Danielle Hines's Blog, page 3
September 18, 2023
The Little Spy
Manfred fell into bed with an ungraceful thud. His neighbour’s words were heavy in his head. Be better. That’s how you’ll win her back. But there were some things he simply didn’t know how to fix. He took out his phone to look at her last message yet again and then flashed back to her phone call the other day.
“I, uh, just wanted to check in, see how you were doing.”
Manfred clucked his tongue. “Fine.”
Sarah sighed. “Listen, I know it’s not my place to be calling or whatever. I- I just worry sometimes. You keep to yourself and…”
“And?”
Heavy sigh. “You’re still pissed at me. I get it. Fred, we just weren’t working. You were angry all the time. Paranoid.”
“Geez, this is a fantastic phone call. I’m so glad I picked up.”
“Hm.” Sarah sounded amused.
Manfred pinched his eyebrows together. “What?”
“Well, why *did* you pick up?”
This had made Manfred stop. He had wanted to say a hundred things at once—that the phone rang so, of course, he answered, that he wasn’t always a mean prick, that he hadn’t even seen who it was. Or the truth—that he missed her voice so much it hurt, that he missed her, her smell, her smile, the way she called him ‘Fred’, how patient she was, how hard she laughed at his dirty jokes. Instead, he had said, “I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t.” And hung up.
His eyes welled up with shame at the memory. He couldn’t deny either charge. And while many couples fought, he knew it was the intermittent arrival of his paranoia that was the thing that scared her away. Who could blame her? The last time it happened, he caught the look on her face- it was the helpless look of someone who was losing someone they loved. Even in the midst of his ramblings, he saw it and knew it for what it was.
It had been a hot June day, and Sarah had brought over watermelon and chicken salad sandwiches. She wore a long, flowing lime green dress and had her hair tied up in a bun. She’d smelled of flowers and marshmallows, and she had laughed hard when he told her so.
“It’s lavender and vanilla, Fred. But you’re cute.”
He cringed when she called him cute, and yet, he knew she meant it kindly. It had taken him two years to accept that she meant everything kindly. Sarah was incapable of malice.
They had eaten their fare on a blanket in his living room directly in front of the window air conditioner. It was the only cool spot in the entire house. Eventually, though, Sarah wanted to go outside. She’d brought a few folding chairs the last time she visited and suggested they sit and watch the sun go down. Manfred stiffened and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “The spy is out there.”
Sarah giggled, thinking for a moment he was playing a joke on her. “What? Oh, you. Come on!”
She started to get up from the blanket, but Manfred grabbed her arm and pulled her down. “Sarah, no. He’s out there.” He blinked hard. “The old man thinks I don’t know, but I know.”
“Know what? Fred, you’re not making any sense.”
He shook his head, searching for the words that would help her understand. “It’s that raccoon. The big one. He stares at me when I’m outside, and he’s always looking at the house. The old man has trained him. And he’s got that thing strapped to him. He’s recording me- hears everything I say.”
Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Honey, Mr. Ivankov strapped a tracking device to Cedar because he’s sick, and he doesn’t want him to get too far. I know it’s a bit…unusual, but he considers those raccoons his pets. He loves them. It has nothing to do with you. I promise.”
“No, no. You don’t understand. Everything he does is to annoy me, to get me upset. He wants to break me and then get it all on tape and give it to you so that you’ll leave me!”
And it was then—right then. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. She changed right in front of him. One moment she loved him, and the next, she pitied him. Even now, the memory of it made him feel sick to his stomach. All those months keeping her at arms’ length, all that time spent crafting a hard exterior so that she’d never truly see him. Sarah had become everything to him, and he’d accepted that, but he wanted more time to endeavour to deserve her, to rid himself of the anxieties, the weird habits, and yes… the paranoia.
But now, it was too late.
**excerpt from a WIP, The Lonely People
While I’ve got you here, have you read The Sweetwood Series yet?
