Amelia Diane Coombs

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Amelia Diane Coombs writes books for young adults. Back in the day, she majored in English and went on to receive her MFA in Creative Writing. Now she writes unlikable female protagonists, positive mental health representation, and swoony romances with soft boys. As a lifelong native of the San Francisco Bay Area, she now resides in beautiful Sonoma County with her boyfriend and their Siberian cat. When she isn’t writing, Amelia happily fills her days beekeeping, playing card and tabletop games, hiking, and volunteering with cats.

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Amelia Diane Coombs 😂I sold my soul to a crossroad demon, as one does.
Average rating: 5.0 · 10 ratings · 10 reviews · 2 distinct works
Keep My Heart in San Francisco

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 9 ratings
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The Honey Vein

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More of Amelia's books…
Stephen King
“Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us just get up and go to work.”
Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

Elizabeth Wurtzel
“I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible...”
Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

Henry David Thoreau
“The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.”
Henry David Thoreau

Edna St. Vincent Millay
“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay
Song of a Second April

APRIL this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.

There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
From orchards near and far away
The gray wood-pecker taps and bores,
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.

The larger streams run still and deep;
Noisy and swift the small brooks run.
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun
Pensively; only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay




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