Emily Henry’s Book Lovers (*sigh.)

Mary E Pearson’s Dance of Thieves Duology. (I think about this story all the time. Like I’ll just be washing dishes and think about Kazi and Jase and wonder about their story.)

Rebecca Roanhorse Black Sun (One of the best fantasy novels I’ve read.)

V.E. Schwab’s Darker Shade of Magic (I remember being in awe when I read this. I was just shocked at how perfect this was).

I could add to this list, but it’s what I’ve got for now. Let me know if any of yours are on this list. Or better yet tell me one that isn’t so I can add it to my ever growing TBR.

CLWalters Blog RSS

Advice: Find your People

I was sitting in a high school classroom the other day listening to high school students chat with one another. They sat in clumps, computers open, phones out, some with masks and others without.  Their conversations ranged from processing friendship drama to loud exuberance over a game they’d played the night before. Some begrudged the annoying dress code for an upcoming dance while others focused on an upcoming quiz in math. It made me think about my own experiences at that age and how important it felt to just be in the moment with one’s friends. How important it was to feel as if I had the opportunity to just be myself.

I was seventeen when this was taken.

Only, through my teenage years I never had been. It wasn’t like I didn’t like myself. I did. I just remember being afraid that other people might not like me. I was an introvert in disguise as an extrovert, a chameleon shifting colors to adapt to my needs. All I really wanted to do was be at home writing or reading. I remember feeling like other people wouldn’t be able to relate. They were fun and energetic. They did fun things, went to parties, had significant others. They wore stylish clothes and did well in classes. In hindsight, I was those things too. I didn’t have a boyfriend, but I had friends. Teachers liked me. I worked hard and did well. I was fun and laughed and was very conscious about how I presented myself. Though high school was mostly positive for me, I wouldn’t want to return to high school. College was where I finally began to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I read in this book—The Tattoo by Chris McKinney—about how each person has three suns around which they revolve. Those suns are family, friends, and a significant other. The main character of the book—Kenji—expresses that if two of those suns function in your life, then all’s good, but if two of them fail, you’re screwed. The point being: you must find your tribe.

Some of my favorite stories include the found family trope. The Aurora Cycle by Jay Kristoff and Amie Kaufman; The Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, The Raven Cycle by Maggie Steifvater, Fable by Adrienne Young, The House on the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune. I love the idea of people finding their tribe. In the new story I’m working on, The Ring Academy: The Trials of Imogene Sol, Imogene’s found family is important as they help her clear her name of a horrible charge that could get her kicked out of the academy.

Coming August 1, 2023

I’m not exactly sure what this blog is about—maybe just a thought dump, but clearly, I’m thinking about “the tribe.” If I could offer a young person any sort of advice it would be that: Find your tribe.

Advice: Find your Tribe

I was sitting in a high school classroom the other day listening to high school students chat with one another. They sat in clumps, computers open, phones out, some with masks and others without.  Their conversations ranged from processing friendship drama to loud exuberance over a game they’d played the night before. Some begrudged the annoying dress code for an upcoming dance while others focused on an upcoming quiz in math. It made me think about my own experiences at that age and how important it felt to just be in the moment with one’s friends. How important it was to feel as if I had the opportunity to just be myself.

I was seventeen when this was taken.

Only, through my teenage years I never had been. It wasn’t like I didn’t like myself. I did. I just remember being afraid that other people might not like me. I was an introvert in disguise as an extrovert, a chameleon shifting colors to adapt to my needs. All I really wanted to do was be at home writing or reading. I remember feeling like other people wouldn’t be able to relate. They were fun and energetic. They did fun things, went to parties, had significant others. They wore stylish clothes and did well in classes. In hindsight, I was those things too. I didn’t have a boyfriend, but I had friends. Teachers liked me. I worked hard and did well. I was fun and laughed and was very conscious about how I presented myself. Though high school was mostly positive for me, I wouldn’t want to return to high school. College was where I finally began to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I read in this book—The Tattoo by Chris McKinney—about how each person has three suns around which they revolve. Those suns are family, friends, and a significant other. The main character of the book—Kenji—expresses that if two of those suns function in your life, then all’s good, but if two of them fail, you’re screwed. The point being: you must find your tribe.

Some of my favorite stories include the found family trope. The Aurora Cycle by Jay Kristoff and Amie Kaufman; The Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, The Raven Cycle by Maggie Steifvater, Fable by Adrienne Young, The House on the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune. I love the idea of people finding their tribe. In the new story I’m working on, The Ring Academy: The Trials of Imogene Sol, Imogene’s found family is important as they help her clear her name of a horrible charge that could get her kicked out of the academy.

Coming August 1, 2023

I’m not exactly sure what this blog is about—maybe just a thought dump, but clearly, I’m thinking about “the tribe.” If I could offer a young person any sort of advice it would be that: Find your tribe.