It’s the perfect cozy read for Autumn.
You can purchase your copy HERE.
And if you have read The Sweetwood Series, I’d love a review! You can leave one HERE or at the link above.
D xoxoxo
September 5, 2023
The Silent Treatment PLUS a Sweetwood Audiobook is coming🎧
If my view outside was any indication, today would be grey and messy and cold. It was early November. The trees were still giving up their leaves to harsh winds and bitter rains. The sky bore a permanent layer of dulled darkness, and the streets wore a sheen of recent downpours. I held my cup of coffee against my chest and gave thanks for the warmth of my home.
This was something I had to make a point of doing. It was easy to get lost in the trials of life and forget just how blessed and, frankly, privileged I was. So this rainy, grey day with its first-quarter moon and funky energy could suck a lemon. I was going to be just fine, thanks.
My phone buzzed from across the room, and I considered leaving it. But my daughter was at a friend's, so I had to at least look. It turned out to be my friend, Gillian, who was ten years my junior and whom I had supported a lot lately. She was having relationship issues and needed an ear often. I answered.
"Paul is doing it again," she said, her voice tight with emotion.
I sat down at the kitchen table, knowing this would most likely be a long call. "What's he doing, honey? Are you ok?"
She sniffed and paused, seemingly pulling herself together. "He's not talking to me. I'm being punished. I can feel it."
"Ok," I said softly. "Tell me what happened. You argued?"
Gillian cleared her throat and sucked in a breath. "Yes, I told him I'm frustrated about his long hours at work and how I just want to have a night out or a weekend away to reconnect."
I smiled. "You miss him."
"Yes," she replied. "But that's not what he heard. He heard me attacking his being tired from work and not doing enough in the relationship."
I winced. "Oof."
"And now he won't talk to me. He stomps around the house and won't return my texts. What the heck am I going to do? All I want is for him to talk to me, but I remembered what you said about holding onto my own energy, so I'm reaching out to you instead of kissing his butt."
I did a little happy dance inside. "Gill, that's so good! I'm proud of you!"
She sniffed back a cry. "I don't know, Danielle. It feels awful. It feels like I'm losing everything."
I wanted to hug her just then. "I know, love. You're breaking an old pattern. It's going to hurt. And you mentioned the last time we spoke that you and your therapist figured out that Paul reminds you of your mom—that she used to withhold love or affection to manipulate you, right? So, Paul is an emotional twin of your mother come 'round again."
Gillian sighed. "Yeah."
"I know it's not easy. But it's important to pull yourself out of the emotions and get back into your logical thinking. Paul is using the silent treatment to control and manipulate. You cannot engage. Your pattern is to give in and then give more and more of yourself until he cracks—just so you can feel safe and that he won't leave you. This is not good for you. I know you know that."
She paused a moment before answering. "Yeah, I know."
"You're learning to nourish yourself without needing anyone else to do it for you. This will take time. But you're doing so well."
"I just feel like I'm not being nice. Like, maybe me being nice to him will show him how he can be nice to me, you know?"
I did know. The codependent mind can devise all sorts of rationales for putting one's needs aside in favour of someone else. "I hear you, honey. This is not about you ignoring him to stick it to him; this is about you holding on to yourself—to no longer lend your strength to someone or something that is not giving back. You matter. Your feelings matter. And if he insists on not replying or talking to you, then just let him go ahead and do that."
Gillian took a deep breath. "Ok," she said. "I can do that."
"We've got to fill our own wells, love. And I'm so glad you're learning this now. I wish I'd known when I was younger."
"I'm just happy you know now and can help me! My mom just keeps telling me to leave him, and that's not what I want."
She had mentioned this before and seemed to struggle with it a lot. So many people just leave relationships without looking at their own patterns of behaviour. But if you can't break the pattern, you will repeat it—the person you're with will not matter in that sense. The solution is not "out there"; it's within. That’s not to say that relationships don’t run their course. They absolutely can. And, when there is violence, that is another matter entirely.
