L. Ryan Storms's Blog

Broken Systems

I’ve been working with a neighbor on local cat TNR. For those of you not in the know, TNR stands for Trap, Neuter, Return and it aims to control a stray cat population in the community and keep it from exploding out of control. By trapping and sterilizing cats in an outdoor colony, we can keep the colony a manageable size and the cats have a better chance at leading healthier lives without reproducing.

Anyway, neighbor and I have managed to trap and sterilize five cats since the start of this year. It’s not cheap, it takes time and effort, but we’re committed and we’ve found an incredible group of like-minded individuals who offer assistance as well as lend an ear when we want to scream into the void about the never-ending flow of felines.

Today, I found out that a cat we trapped two and a half weeks ago who was already spayed has an owner who came forward to ask why his cat is suddenly microchipped (and microchipped to someone else). This is a cat we had seen on our porch for weeks, feeding from the food that had been left out for an entirely different stray we had been hoping to catch.

She had no collar, no microchip, and no one claimed ownership when her photo was posted to the community groups online. I scoured the lost cat posts in several online groups for hours. Indeed, it seemed as if she was a stray. So imagine our surprise when we caught her and found out she was already sterilized. (I’m grateful for small miracles. At least her owners made sure she wasn’t going to be getting pregnant any time soon.) Still, a sterilized stray is still not entirely unusual. It happens.

But microchipping a cat and suddenly having the owner come forward? Well, in TNR, I suppose that happens, too. Still, I can’t suppress my frustration. We wasted time, energy, and valuable resources trying to help an animal that didn’t need it…all because a human didn’t microchip or collar their cat (or keep it inside). We could have let her go and gone on to catch the next stray that so desperately needed care.

*

Last week, the husband and I were supposed to close on the purchase of a piece of land we’re eyeing for retirement. We had one heck of a time finding out how to wire money and it led to a whole lot of extra phone calls, emails, and time in the car as we enlisted several individuals to help. But we did it. Finally wired the money.

Or at least we thought we did. And the bank thought we did.

And that’s why we sat and twiddled our thumbs for a week, waiting for confirmation on the other end that the money was received, celebrating internally while waiting to share the news with the rest of the world. And waiting. And waiting. I finally checked in with the receiving party and—surprise—no money. So we called up the bank on our end, and hey, somehow that wire transfer was cancelled. We’d received no notification of the cancellation, no alert that the money we had committed to pay was somehow not being transferred. So we’ve been sitting here, waiting for money to transfer that was never going to transfer, but trying to sit tight and be good, patient, little clients because the bank told us the process could take up to five business days.

Or, apparently, it can just get cancelled and no one knows why.

*

The government is shut down because . Or maybe it’s because the Speaker of the House doesn’t want to swear in a duly elected representative who would be the 218th vote needed to release the Epstein Files.

People are being abducted and kidnapped in the middle of the night in raids that use U.S. military helicopters. Read that again. The military is being used against U.S. citizens on U.S. soil. The man in The White House has declared war on half the population and has no qualms about violating the Hatch Act (again and again, sigh) to vilify an entire political party.

The rest of the world is asking why we, as Americans, aren’t doing anything. But protestors are met with gunfire, gas, and flash bombs. Funding is being kept from states that didn’t vote in favor of the wannabe dictator. The U.S. Supreme Court is compromised.

And we wait.

We wait for someone to rescue us. We speak up. We speak out. We protest. And we wait. Once upon a time, America was the nation others would turn to for help against a corrupt regime. Or maybe we were always the bully. Either way, it seems no one is coming to help us. We are just another broken system in a history of so very many broken systems.

Living

So it’s been 4 1/2 months since my last post. I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. I was out doing that whole living thing. I hope YOU were, too!

I’ve had some really amazing experiences in the last few weeks, some of which I can talk about and some of which I cannot. (All in good time.)

One story I can share is the incredible time I had at the Maryland Renaissance Festival in Annapolis, MD yesterday. After buying a dress to attend a Ren Faire (any Ren Faire) 2 1/2 years ago…I finally put it on. And promptly had the time of my life.

