Sangay Glass's Blog, page 6

Love in the Dark: Why Devotion Matters in Thriller Romances

Thrillers and romance—two genres that don’t often go hand in hand, yet when they do, they create something raw, intense, and unforgettable. Love isn’t always found in candlelit dinners or whispered sweet nothings. Sometimes, it’s forged in survival, in standing side by side when the world closes in, in knowing—no matter what happens—you are not alone.

In my books, love isn’t about grand gestures or easy, uncomplicated devotion. It’s about the kind of loyalty that holds steady when everything else falls apart. The men in my stories aren’t perfect. They’re flawed, sometimes morally gray, sometimes dangerous—but their devotion is absolute. Not because they want to possess or control, but because they see the women they love, scars and all, and stay.

True love isn’t about fixing someone. It’s about walking beside them through the storm, giving them the space to heal without letting them drown. It’s about trust—the real, tested kind that survives fear, violence, and betrayal.

Because even in the darkest stories, love should never be a trap. It should be the light you fight toward.

What are your favorite examples of love in thriller romances? Do you think loyalty can thrive in the most dangerous settings? Let’s talk about it.

New Giveaway!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Ledge Pond


by Sangay Glass

Giveaway ends March 25, 2025.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

You've Got This

Last week, I lost internet service and had to prep my book launch from my phone. Disaster. I couldn't read the small print. I missed errors. I hit the wrong button and accidentally published too soon—with no way to fix it for days. I almost wanted to cry. Almost.

But my MC, Candice, wouldn't cry. And I am Candice.

So, I reset. Adjusted. Took risks. Gave out proof copies that weren’t ready. Hustled to find and make fixes the second my service came back.

And now, just one week later—everything is in place. Got my service back and did a real read through on my computer. This morning, I finally hit publish with confidence.

I can breathe. Now the real work begins.

To anyone feeling like they’re drowning in setbacks—take a breath, pivot, and push forward. You’ve got this.

Ledge Pond

The Last Word: Victory One-Liners Before Taking Down the Killer

In thrillers, final confrontations aren’t just about the fight—they’re about the last word. That one line that cuts deeper than any knife, the one that reminds the villain exactly why they lost. It’s the verbal dagger that seals the moment in cinematic, spine-chilling glory.

Some go for cold and calculated:
"You should have buried me deeper."

Some go for ironic:
"Guess I wasn’t the easy target you thought."

Some, like Candice, lean into dark humor
"You should have pushed me three skateboards to the left."

A final girl, an anti-hero, or even a villain—whoever gets the last word wields the real power.

So, let’s hear it. If you were the last one standing in a thriller, what would YOUR victory one-liner be before delivering the final blow? Drop it in the comments!

Ledge Pond

No Refunds, No Returns: The Relationship Warranty Debate

Ever feel like modern dating comes with hidden fees? Love might be a thrill ride, but does it need an extended warranty?

Some people want commitment insurance—that long-term, all-inclusive plan with repair services (aka couple’s therapy), roadside assistance (aka emotional support), and maybe even a lemon law clause for when things go south.

Others? They prefer the as-is deal—no warranties, no coverage, just good times until the engine gives out.

So, what’s your take? Do relationships run smoother without the fine print? Or is it worth securing a warranty—just in case?

Candice knows better than to trust in guarantees—especially when the fine print is written by a killer.
Ledge Pond

Stepping Into the Shadows: Understanding Trauma and Mental Illness Through Fiction

Fiction has an unparalleled ability to transport us into the minds of characters who see and experience the world in ways we may never fully understand. When it comes to trauma and mental illness, books can serve as a bridge—offering raw, intimate glimpses into struggles that often go unseen.

Characters shaped by trauma don’t always follow a predictable path. They’re not always likable. They make reckless decisions. They sabotage themselves. They push people away while secretly craving connection. But in their chaos, in their detachment or anger, there’s something deeply human—something that reflects real pain, survival, and the search for meaning in a world that doesn’t always make sense.

Reading these characters forces us to confront discomfort. What does it feel like to dissociate in the middle of a life-or-death situation? To view the world through the lens of hypervigilance? To detach from pain because it’s the only way to keep moving? Fiction allows us to step into those moments—not as a voyeur, but as someone walking beside them, feeling their pulse quicken, their decisions tighten, their emotions disconnect.

These characters challenge our perception of resilience. They force us to ask—what does survival really look like? Is it just breathing, just getting through another day? Or is it reclaiming control, rewriting the narrative, finding strength in the fractured pieces?

For readers, these stories offer more than entertainment. They offer understanding. Empathy. And sometimes, validation. They remind us that trauma doesn’t define a person—but it does shape them. That healing isn’t linear. That survival isn’t always about hope—it’s about endurance, wit, and sometimes just refusing to let the past have the final word.