"I know it's not, Gill. One day at a time," I reminded softly.
We hung up, and I sat back in my chair. It occurred to me how helpful it can be to have a loved one gently call you on your shit. Even if you're not ready to hear it, it can be a seed planted to be harvested later. The people in my inner circle have one thing in common: the ability to be honest with themselves. Anything less is simply too draining for me these days.
I don't much care about how many things you have or how fast you're moving up some imaginary ladder—though I am always fascinated by successful people. Tell me how you're working on healing old traumas or breaking patterns that have run rampant in your family for generations. It's messy; it's unconventional; it's also a way out.
The dark times were so much easier to meet these days. I trust myself more. I trust Spirit more. It's not complete, but I'm getting there.
**Originally written November 2019
As mentioned above, I'm fortunate enough to have some incredible friends. One of those is Hannah. This woman is not only angelic in real life, she has the voice of an angel too. So who better than to record the audiobook version of The Sweetwood Series??! 🎧 Hannah is a talented, experienced voice actress and an absolute blessing. We've seen each other through a lot in our 10+ years of friendship.
Hannah and I are SO EXCITED to bring you this audio version of the books. Many of you may not know this, but I rarely read paperbacks or ebooks these days. I almost exclusively listen to audiobooks. So to be able to offer this as an indie author is next-level for me. And I could not do it without Hannah.
So, thank you, sweet Hannah. For everything.
And friends, you'll be the first to know when The Sweetwood Series Audiobook is ready! 💙
August 23, 2023
Writing about healthy love. PLUS we have a winner!
First things first, our winner is…
Zandra!
Big congrats.
Thank you to everyone who entered the giveaway. That was so much fun to do! I’ll do it again once we release the audiobook later this year.
So stay tuned!
I’ve waded deep into the waters of the romance world these past few months, my friends, and I gotta say… It’s pretty dark.
Of course, I’m generalizing. Romance is an enormous genre with countless sub-genres. I am speaking from the perspective of an author dabbling in BookTok on TikTok and familiarizing myself with the novels these folks are obsessed with. These books are everywhere.
Here are a few that are endlessly talked about:
A Court of Thorns and Roses
Fourth Wing
Haunting Adeline
My Dark Romeo
Icebreaker
I won’t get into the weeds here, but from what I’ve read (and I’ve read three of the above), what’s hot right now is:
fairly predictable fantasy with tall, ripped guys and weak women who gain powers
dark academia with graphic sex scenes
sports romance with douche-y but lovable (?) guys
stalker-y “love”
Some of the writing was excellent. Some of it… not my thing. But here is where I’m heading with all of this…
Where is the healthy love? Is it too boring? Do we always need to escape into things that are toxic and red-flag-y?
Listen, I love a good love scene. I love themes like redemption and love at first sight. But what I love writing and reading the most these days is imperfect people bettering themselves within a love that is safe, supportive, honest & true against the backdrop of something menacing but overcomeable. This will still be messy, but it’s a healthy kind of mess—a mess that is genuine, that steps back when things aren’t right with a determination to make it right again.
It’s all fiction. It’s all worthy. I simply want to bring something else to the mix. Releasing Sweetwood has spurred me to really consider what I want to write. And what I want to write moving forward is suspenseful, thought-provoking stories where love is found, but it’s not THE thing. It’s just there—a goal, a soft landing place, an attraction with so much more potential underneath.
Moody, not dangerous. Emotional, not exploitative.
So, I hope you’ll come along with me. I’m outlining my next full-length novel now and it’s gonna be so fun to write.
Happy August, y’all!
Love D
August 14, 2023
I'm giving away a copy of The Sweetwood Series!
The world feels different these days. There’s a rawness, an openness, a nowhere-to-hideness to everything, and it seems overwhelming. Just last night, Robert started to tell me something that our provincial government had done, and I had to say, “I don’t have room for that in my brain. All I want to focus on at this moment is our family because that offers some peace.”