When I reached out to Page After Page Bookshop last year, I did so hesitantly – an indie author, unsure of how I would be received. (Bookstores are either wildly supportive of indies or look at us as though we’re kindergarteners offering up our first ever essay and we just never know which reaction you’ll get.) But Vicki and Tom from Page After Page were warm and welcoming and a delight to do business with from day one. They even make sure their new authors get a tour of the faire grounds before opening day, so they don’t get lost in the thousands upon thousands of people when they arrive for their signing day.

What I expected: the flair, the fun, the fantasy, the people, the smiles, the laughter.

What I didn’t expect: the inclusivity, the overwhelming acceptance, the sheer volume of interest in my books.

Sure, it’s a festival! I expected to sell and sign books. I didn’t, however, expect to SELL OUT. But Ren Faire-goers may rival Gilmore Girls fans in their love of human connection and stories. I sold out before my signing time slot was up. Out of books? A good problem to have, my friend.

As a result, I got to walk around the festival with my kids for the next hour or so before heading back home again. The performances, the characters, and the food (omg, the food) were absolutely immersive and it’s no wonder hundreds of thousands of people flock to the MD Renaissance Festival every year. There’s jousting, and bards, and comedy, and actors, and crafters, and games, and…and…jousting. Did I mention the jousting?

But above all, it was connecting with readers that had me floating on air. (No, lest you imagine my feet off the ground, I confess I wasn’t really floating on air. In fact, yesterday was the first day I used the cane I bought 8 months ago. And what an incredible aid it was. Who knew a mobility aid would be good for…standing hours on end?) So many enthusiastic readers. Readers who love escaping into stories every bit as much as I do.

So maybe, just maybe I’ll catch you at the PA Ren Faire next year. (It’s certainly a closer drive for me.) And if they’ll have me back, you’ll definitely see me hanging out at the Authors’ Lair at Page by Page in MD again next year. Grab a pint and join me!

And Baby Makes 6

Guess what day it is! (No, it’s not hump day. This is not that commercial.)

It’s launch day! Another book birthday. For another book baby I adore so much! And this one is, perhaps, the most special of them all. Why? Because I didn’t just write this book for entertainment or for the love of writing. I wrote it to send a message to the kids like me, the anxious teens who don’t know how to deal with the world around them or the world within them.

I could write a whole blog post about it, but I’ve already said it again and again. Slip was born of the desire to empower increasingly anxious kids in a world that demands so much. I want teens with anxiety to know they don’t have to hide their disorder from the world, that having an anxiety disorder is not a fault, and that sharing their fears and worries with people who love them actually makes them stronger individuals.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life trying to figure out why my anxiety hits the way it does, how to prevent it, how to deal with it, how to avoid it, how to run away from it, and through it all, I found the only way to combat my own anxiety was to face it head on… and to do so with friends and loved ones by my side.

So Slip is about more than just a teenager falling in first love. It’s about learning to nurture healthy relationships and trust others. It’s about learning to forgive yourself. It’s about knowing that sometimes it’s okay to not know the answers. And I’ve been delighted to see that Slip has hit ARC readers & bloggers just as I’d hoped. Turns out anxiety is pretty universal. I’m hoping the connection is, too.

What the bloggers have to say:

https://roshreviews.blogspot.com/2025/04/slip-l-ryan-storms.htmlhttps://sophiebranford.blogspot.com/2025/04/slip-by-l-ryan-storms.htmlhttps://occultlibraryco.wordpress.com/2025/01/07/slip-by-l-ryan-storms/https://subakkastuff.wordpress.com/2025/01/18/𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩-book-review/https://www.eaterofstories.com/post/drc-review-slip-by-l-ryan-stormshttp://www.crossroadreviews.com/2025/01/bookreview-slip-by-l-ryan-storms.htmlAnd more!Happy birthday, Slip! Welcome to the world.

The Panel That Wasn’t

Last night was my first author “event” of the year, even though I wasn’t there to sell books. I attended the Kutztown University ABA Banquet. Did you know a library science fraternity exists? I didn’t. Why didn’t I know this?? (Probably because I didn’t major in library science when I was in college.) But friends, what fun! And library science attracts my kind of people. Was I there as a member? Of course not. I’ve got a degree in Marine Science… No, I was there as a panelist to discuss all things book-related!

Only.

There was no panel.