By stepping into these minds, we don’t just witness trauma—we start to understand it. And maybe, just maybe, we see a reflection of our own strength staring back.

#What books have helped you see the world through a different mind?

Discover Candice's world of detachment, PTSD, and self-love as she braves the wilderness and three bears.
Ledge Pond

Trust is a dangerous game—especially when survival is on the line.

Candice doesn’t live in a world of clear-cut heroes and villains. She’s surrounded by morally gray characters, people whose motivations shift like the wind through the Adirondack pines. Some are killers. Some are liars.
Some might just be the difference between life and death.

But how do you trust someone when you don’t even trust yourself?

Randal is a perfect example. He’s not a villain, but he’s no hero either. He’s done things. Bad things. And

Candice knows it. So why does she need him? Why does she want to believe in him, even when every instinct tells her to run?

Because sometimes, in a world where monsters exist, you don’t need a hero—you need someone just dangerous enough to stand beside you.

Would you trust a morally gray character if your life depended on it?

The Wilderness as a Character: A Living, Breathing Force in Candice’s Story

The wilderness in Ledge Pond isn’t just a setting—it’s a living, breathing force, shaping every decision, every challenge, and every moment of survival.

Deep in the Adirondacks, nature isn’t just a backdrop to Candice’s deadly game—it’s an entity with its own rules, its own moods, and its own brutal sense of justice. The wind howls warnings. The ice grips and bites. The dense forest conceals both threats and salvation. And the water? It remembers everything.

For Candice, the wilderness is both an ally and an adversary. It’s a weapon she can wield—hiding her, slowing her enemies, whispering truths only she understands. But it’s also a relentless force,
indifferent to human struggles, ready to swallow her whole if she miscalculates even once.

She isn’t just fighting a man—she’s fighting the land itself. And in a place where survival depends on instinct, deception, and sheer willpower, only those who respect the wilderness stand a chance of making it out alive.

Out here, the rules shift like the wind. And Candice knows—sometimes, nature is the deadliest predator of all.

Laughing in the Face of Death: Candice’s Dark Humor & Survival Antics

Survival in the wilderness is brutal.

Survival in the wilderness while being hunted by a serial killer?

That’s the kind of nightmare that should leave a person raw, terrified, and hyper-focused on staying alive.

But Candice? She trips over tree roots, gets stuck in her rain gear, names her kayak. She even delivers some of the most darkly comedic one-liners while actively outmaneuvering men who want her dead.

That’s the paradox of Candice.

Her physical antics—stumbling, slipping, getting tangled, or flat-out sabotaging herself. It all might seem like classic slapstick, but it's wrapped in the eerie detachment of someone who has spent her life walking a razor-thin edge between survival and surrender.

Her mind is calculating, always searching for an exit, but her body? Her body plays along with whatever chaos the wilderness and her own poor decisions throw at her.

Her humor is sharp, often self-deprecating, and almost always a defense mechanism.

When she lets out a deadpan “Well, that’s unfortunate” after realizing she’s stuck in deep water with a rogue kayak, or cracks a joke about her inability to properly portage said kayak, it’s not just funny—it’s a coping mechanism.

The humor isn’t just for the reader; it’s for her. It’s her way of staying in control when the world (and the killer stalking her) want nothing more than to take that control away.

Candice’s detachment doesn’t just make her fearless—it makes her unpredictable. While others would freeze in terror, she’s making offhanded quips, distracting her enemies, or pulling off some utterly ridiculous stunt that somehow, against all odds, works in her favor.

There’s a fine line between survivalist and wildcard, and Candice blurs that line with an almost reckless determination.

At the core of her dark humor is a simple truth: she refuses to let fear define her.

She’s spent too long as someone’s target, and if she’s going down, she’ll go down with a smirk, a sarcastic remark, and maybe a clumsy fall into the mud for good measure.

In the end, Candice isn’t just surviving—she’s flipping the script.

And if that means laughing in the face of danger while physically making a mess of things?

Well, she’ll take that over screaming any day.

Ledge Pond> A psychological Thriller > Sangay Glass> March 12, 2025

A Dangerous Woman: Detachment as Survival

There is nothing more dangerous than a woman detached from her body and emotions.

Detachment isn’t just Candice’s coping mechanism—it’s her weapon.

In the brutal, shifting landscape of the Adirondacks, where killers think they’re in control, Candice’s ability to separate from pain, from fear, from the moment itself, is the one thing keeping her alive.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t hesitate. She calculates.

Most people rely on fight or flight. Candice exists in something else entirely—a limbo between survival and surrender, where she can play the long game without getting lost in the weight of the moment.
Trauma didn’t just break her; it shaped her into something unpredictable, something unreadable.

And that makes her more dangerous than the predators hunting her.

Because she isn’t their prey. She’s hunting, too.