The earth is hot, everything is expensive, and people’s true colours are revealed daily. Since 2020, nothing has felt the same. But life marches on. And we try our best to find moments of joy. Some days I can dive deeper into the darkness of what’s going on, learn more, and do my part. And others, I’ve got nothin’.
But that’s not true. I do have my presence which, most of the time, is pretty grounded and loving. And I have this little book I wrote.
So today, I want to offer a wee giveaway. If you’d like to enter to win a paperback copy of my book, The Sweetwood Series, click the button below.
Does it feel strange at times to be marketing a little romance book during days like this? Yup. And yet, we can’t be in the thick of it all the time. A little light has to be sought out. So I offer my light in the form of three sweet, suspenseful love stories sent right to your door.
With love,
D
August 7, 2023
The Things She Can't Forget
She couldn’t tell Hailey what a colossal failure this was. The second they turned left into the parking lot, Sarah felt sick to her stomach. The Good Samaritan was a pub at the north end of town—somewhere she and her sister rarely went because it was just too out of the way. But they had dark corners with leather benches and great bands on Friday nights.
In all likelihood, Hailey heard about this place from some hot, artsy guy at work. Sarah had heard about it from Fred. It was, in fact, the first place he’d ever taken her. Why she had never mentioned this to her sister, she’d never know. But she was regretting it now.
Hailey instantly spotted her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
Sarah let out a long breath. “You’re going to be mad at me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness sake. He took you here?”
Sarah nodded.
Hailey pulled the keys from the ignition and stared at the pub’s facade, exasperation plain on her face. “Well, exposure therapy, sister dear,” she said with a shrug.
When Fred had brought her here, the place had seemed bigger, but that was most likely just a memory trick. It really was just the same. The same forest green wallpaper flecked with golden fleur-de-lis. It was not well-ventilated, so the human musk of wanting to get laid hung heavy in the air. Sarah felt dizzy. It was impossible to separate Fred from this place, no matter what Hailey said. How could she know that this is where he first kissed her, first held her hand, stroked her back, and told her how beautiful she was?
It was too much. She would have one beer and then grab an Uber back home.
“Foster’s? Canadian? Fuller’s?”
Sarah snapped back to the present and blinked at her sister. “Fuller’s, please.”
Hailey trotted off to the bar, leaving Sarah once again with her thoughts. Memories more like. What was the name of the band that night? She reached into her purse for her phone and realized what she was doing. She was about to text him and ask. A touch of adrenaline reached her veins. Could she? Of course, she could. And she could wait out the torturous two hours it would inevitably take for him to reply. Or she could just put the phone away again.
She checked her messages to be sure — nothing from him. No surprise; there had been nothing for over a month. And there, at the bottom of her messages, was his last text: “Your shampoo is in a bag on my porch. Come by before it gets stolen.”
Of course, there had been that email, though. The one he sent first thing in the morning two weeks ago. It was what had prompted her to call him.
Sarah looked up and searched for Hailey, who was still waiting at the bar. She took this as permission to read the email again… for the forty-fifth time.
Sarah,
I understand why you ended things. I’m not ready for you, not ready for what it means to love a woman like you.
Wish I could snap my fingers and transcend my past, but I can’t. Most of the time, I just feel lost. But you already know that.
I know you tried to tame my demons, but they wore out your patience- you, the most patient person in the world. Thinking of that makes me sad and exhausted.
I’m grumpy, but you ignored that- laughed at it. I’m a recluse, but you brought me out. I’m walled in, but you broke through.
That’s the most important thing. You broke through. I know that you need to hear that. You made a difference, Sarah. Your love helped me see I’m worthwhile.
Anyway, I miss you.
Anyway, I always will.