It was me. I was it. The lone speaker who had no speech prepared. But you know what? The kids…are amazing. Yes, college kids. Yes, I realize they are technically adults. Yes, they are old enough to vote (and boy, I really hope they do). But as the parent of 15 and 19 year olds, college-aged humans will still be kids to me.

Why were these kids so amazing? They jumped right into asking questions. So many questions. Questions about ALL the things. Writing, editing, publishing, work-life balance, the need for creative writing classes, where I actually started (sciences), favorite genres, looking back at old pieces of work (shudder), the worst things I’ve written (see: looking back at old pieces of work), so on and so forth. We (I) chatted for a half hour or more about the thing I love most – writing. And they listened intently.

I suspect many, if not all, of them are writers themselves. I suspect they live in the same imaginary places in their heads as I do in mine. And what an endearing sense of fellowship there is when you’re among fellow creatives! So was speaking about myself and my experiences at length harrowing and scary? Yes. But was it also gratifying? Yes.

Thanks, Kutztown University Chapter of ABA, for allowing me to be a part of your world for just a little while. Being back on campus hit me with a wave of nostalgia and I’m grateful for the opportunity to have the chance to visit.

Oh…and they thanked me with coffee. Not just any coffee. BOOKISH THEMED COFFEE. (Do they know authors or what?!) I may just be drinking ‘The Chosen One’ right now.

(Boy, does that sound wrong…)

Dear Haters

Dear Haters,

You know if you don’t like the taxes in our school district, or the congested streets, or the trash blown around by the wind, there are actions you can take, right? You can, for instance, put your property up for sale. (Prices are really good in our area right now and – bonus – someone who WANTS to live here will buy it!) That will take care of your taxes and seeing the congested streets. As for the trash, you are 100% capable of being part of that solution. I am sure of it! Carry a bag. Pick up some trash whenever you see it. Make an effort to cover your trash can or recycling so it doesn’t blow down the block…

Dear Haters,

You know you don’t have to make disparaging comments about school kids, right? You can actually just keep scrolling on social media without leaving a comment about the worth of our students. You take every chance to judge them and resent them for the taxes you pay, without acknowledging that someone once paid taxes that sent you to school. Without acknowledging that we live in an area with higher than normal rates of poverty. Some of these kids only receive meals AT school. Some of these kids only feel safe AT school. Some of these kids only know love AT school. So maybe lay off their test scores and get to know them a bit instead, eh? Volunteer in the schools. Not only will you actually get to know the kids in our community, you’ll also receive a tax break for your time. I hear tax breaks are important to you.

Dear Haters,

Who hurt you? Deep down inside, what happened to make you this way? At what point did you decide that hating others was what you wanted to do most in your life? That making other people feel terrible made you feel better? And do you feel better? Because if you did, one might think you might stop being so miserable. But no, the misery continues. As does our exposure to it.

Dear Haters,

Figure it out. Whatever you need to do to fix your own life. Because ragging on others about theirs? Isn’t the answer.

Maybe you need to find a hobby. May I suggest knitting? Screen-printing? Photography? Hiking? Birdwatching? Reading? Pressing flowers, maybe? Writing poetry is good for the soul. Perhaps try that!

Whatever you do, please stop wasting our time. We’re busy trying to make the world a better place for those who come after us. Maybe you should try it sometime.

Love,
The Dedicated

Giving Back

I’ve talked a lot about gratitude in my posts over the years, I’ve noticed. Maybe because that’s when I feel inclined to write. After all, it wouldn’t be right to write about the times when I’m angry and frustrated and want to scream at the world. Rest assured, those times do exist. Like everyone else, I, too, want to scream when the world is burning.

And it is burning. Literally and metaphorically.

But gratitude. It’s an emotion we all too often overlook simply because greed, commercialism, capitalism, or whatever you want to call it, tells us that we shouldn’t be satisfied with what we have, that we should always be striving for something more.

But what if…we just didn’t.

Hear me out. I’m not saying not to strive for more in life. By all means, please do. Strive for more connections, more genuine interactions, more compassion, more empathy. Strive to get our children fed, clothed, loved, and educated. Strive for a job you love or a hobby you enjoy. But this obsession with having more than others, owning more than others, with showing off carefully curated images of what we want people to believe of our lives… Well, it’s brought us where we are.

And where we are is not a good place, my friends.

