Cover Reveal: Rebel Heart, by J.C. Hannigan

new-cr-bannerIt’s cover reveal time!

I think I speak for all readers when I say we have an obsession with pretty book covers. So I’m not biased at all when I say my work wife J.C. Hannigan’s cover for her next release, Rebel Heart, is fucking beautiful. CPJB Designs—who I’ve worked with too—really captured the essence of Elle and Braden’s story. It’s just perfect.

See what I mean?

Rebel Heart (The Rebel Series, Book 2), by J.C. Hannigan Rebel Heart, By J.C. Hannigan (Full Wrap)


In the four years since Elle Thompson’s first love broke her heart, she hasn’t been able to get over him and move on. Luckily, a tempting new romance begins to simmer—but then fate throws Elle and Braden back together again, and Elle is trapped between her past and her possible future.

Braden Miller regretted pushing Elle away from him the moment it happened. Blindsided by grief, he lost sight of what and who mattered and quickly hit rock bottom. Since then, he’s kept his head down and worked on becoming a man he can be proud of. But coming home to Parry Sound means seeing Elle again. As they’re constantly pushed in the same direction, Braden realizes that he has to make amends with more than just his family.

Elle’s yearning for both men in her life intensifies. Wavering between loyalty to one and memories of a long-ago flame with another, she struggles with her feelings. But fear of having her heart broken again keeps her from diving in either direction with both feet. Too bad it’s not only her heart on the line…


Only $0.99*

Amazon (US) · Amazon (UK) · Amazon (CA)
Add to Goodreads

Every time I see this cover, I swoon. Plus, Hannigan’s prose is just as beautiful. She always writes such raw, heart-gripping stories filled with emotion, but this one really got me.

If that blurb didn’t get you, you obviously need to look at these teasers!

rebel-heart-teaser-1 rebel-heart-teaser-2 rebel-heart-teaser-3

You guys. Braden is officially my all-time favorite book boyfriend. 😍


Rebel Soul (Rebel Series, Book 1), by J.C. Hannigan

Book 1: Rebel Soul
Amazon (US) · Amazon (UK) · Amazon (CA)
Free in Kindle Unlimited

I’ve raved about Rebel Heart before, in my summer NA reads recap, by the way. So if you haven’t checked it out yet… What the hell are you waiting for? 🙃


J.C. HanniganJ.C. Hannigan lives in Ontario, Canada with her husband, their two sons, and their dog. She writes contemporary new adult romance and suspense. Her novels focus on relationships, mental health, social issues, and other life challenges.


Website · Facebook · Twitter · Instagram · Goodreads

Congratulations to my dear friend and work wife on another beautiful book! I wish you much success and happiness. You deserve it! XOXO

*Offer good until release day (November 3rd).

It’s Never Lupus… Until It’s Maybe Lupus… Again

via Unsplash

via Unsplash

Being sick is my full-time job, except I don’t get paid, days off, or vacation.

It’s been nine years since everything changed. I went from mostly healthy to being unable to get out of bed during the worst of flares. It all started with a numb arm, then joint pain and fatigue. I got passed from doctor to doctor—none of whom could figure it out. At best, they’d scratch their heads. At worst, they suggested my problem was psychiatric.

This whole thing has been enough to drive me insane, and today nearly pushed me over the edge.

Last fall, I was diagnosed with Reactive Arthritis by my rheumatologist, Dr. M. She said it could still be Rheumatoid Arthritis, but since I’m seronegative and my arthritis seemed to be enthesitis-related, she decided to treat it as ReA. She started me on Sulfasalazine and for the first time in nearly a decade, I started to feel hopeful.

That’s all been ripped away.

Over the summer, I found out Dr. M was leaving the practice. I saw my new rheumatologist, Dr. S, in September, and the appointment did not go well. I still really want to stress that he was very nice. He just didn’t listen. I called the office to complain and after a bit of pushing, was able to switch to another rheumatologist—as long as Dr. S okayed it. In the meantime, I was supposed to get my blood work done.

I finally did last Thursday. It took me a while, because as usual, my life was blowing up. I was dealing with pain and fatigue, financial stress, and my Biz Noni passed away. But I went, even though I didn’t have any expectations. “Everything came back normal” is a string of four words that I’ve come to loathe. However, Dr. S called me back personally yesterday evening. I missed the call, so he left a voicemail asking me to call back as soon as possible.

I knew right away that something had shown up.

I got the voicemail after office hours, so I called first thing this morning. And Dr. S told me that one of the antibodies for Lupus came back positive.