Fred
She sighed and put her phone away. The Fred who wrote that email was the Fred she fell for, and he made rare, though incredible, appearances. But the truth was she missed all of him. She didn’t see him in bits and pieces; she saw him in his flawed and holistic glory. He was scared mostly. And Sarah knew things that no one else did about his past and what he had been through. She knew how much he struggled.
But she couldn’t participate in that struggle anymore. It was clear to her that he needed to do some things on his own, and she did not feel strong enough to let him do that while also being his girlfriend. Her own penchant for wanting to be his saviour made her feel sick to her stomach. He was a grown man, fully capable of healing himself without her constant takeovers and interference.
This need for control worried her, and the truth was, she had not seen it in herself until she met Fred. Her other boyfriends had been all too happy to take advantage of her kindness and eagerness to please. But Fred called her on it—told her she took on too much and often flat-out refused to accept her help.
“I’m not sleeping with a saint,” he’d say. “That’s way too much pressure. I love you, Sarah. You.”
Looking up, she spotted Hailey, beers in hand, weaving her way through the crowd. Her sister was undeniably beautiful and was constantly told that she should model. Of course, nine times out of ten, this was quantified with the word ‘plus-size.’ It wasn’t a bad thing. Hailey had always been bigger than Sarah in every way. Her lips were fuller, eyes larger. The swell of her hips, breasts and thighs— Sarah had often been jealous. And her personality, too, was larger than life in the best way.
Hailey didn’t care either way. She’d been blessed with unshakeable confidence and also had no interest in modelling as a career. Her passion was animals, and she embraced her job as a Vet Tech with unabashed vigour. Their home had a constant influx of the sick and abandoned.
“A beer for you, madam,” she said.
Sarah took the beer and had a big gulp. The malty taste and slight fizz were heavenly. She hadn’t had a beer in so long, hadn’t been out in forever. Hailey was right- she needed this. There was something about pulling yourself out of a routine that lent a new outlook. Like maybe it wasn’t always going to be this hard. Maybe, eventually, she would feel good again.
“You look better already,” Hailey proclaimed as if reading her thoughts. “Just wait, honey. You’ll see. It’s all going to be fine.”
Sarah smiled at her sister with genuine love and appreciation. “I know. You’re younger and wiser. It’s totally unfair.”
Photo by bruce mars from Pexels
July 31, 2023
Be Where You Are
A lifetime ago, I drank my coffee with cream and sugar (I now take it black), and I was up to my eyeballs in grief. This piece was written then.
And please do keep scrolling for a lovely NEW holiday romance release.
I stared out my window at the bare trees and the railroad tracks just beyond. My living room seemed empty sans Christmas tree, stockings, and cards, but then I didn't want them back. The reminder of another holiday come and gone would have wrapped me up in heavy emotion, and I was trying desperately to let go. Holding on, though, was a notorious habit of mine.
My friend whistled and hummed in my kitchen as she brewed some coffee. I liked mine creamy and sweet. She preferred hers black.
Simple pleasures were something I searched for these days. And I was grateful for them. Another layer of grief and sorrow had peeled away this past month, and I was left now with an aching numbness that I hardly knew what to do with. I was becoming sick of myself and my own sad story. I wanted to feel better. I wanted to be a joy to be around. I no longer wished to be that friend who was "going through a hard time". Screw that. I wanted to be fun again.
But I wasn't.
"Here you are, sweetheart," she said as she handed me my favourite mug. "Isn't coffee such a treat?" she beamed. And I breathed in with a smile, hoping to take on her lightheartedness by osmosis.
"It is," I replied. "Thank you."
She settled herself into the loveseat across from me and followed my gaze to the window. "Winter is truly something, isn't it?"
"Hmpf," I uttered involuntarily.
"The darkness and the stark beauty of it... They make us go within." Her voice was barely a lull, almost as though she was speaking to herself. "We're forced to let go of that which must leave, and we're given time to grieve so that come Spring, all that is left is what is meant to be reborn."