So when I launched a Kickstarter asking for…money, I didn’t really know what to expect. Especially during an active coup, while rights are being stripped from some of our most vulnerable community members and families are being torn apart for no reason other than to satisfy a wannabe king’s whims.

It wasn’t exactly the ideal time to ask for money to help me release a book into the world, but ask I did. Why? Because I had been planning this project for two full months, had the Kickstarter page designed, reward tiers created, themed-stickers drawn, a bonus scene written… You get what I’m saying. When so much preparation goes into a project, it’s hard to abandon it, even when you’re not sure it’s the right time to introduce it to the world.

When I hesitantly began crowing about the Slip Kickstarter two days ago, what happened was such an incredible outpouring of support, not just financially, but socially and emotionally as well. It was a breath of fresh air after weeks of feeling like I’ve been stuck in a cesspool. It was a lifeline I didn’t even know I needed.

In two and a half days, the project was fully funded. My social media posts had been shared dozens of times by friends I know and people I don’t. By folks who have known me since I was born and people I went to high school with. By writer friends who wanted to support me in my endeavors and by random connections from across the internet. Some of the sentiments they shared in their support were the kindest, most lovely words of encouragement I’ve ever known.

The fact that 60 people have already financially backed this project without a moment’s hesitation is mind-blowing. In a time where we’ve never been more uncertain about where our groceries will come from, how high our gas prices will go, whether we’ll have a planet to occupy in a century, and whether or not we’ll be around to see it, people still care about art. They still care about stories, adventure, love, and maybe most of all, hope.

And that’s where my gratitude is multiplied by a thousand. In a time when our future has never seemed more uncertain, there’s a community out there who wants connection. Because what is art for if not connecting people and ideas across different mediums, be it oil and canvas or the written word? And in a time when everything is so divisive, we’ve never needed that connection more.

So yes, I am grateful. So very grateful. And sometimes being grateful means paying it forward. I’ve done a lot of rambling in this post, and if you’re still with me, thanks for that. It’s been a long day.

Because I reached the Kickstarter goal in less than three days, I’m implementing a stretch goal of raising an additional $1,500 for the project. Not for me. Not for any new reward tiers. But because I want to get 150 copies of Slip into the hands of teen readers by donating to classrooms and school and community libraries. I can’t do it alone.

I’m hoping the enthusiasm and excitement will last for the next 27 days and we can keep raising funds to share Slip with the kids who need it most. So help an author out and give the Slip Kickstarter a share, would you?

I think it goes without saying, but…I’d be ever so grateful.

Protected: 2024 Holiday Family Letter

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Punctuality is Overrated

I…

…am a dumb dumb.

Every now and again, circumstances arise that remind me that I don’t always make those very solid decisions I normally take pride in. Yesterday was one of those times.

Older kid had an interview in Manhattan at 11 a.m. I planned for the two of us to take the bus into the city and be there by 10 a.m., leaving plenty of time for either a leisurely 40-minute walk to the interview or a 24-minute cab ride. Only, for various reasons (one of which involved a 56-passenger bus backing out of a long, narrow parking garage and back onto the street in Easton, PA because construction had closed the exit of the garage unbeknownst to our driver), our bus didn’t pull into the terminal until 10:40 a.m.

What to do, what to do. Well, my plan was to catch a cab right outside Port Authority. But. An accident and a closed street left the area in gridlock. Fine. We’ll start walking and catch a cab later.

Spoiler: this was a monumentally bad idea.

I had encouraged the kid to send an email while were still on the bus, letting the foundation they were interviewing with know that the bus was running behind. But now, at 11 a.m., we’re still 20 minutes away from the building, no cabs in sight, and since I had planned on taking a cab, I never even thought to look into the subway system.

WHY HADN’T I THOUGHT TO LOOK AT THE SUBWAY?

And while I was certainly thinking about it now, there didn’t seem to be time to load an app, enter a destination, and navigate our way into the subway.

So the kid calls the foundation to let them know we’re still 20 minutes away and we continue to hoof it through midtown Manhattan until we arrive where we’re supposed to be. There’s really nothing we can do at this point, but power walk as though we’re middle aged moms whose only goal is to drop two pant sizes by 5 p.m. (Okay, one of us really is a middle aged mom. Fine.) The kid keeps asking if I’m okay since I never walk this fast nor this distance. Fine, fine! I’m fine, I tell them.

