The Rabbit Hole

Nostalgic fiction taps into universal experiences: first loves, heartbreaks, family dynamics, and the quest for identity. But it also layers in generation-specific cultural touchstones—music, fashion, slang—that make those memories vivid and personal. When I write these stories, I’m not just constructing an engaging plot; I’m capturing moments that I hope will feel both unique and shared.

Jason is an iconic character. You have to understand who he is and why he has a vendetta against teenage and twenty-something camp counselors. Motivation and its resulting behavior are crucial elements in character development. That foundational understanding of the status quo must be in place before things begin to shift and change in the face of challenges and adversity.

If you've spent any time in writing circles, you've probably heard authors describe themselves as "plotters" or "pantsers." Maybe you've even heard the compromise term "plantser." For those unfamiliar with the terminology, here's the breakdown: Plotters  meticulously outline their entire story before writing a single scene. They know the beginning, middle, and end. They have character arcs mapped out. They've planned every plot twist, every emotional beat, every chapter break

Going the traditional publishing route requires you to sell the book before readers ever get a chance to read it. You have to convince an agent, who has to convince an editor, who has to convince a publishing committee, who has to convince bookstores, who then—maybe—will put it in front of actual readers.

When you’re creating content for your own projects, life has a tendency to get in the way. Your priorities can shift in unexpected ways. Sometimes, you just don’t feel it, and if you don’t feel it, you can’t force it.

That’s who Autumn is, and her story has to reflect that authenticity, even if it means the opening lacks conventional pizzazz. I let the book cover do the eye-catching, but the first line (of hers) does something else entirely. Let me show you what I mean.

Springtime is once again looming on the ever-brighter horizon. Like the beginning of a new year and the requisite resolutions that accompany it, I often feel a burst of inspiration to start something new (or improve something old), but in recent years those urgent, insistent motivations are often out of sync with… well, everything else.

I should probably do that too, right? As an author trying to build a platform, maintain a blog, and write a second book, I should have a plan, or even a strategy to inform a plan. Maybe even just a content calendar with a few placeholder topic ideas on it. But I don't.

Though I launched this blog in late 2022 when I released The Strangest of Places, I didn't expect that I'd keep up with it as much as I did. I didn't expect nearly a thousand people to read my silly little book. I definitely didn't expect the reviews, messages, or questions about Book 2. But here we are.

It's Thanksgiving week, and I've been thinking about what I'm grateful for this year. The obvious answer is family, friends, health, a roof over my head—all the essentials. But today, I want to talk about something that's caught me completely off guard: all of you.

You can peek through your fingers at the monster, you can squeeze your eyes shut during the gore, but you can't escape the soundtrack. It crawls under your skin. It tells your nervous system that something is wrong before your brain consciously registers the threat. Music doesn't just accompany horror. It creates it.

As an indie author myself, I know how much time, effort, blood, sweat and tears go into not only writing, but self-publishing a full novel. As a professional writer, who's built a career at some of the most well-known companies in the world, I also know how valuable it is to collect and incorporate feedback from objective perspectives. That input will almost always help you produce a better end result.

By pairing each chapter with a song, I'm giving you an optional key to unlock another layer of the story. If you choose to listen—either before, during, or after reading the chapter (or all of the above)—the lyrics will resonate with what Autumn is experiencing in ways that go deeper than what I've written on the page. Think of it as the soundtrack to her life.

I first heard “Riverwide” shortly after my 23rd birthday in September of 1998, when Sheryl Crow's The Globe Sessions came out. I'd bought the album for “My Favorite Mistake”—a song that spoke to me because I was in a relationship I knew was unhealthy but couldn't quite let go of. It was something different from loneliness, and at the time, that felt like enough. But “My Favorite Mistake” wasn't the song that stayed with me. “Riverwide” was.

Some readers need to know what's coming in order to feel safe engaging with a story. Others prefer to be surprised. Both approaches are valid, and I want to give you the information you need to make that choice for yourself.

People always want to know: What's real and what's fiction? There's a reason I blur that line, and it has everything to do with how I want you to experience this story.

Welcome! Fill your mug, or water bottle, or flask—no judgement—and kick up your feet.