I continued to look out at the trees. They seemed dead, but they weren't. And the grass beneath the snow was merely frozen...stagnant. The trains on the track moved more slowly on account of the cold. And I...I took it all in.
"My dear friend," she said. "You have got to be where you are."
I looked down at my hands holding the mug of coffee. I still had yet to take a sip.
"You will heal. This will get better, but not by avoiding all that swirls inside you. Healing happens in the present moment. Always. It happens right here, right now, with your willingness."
I found my voice, but only to further plead my case. "No one wants to be around me. I just bring everyone down. People want to talk about fun weekends and granite countertops, not rebuilding your life....not grief."
She laughed at me. "You don't want to be around you! Don't put this on other people."
I winced at the truth of her words and wanted to throw them back at her. But she was right.
"There is nothing wrong with struggling. It's part of life. It's where you are right now. Stop fighting it, and the struggle eases. Solutions appear. You feel better." She put her coffee mug down and rose to sit next to me. "You're not alone in this. Pray in whatever way feels right for you. And reach out to loved ones who ‘get it.’"
I leaned into my friend wordlessly and took a sip of my coffee. It was warm and earthy and sweet. And at that moment, I understood that I deserved it. I deserved a simple pleasure despite the chaos of feeling within me. I was worthy of care even when I was sad. The sadness would pass, and a temporary feeling could never alter what remains.
I was ok. I was safe to be me, to be exactly where I was.
And I was loved.
AVAILABLE NOW! - His Christmas Wish by Tia Marlee
She’s a widowed single mother. He’s convinced a family of his own isn’t in the cards. Can one small boy’s Christmas wish bring them together, or will past hurts tear them apart?
When preschool teacher Morgan Prescott finds herself stranded on the side of the road, her fears of being able to care for her son alone resurface. She’s broke, broke down, and stuck in survival mode.
Brant Anderson has always wanted a family of his own. The hardworking mechanic spent more time focused on stability than finding his one true love. Until a widowed single mom lands in his shop, desperate and with a son too cute to ignore.
Fate seems determined to throw them together, but can they find a way to move forward, or will their pasts keep them from their happily ever after?
July 24, 2023
The Biker, the Thief and the Small-Town Mayor
I wrote this post in 2020, but I wanted to re-share it because my heart and mind have been holding space for writers lately.
And scroll down for a NEW sweet romance release 💞
“Maybe it’s not living a double life,” she said. “Maybe it’s an ability to compartmentalize effectively.” And I realized she had a point. Maybe some people can separate one thing from the other as a way to thrive no matter where they are. This theme of compartmentalization has been coming up a lot lately. My work as a writer and an editor has been focused on the stories of the partners of those in the aforementioned title: The biker, the thief and the small-town mayor.
I’m currently editing a memoir for one of my friends who happens to have been married to a biker. Her story of denial, addiction, recovery and redemption is incredible. But our focus lately has been on those early years when she was somehow able to pretend her life was normal, even though it was anything but. The insight and 'a-has' as she recounts to me the long, arduous journey has been healing. I’ve been able to watch her take back her story and step into a life completely her own. She now helps other people cross that bridge from trauma to triumph. And as we reflect on how she survived by keeping herself in the dark, we also look at her former husband, who seems to have never had an issue straddling both worlds.
Now the thief is a character within a novel I’m ghostwriting. She, too, compartmentalizes. She lies and manipulates, and steals—all in an effort to keep herself alive. It’s been fascinating writing the character of the man who has been deceived by her and yet, finds himself loving her still. His stubbornness in seeing the good in her proves to be his undoing. He cannot do what she does. He can't put his life into boxes. For him, everything connects. And ultimately, that’s why it takes him so long to see the thief for who she is.