And I *really* thought I was. I was surprised at how okay I was doing. Huh. Maybe I’m not as disabled as I thought! Maybe I’m actually closer to being “normal” than I suspected. This is amazing! A miracle! I contemplate all the activities that might once again be open to me. Maybe I only *thought* I couldn’t do these things.

By the time we arrive at the foundation offices, sweat trickles down my back despite the chilly day. I drop off the kid and head to meet a friend just around the corner, where I am blissfully, finally, actually back on schedule.

A lovely lunch at a place called DIG (The avo grain bowl is to die for – an explosion of different flavors and textures – so much yum!) and we chat for a while before she gives me tips on which subway train I’ll need to return to the bus terminal.

But when we get up to walk back to where the kid has just finished interviewing, I realize my entire body is starting to seize in pain. Well damn. It turns out you can’t actually forget about a disability, even temporarily. And if you try to ignore that you have one, your body WILL remind you of it. In full.

With ibuprofen, I limp my way through the rest of the day — the walk to a smoothie joint, the walk to the subway, and the walk to our gate through the bus station. Two and a half hours on the bus helps, but there’s still a walk to the car. And then an hour drive home. And a walk into my house from the driveway. Dear God, why is my walkway so long? (It’s not. At all.)

Now, a day later, not a minute has passed this morning and well into the afternoon where I have not regretted each and every step of that 3-mile walk yesterday, 2 1/2 of which was performed at warp speed. Today, I’m wearing a knee brace and two ankle wraps, and if I could find a way to effectively wrap a hip, I’d have both of them wrapped, too.

There’s a full schedule of events on the calendar, most of which I will end up sitting in the car for. A doctor’s appointment for one kid, plus a figure skating lesson (older kid) , and a voice lesson (younger kid) this afternoon. Younger kid also gets inducted into the National Junior Honor Society tonight. There are seats, thank goodness.

I should know better than to do what I did yesterday. I’ve been dealing with this condition all my life, but never more so than in the last three or four years. My joints don’t work the way they should. I know this. So why would I even attempt to do what I did yesterday and expect that I could get away with it? I can’t.

As a result, I canceled the much-anticipated massage I had planned for Friday. Being in pain doesn’t make for a good massage experience. Hopefully, I can reschedule it for a week and a half when I’m somewhat recovered from my moment of stupidity.

Only. It’s not stupidity, really. It’s disbelief. It’s the desire to pretend we are something and someone other than who we are, to pretend that a dynamic disability doesn’t exist at all just because it hasn’t affected me profoundly in some time. So I’ll spend the next week paying for it in pain and in ibuprofen consumption.

Cheers!

Don’t be a dumb dumb.

Magic in the Real World

Sometimes sheer magic really does exist. It’s not abundant and it often comes when you least expect it. This past weekend was proof.

I had no idea what I was in for when I signed up with fellow author Stephanie Julian to partake in the Stars Hollow Pop-Up Fall Fest this past weekend. But I think even if I’d had some idea, I still would have vastly underestimated the number of mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends that make up the Gilmore Girls fandom. And how under-served they have been for so many years.

The event garnered the attention of over 18,000 people on Facebook, though nowhere close to that number showed up. (Thank goodness – that would have been far too many for vendors and bathrooms alike!) But thousands DID show up over the course of three arguably perfect fall days. Mid-sixties, shining sun, beautiful blue skies, and fall trees that had clearly gotten the memo about what they were supposed to wear for a fall fest.

Some folks traveled from as far away as Tennessee. We spoke to people from New York, Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia, and even heard about a family from New Mexico who decided to stop by on their visit. We watched a couple get engaged in front of the gazebo where families, friends, and couples lined up for photo opportunities.

A palpable excitement hung in the air. With free parking and free admission, attendees were happy to spend money and time on food and fun all weekend long. And you could find just about anything Gilmore Girls themed – mugs, shirts, totes, umbrellas, blankets, and coffee. Plus dozens of things entirely unrelated, but definitely Lorelei and Rory Gilmore approved, including…you guessed it – books!

Friends, I’ve found my readers. Gilmore Girls fans? They like their YA fantasy books and they like their steamy romance. (No, that last part isn’t what I write, but it’s what Stephanie Julian writes, and we make a pretty good team with a variety of offerings when we pair up for an event!) The GG fandom loves to read and they were happy to tell us about it!