I’ve done this dance before. Anyone who’s been with me since my blog was called Perpetual Smile knows that my previous primary care physician was convinced I have Lupus. But because my blood work is always borderline, that diagnosis was dropped after seeing a rheumatologist. I was with Dr. G for years until he retired, and he always told me that my blood work is at the bell curve—that something is brewing. But “something” isn’t helpful, and if it’s only brewing, I sure as fuck don’t want to know what full blown feels like. Dr. G didn’t want to diagnose me with or treat me for anything until we had something definitive—which could take years. In the meantime, I was miserable.

This whole thing has been maddening.

So here I am again: maybe Lupus. No diagnosis. I can’t work a normal job because my illness makes me flaky, but I don’t qualify for disability because I don’t have a diagnosis. (And even then, when I did have one, I got denied.) Because Dr. S didn’t think I could possibly have arthritis, I was taken off Sulfasalazine. All I have is Tramadol, and it isn’t enough. It tones the pain down to a 8 or 7 out of 10, but often it barely makes a difference. And I can’t function on stronger painkillers.

I’m back to square one. The entire past nine years of labs and doctor’s appointments are meaningless. And while part of me is kind of all “See, I told you so”—since Dr. S kind of dismissed me—the rest of me is seesawing between shock and… I guess denial would be the best word.

I don’t want this.




But I do have to admit, ReA never really fit. SSZ helped at first but then I felt worse. And ReA is not triggered by mono, whereas Lupus is. Lupus explains the weird labs, the painless sores in my mouth, the joint pain, the fatigue…

Honestly, though, I don’t know if I can go through all of this again, only to be told “Nope, sorry—we still don’t know what’s wrong.” I don’t know if I can do another eight years of this. I’ll do it anyway, of course, because I need to feel better and I want to know what’s been completely ruining my quality of life.

But fuck me. Again? Really?!

The Sky is Falling (Again)

via Unsplash

via Unsplash

I’ve been working in the indie publishing industry for five years, with a smattering of trad pub experience right before that. I mean a very tiny smattering; I had a couple short stories and poems published in journals before I got addicted to self-publishing, and I was with a small press for a year. But I’ve always been an introvert, and the thing most people don’t know about us introverts is that we’re super observant. We may not say much, but we see everything. And we pay attention.

Lately there’s been a lot of ugliness in the lit community. Some high profile authors were outed for attacking readers, there’s been a lot of mudslinging over diversity in fiction, and now I’m seeing a lot of authors griping about how “oversaturated” the industry is.

I get it. Amazon sales have tanked for everyone this month. In general, there’s been a decline in sales. The industry has been plateauing, trying to find its footing in the midst of this digital revolution. But I’ve noticed the panic really dig in to authors when Amazon changes something. And then things get ugly.

I’ve been doing this for five years. It’s not a long time, by any means, but I’ve seen a lot of things change. It’s completely natural to look for something to blame when the industry shifts, but it seems kind of petty to lob it at the increasing number of authors and books out there.

For one, the market has always been full. Even before indie publishing took off—back when it was considered vanity publishing to go and print copies of your books and sell them out of your car—there was a vast traditional market. Book stores became more and more selective with who they gave shelf space to. It was a game of dollars—which publisher could pay the most to get their star author front and center in stores. And it still is.

New authors are debuting every day in the traditional world. Some never sell. Publishers are taking a huge gamble on them. Many authors will not publish again, or will and remain low- or mid-list. Those who buckle down for the long haul will ultimately have the most rewarding careers. Some will become overnight bestsellers and will be completely okay with their single famous series.

It’s the same on the indie side of the fence. The only difference is whose dollars are backing the production and marketing.

Authors, we’re not competitors. There are millions of readers around the world, with new markets opening up every single day. (Right now India and Nigeria’s ebook markets are booming, by the way.) Readers don’t play favorites. Sure, there are authors they love who they will always buy from right away. But most readers are just looking for something good to read that fits their tastes and their budget—especially while their favorites are in between releases.

We’re not competitors, the same way sushi and pizza aren’t. They’re different foods, with different flavors, but they’re still tasty. Depending on the day, I’ll have a craving for one or the other (or a variety of other foods).

Amazon tweaked an algorithm that slashed sales. Okay. That does sting. My sales, for example, aren’t that high in the first place. Being disabled and low income, I work hard so that my book sales help pay my bills. I more than understand the stress. However, Amazon isn’t the only retailer out there, nor are they the only avenue of income for authors.