And lastly, the small-town mayor. I had the honour of editing the proposal for another friend’s memoir. Again, we have a wife deceived by the man she loves, who seems to effortlessly coexist in two worlds. Deep in the American South, where big oil reigns supreme and nearly everyone in government is corrupt, my friend found herself in a sexless marriage and at the mercy of a man who only lied and then lied some more. Her husband’s ability to compartmentalize bordered on the sociopathic, in her opinion. He fell deep and quickly into the underbelly of that political world. But her story is also one of breaking free. And of forgiving oneself for having been blinded by the promise an enormous diamond ring is meant to symbolize.
I'd been giving myself a hard time lately. I mean, look at all the work I've been doing lately to support someone else's writing, someone else's stories, someone else's book sales. But the truth is, I'm helpful in this role. I'm good at it. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my novel is coming.
For now, I'm happy to learn more about these things, of which I knew so little. I know it will all serve me well, even if I can't quite see how just yet.
NOW AVAILABLE! Love on the Brain by Kerry Evelyn
He was her BFF until life got in the way. Now he's back, right when she needs him most. But crossing the line of friendship will risk more than just their hearts.
All Jane Porter Allen ever wanted was a big family, front porch, and white picket fence. That dream was laid to rest alongside her husband, Casey, when their life was just getting started. Now, as their son, Noah, faces a similar life-threatening diagnosis, she’s forced to confront her past as she struggles with how to save her little boy’s future.
Enter Ryan Engstrom, Jane’s college bestie and Casey’s childhood best friend. A pediatric neurosurgeon, he’s full of regrets and determined to help Noah. He’ll need to move mountains to make sure Noah receives the best medical treatment possible—all the while fighting his own personal demons as he faces a heart-wrenching decision.
Though still deeply grieving past traumas, Jane and Ryan are just as in tune with each other as ever. When their feelings grow beyond friendship, everything hangs in the balance, including Noah’s life. Now, they must confront their pain and make a choice—continue on separate paths and miss out on a second chance at love, or risk everything to find a way to build a future together.
Love on the Brain is a poignant emotional journey that explores love, loss, and the healing of wounds that prove most resistant to it.
July 17, 2023
A Little Love Story + A Sweet Giveaway!
(Read the story and keep scrolling for a sweet offer!)
On LeavingEvergreens whooshed by her as she drove. Peppered between them were trees shedding leaves of burnt red and orange. Her 2001 Acura was packed to the gills. The air was just cool enough to crack the window open.
September.
No one was surprised by her leaving. The hugs at her old office were tight and true with whispers of, "You stayed too long" and "Go. Make us proud." She had spent five years doing what she thought was right. Five years at a desk, trying to be good, meet a good man, and make a life worth settling down for.
Five years.
But she was wild at heart. And not in a false rebellion kind of way. She wanted roots, but she also needed wings. Family would come. She felt it in her bones. She would love and love big. But for now, she craved a landscape that matched her soul- untamed, pure and full of awe. For now, the love was for herself, nature, art, and God.
North country.
How much money you could save when a place was calling your name was amazing. She heard it at night, just as her head hit the pillow. It was an echo from a distance, and the pull was both sonic and visual: A rope running through fingers, pulling her closer and closer. A call so deep and bare she could think of little else. Her lunches were spent scoping lakeside cabins and small cottages in the hills.
No neighbours.
She was thirty-five years old but had never been alone. Between parents, boyfriends, and roommates, she had shared her existence, her habits, and her energy constantly. She was tired. It was time to feed herself, dangle between chores and obligations and be still. It was time to pray, paint, and run with animals she had never seen.
No plan.
It would take as long as it took. Her soul was writing the script, and she was not privy to the following pages. She lived by breath, by the gut. A friend had called her fearless, but that wasn't entirely true. She shook with nerves at times but gently let them pass. Would her broken heart follow her? Of course, it would. But she would no longer follow it. No more longing for completion. She had read a poem once that said she was already whole, which felt true. She would follow that.
Arrival.