The real magic, though, was in the friendship. These women bought their families, their boyfriends, their best friends, their children, and their grandchildren. They came to bathe in the flannel-shirted and backwards-hatted camaraderie that could only be found at an event like this. This wasn’t just a fall fest. It was a friend fest. It was a place where I could easily chat with any reader at any time, because we shared a special love of a fictional world that tied us together and made for easy conversation.

After all, talking with anyone there was simply a matter of asking whether they were Team Dean, Jess, or Logan. (The only acceptable answer is Jess. I will take no questions at this time.) It was a weekend of old friends and new friends, smiles, and shared joy. That joy. It was contagious. It’s the first time I’ve forgotten we’re in an election year. Ever. And maybe the first time I’ve come home from an event exhausted…but also…energized? Because these people? They are my people! (What is this feeling? I’m not an extrovert. What does it mean?)

So thank you Sarah with an h and Genna with a G and so many other readers and Gilmore Girls fans who made this weekend an amazing event that was worth every second of the hard work that goes into being a vendor. And thanks to Sarah S. and Red Bird Events for thinking this one up and doing the hard work to make it happen. What a magical, magical weekend.

Bonus: I *just* found out, after a decade, that the sticker on my computer (sent to me by my dear aunt) is from the Gilmore Girls… How have I not known this? Might be time for a rewatch!

Adding to the Family

So Marit Unsanctioned comes out tomorrow. And I’ve done almost nary a thing to promote it. Is this what it’s like when parents have a fifth child? Is it a bundle of excitement that you just don’t talk about because there’s already so much going on?

It’s past time to show Marit Unsanctioned some love. I am, after all, her mother. Told from four shifting points of view, I found I enjoyed slipping into each character’s brain for a bit, only to slip back out again and follow up with a new character for the next chapter. Readers ask, “How did you know which character’s POV to tell a chapter from?” My answer is always the same. Figure out which character knows the least or will be most confused by what’s happening in a scene, and that’s the viewpoint I will pick every time. Maybe this makes me evil, but it’s fun to toy with my characters in this way…

And I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the array of main characters in this book. Kirkus Reviews had plenty to say, too. “Having the point of view alternate among Marit, Torin, Greyson, and Mylene is an effective storytelling technique as they all offer very distinct perspectives.”

Me: Why, thank you for noticing, Kirkus! That’s exactly what I was trying to do. I’m delighted to hear it was appreciated.

So what is Marit Unsanctioned about at its heart? When I first start writing any novel, I tend to focus solely on the main character and their desires. What are their wants and needs? How will their life change and evolve in some way that brings them on a journey of self-realization? This, perhaps, is why I gravitate to writing in the young adult age category. Teens are notorious for hyper-fixating on one desire, then discovering that what they want isn’t what they need at all as they evolve into their true young adult selves.

Midway through any book, I’m always stunned to find that I end up featuring larger societal issues and that my characters have a way of bringing awareness of an injustice to the surface. Huh. I didn’t know I was planning to write about inequity and the right to be human and autonomous, but apparently, I was. (If that’s not appropriate for the 2024 election season, I don’t know what is…)

And that’s what Marit Unsanctioned is truly about. A ragtag group of teens who have nothing in common on the surface end up becoming fierce friends, caught in their shared convictions of what’s right and wrong, and how their actions can make a difference not only in their own lives, but in the lives of those around them, too.

Plus, there’s magic, adventure, danger, teen angst, and maybe a snippet or two of first love along the way. The highlights from Kirkus?

“Storms’ well-paced narrative feels considerably shorter than the 325 pages it fills. Winning characters and a well-constructed backdrop make for a riveting journey to a satisfying resolution. Character growth is at the forefront of this engrossing tale of discovery.” — Kirkus Reviews

Kirkus said I wrote an engrossing tale of discovery. Pardon me while I shout it from the rooftops… I might have to hike a mountain to scream it into the aether because if you know Kirkus, you know praise doesn’t come lightly.

So. Kirkus says “Get it!” and I concur. You should definitely, definitely get it. Come celebrate my fifth book baby with me and show Marit the love she deserves.

Cover Artwork by A.K. Westerman