For example, over on Kobo my sales are business as usual. I’m participating in a 30% off promotion and my standalone romance The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos is currently selling all over the world, with little effort on my part at this point. All I did was sign up for the promotion. Thanks to Kobo, I just sold my first book in Sweden. A couple months ago, I broke into the UAE market for the first time.


Kindle Unlimited is just not a long-term business plan for indie authors. It’s great in the short-term, but as Amazon tweaks algorithms to better service their customers, it affects the authors. And that’s fine, because Amazon is a business and they have to do what’s best for their customers. They don’t owe authors anything. Their job is to keep their business running—and our job is to keep our businesses running.

I was recently listening to an episode of The Creative Penn podcast and Joanna Penn said something like “readers don’t owe you a living.” This really resonated with me.

Amazon and readers aren’t obligated to keep our businesses running. We are. And we do so by being open to other streams of income, such as going wide (maybe rotating series in KU but not putting our entire catalogs in), writing in multiple genres, writing nonfiction, and looking for related work, like teaching courses and workshops.

Our entire careers do not and should not depend on Amazon. Our sales do not depend on whether other authors are releasing. Our sales do not depend on readers.

How well we do is up to us, the author—the entrepreneur at the head of our own businesses.

Our careers depend on how hard we want to work. It’s as simple as that.

I’m in it for the long haul. And no algorithm tweak or market condition is going to change that.

All of a Sudden

My sister, Biz Noni, and me

My sister, Biz Noni, and me

Yesterday morning, I finally fell asleep somewhere around 6am after being up all night in pain. I woke up around 11:30am to a text from my mom, asking me to call as soon as I could. It was from around eight in the morning. Dread filled me; I knew something was wrong. Since I’d taken Tramadol so late, I was still feeling the side effects. Which is why, when I called my mom and she told me my sweet Biz Noni had passed away, all I could say was “Oh.”

Then it slammed into me.

I hadn’t seen her in a few months. She transitioned into a nursing home last year when her dementia started getting really bad. I visited her from time to time but wasn’t able to as often as I would’ve liked. I was planning on going to see her this week, since Mike is on vacation from work and I could take the car.

But it was too late.

I’ve been kind of numb today. I’m really sorry that I didn’t go see her sooner. I feel horrible about that. She deserved better. And even though I know that she knew she was loved, I still feel bad. Lots of family visited her on a regular basis, and she’d made friends in the home, so she wasn’t alone. I guess I just wish I could’ve told her one more time how much I love her.

Though I’m glad she’s not suffering anymore, it hurts so much to say goodbye. She was one of the sweetest, most stubborn people I knew. Some of the things she’d come out with had me in stitches. You’d think a white-haired ninety-five-year-old would be demure, but not my Biz Noni. She loved to bust balls and always played “The Matriarch” card whenever anyone tried to give her shit. “I’m The Matriarch,” she’d say, and that was that.

Biz Noni had a sweet tooth, too. The older she got, the more she looked forward to her desserts. We’d barely be done with Christmas dinner, for example, and she was already asking about dessert. I’ve decided I’m going to dedicate my bakery romance Just One More Minute to her. It’s only fitting.

I have so many good memories of my Biz Noni: her babushka on a cool night around the campfire; playing “office” and “doctor” in her living room with my sister and cousins; making cookies, cappelletti, and gnocchi in the kitchen with her and the rest of my family; watching black and white movies with her on TV…

I don’t really know what else to say right now. Like one of my cousins said last night, I thought she’d be around forever. She always had. She remembered everything up into her nineties, and then all of a sudden it didn’t. The dementia was so fast. I guess my mom is right, that it’s kind of good that the last time I saw her was when she was still doing relatively well.

I just wish I could’ve given her one last kiss on her sweet, soft cheek and told her I love her one last time.

This Is My #Paingry Face


It’s five in the morning. My joints are bright hot fireballs of throbbing death. I’m exhausted and have been all day, but the pulsing ache in every single joint of my body is like an alarm clock blaring in my ear. When I’m in pain like this, all I can focus on is the pain. All I want to do is whimper. The only thing I can talk about is how much pain I’m in.

My chronic pain runs my life.

The thick gray smudges under my eyes, the tangled nest of curls bundled up on top of my head, the inward curve of my shoulders—all of it a portrait of the pain I live with when I don’t have a DMARD combatting the inflammation in my joints/tendons. And I’m frustrated all over again, because I’ve been denied those medications. And I’m really feeling it.