Pulling down the gravel road, she gasped. The small cedar cabin sat to the side, bowing deep to the grass-covered hills and the shimmering lake. A laptop screen could never, ever do this justice. Is home a place or a feeling? Looking at the scene before her, she had to say it was both. It was an answer to a call, a relenting, a surrender to that voice that whispers low and sweet: "I've got you." Tall grass at her feet, water close at hand and heaven within her.
Home.
Y'all, I'm excited to announce that I'm part of a new SWEET ROMANCE GROUP GIVEAWAY!
Until August 15th, you can access nine sweet romance novels, including The Sweetwood Series, for free! Click the picture above for more details and start reading NOW 💞
July 6, 2023
What We Want in a Romance
And I use the term 'we' loosely because my eyes have really been opened as far as the differences in tastes when it comes to romance novels. I've been naive. Romance is an enormous genre, and its fans are stupendously loyal, discerning and demanding.
I'm kinda floored by it all.
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In my naive brain, I thought romance readers boiled down to wanting a few things: a Happily Ever After, and either sex or no sex.
Hahahahahahahahahaha.
Turns out, there are a million sub-genres. Here are a few:
Sweet, Dark, Christian, Contemporary, Historical, Fantasy, Clean, Gothic, Erotic, Paranormal, Comedic.
And within these, there are sub-sub-genres—each with its own kind of rules and patterns to follow. TikTok is saturated with high praise and fierce opinions on what makes a good love story. Some want their heroes strong and their heroines submissive. Others want to see equals growing their connection slow-burn style. And still others want a boat-load of kink set against a dystopian, steampunk end-of-days type situation.
Some of y'all are into some spicy shit, and I am here for it! Admittedly, I'm out of my depth right now, BUT I have a deep willingness to learn more...
Here's the thing. Like most of us, I've had some unlearning to do when it comes to romance in real, day-to-day life. But I will never lose my reverence for the magic that can subsist between two people during moments of deep connection. That is always worth writing about—no matter the genre.
The trick for me now is where do I want to land? As in, what sort of romance do I want to write?
My first novel, Without Fear of Falling, was considered Historical Romance with a touch of Paranormal and Spiritual. My second, The Sweetwood Series, is a Sweet Contemporary Romance with a side of Billionaire and Suspense.
Where will I end up next? That's what I'm sorting out. And the conclusion I'm coming to is NOT to write for an audience, but to write for myself, trusting that the audience will be there. We all love love. And there is room out there for us all.
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June 19, 2023
I wrote a book! It's called The Sweetwood Series.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I began working on a project that would never come to fruition. And I was left with a solid outline for a romance series and some pretty great pages supporting said series. What was a girl to do?
Write the whole damn thing anyway. That’s what.
The Sweetwood Series
It’s not my usual write, but Lord was it fun.
Mean people doing bad things. Good people falling in love, the clash of wealth and privilege with morals and great instincts, and a Christmas story, no less! We’ve got some suspense, mild spice, some mystery and a whole lot of happily-ever-after.
Pre-Orders are super important, my friendsPre-orders are incredibly important for both books and authors. For authors, pre-orders can help build buzz and anticipation for their upcoming release. This can lead to increased sales and higher rankings on bestseller lists. Pre-orders also give authors a sense of how well their book may perform and can help with marketing efforts.
For books, pre-orders are a crucial part of the publishing process. They allow publishers to gauge interest in a book before it is even released, which can help with printing and distribution decisions. Pre-orders also count towards first week sales, which can be a determining factor in whether a book makes it onto bestseller lists.
Additionally, pre-orders can help ensure that readers receive their copy of a highly anticipated book as soon as possible. With pre-orders, readers can have their book delivered on release day, rather than having to wait for it to become available in stores.
Overall, pre-orders are a win-win for both authors and readers. They help build excitement for upcoming releases and ensure that readers can get their hands on a copy as soon as possible.
I’m just a girl (with a talent for stories)I’m an independent author with a full-time job and I write because I love it so damn much. The Sweetwood Series is light, fast-paced, romantic fun.
And I would be over the moon to have your support.
Lots of love,
D