I got comfortable. I’d been on SSZ and maybe I took it for granted. Constant headaches and a perpetual metal taste in my mouth seem easy compared to what I’m feeling right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have complained. Maybe I should have kept swallowing the pills and taken what little relief they gave me. I was ungrateful, and now I’m paying the price. The warm summer months rolled in, easing my transition off SSZ. I went swimming. I ran errands. I cleaned my house.

Now I’m lucky I can move at all.

I hate the cold months. I know everyone is reveling in fall right now, but all I want to do is give those who are celebrating sweaters and Instagramming photos of leaves the stink eye. Because for me, October through May is hell unleashed.

If it hurts to die, this is exactly what it feels like.

I don’t mean to be melodramatic. It is five in the morning and I should be sleeping. I’m usually sleeping at this hour. I have places to go and things to do during normal morning hours, yet I will have to choose between resting and getting blood work done. My knees and hips hurt so badly, I feel like I need a wheelchair.

I’d go to the emergency room if I thought they could do anything.

What I need is a different DMARD and a hefty dose of Prednisone to get me through until it starts working. I need a doctor like the ER attending who knew that inflammation was my issue, even if my blood work said otherwise. I need someone like the PA I used to see, someone who listens and won’t give up. Dr. M was becoming that someone, but she left the practice. And now I just feel so fucking lonely and depleted.

I don’t know how I keep doing this. Living with this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, hands down. And I’ve been through a lot of difficult things. I’m not saying I’d rather go through them again—they were eviscerating enough on their own, thank you—I’m just saying that this is so hard and I’m so tired. I’m out of spoons—emotionally, mentally, and physically.

I’m done yearning to be normal. It’s been nearly a decade. At this point,  it’s not going to happen. I just want some kind of quality of life. I don’t want to burst into tears because I’ve dropped the cap to my water bottle and can’t physically make it across the kitchen floor to retrieve it. I don’t want to feel lonely at almost 5am because my husband went to bed hours ago. I don’t want to slap a temporary painkiller Band-Aid on my gunshot wounds, hoping that Tramadol will bring my pain down to a 8/10. I don’t want to feel like I’m missing out while my husband, brother-in-law, and niece hang out at a gallery and I stay home because I feel like microwaved zombie.

I’m just so fucking tired.

I’m not going to do anything more drastic than smoking a cigarette, but I need all of the love, strength, and support that I can get right now. I feel almost cheesy asking for this, but if you can even just leave a comment with hugs, that would be so helpful.

This probably goes without saying, but I’m taking Wednesday off.

On the bright side, I wrote 400ish* words for SOF4, and it’s officially #OwnVoices because I’ve given Krista my enthesitis related arthritis. Tonight’s—this morning’s?—session was basically just a long description of how much everything hurts her, AKA me. Here’s a little snippet:

Hot twinges buried themselves in Krista’s knees, bringing the world into razor sharp focus. She winced, then quickly smoothed the expression on her face.

“We’ve got to do something,” Perry repeated. “The entire band’s gonna implode if we don’t handle this.” A large curled fist lightly smacked the palm of his other hand, punctuating his last few words.

Her cheeks twitched into an involuntary smile. His passion was endearing. “I’ll let you know,” she said softly, her shoulders curling inward. Sliding her phone from her pocket, she glanced at the time. Shit. It was time to get to class. She swallowed hard. She barely had the energy to walk there, never mind sit through the lecture.

“Hey,” Perry said, his voice low and soothingly warm. “You all right? Your cheeks are kinda flushed.”

Great. She inhaled through her nose, gathering her strength. “I’ve got to go.” With every ounce of energy, she pushed up from the bench. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He shrugged. “Sure thing.” He raised his coffee in a salute.

Turning, she forced herself to walk away like a normal person. Her joints protested, the ache deepening. If that was even possible. She gritted her teeth, stifling the scream rising in her throat. She was so tired—tired of being in pain, tired of trading her life for more rest. And now, with South of Forever in such a bad position, she was going to be even more tired.

* * *

Krista was in a bad mood when she finally got out of class. For one thing, it’d run fifteen minutes over. The pain in her knees had increased, as well as taken residence in her elbows and wrists. For some reason, the knuckle of her left thumb was aching, too—a hot, pulsing flare. Yet, from the outside, her body looked completely normal.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Stepping off to the side of the hall she was walking through, she fished it out and read the text from Poppy.

Where are you? We need to start recording. xx

The double exes were like a haphazard “LOL,” thrown in as insurance. Their sole purpose was to placate the terse, demanding tone of the other words. Krista was fluent in girl speak.

Sighing, she texted back a simple “OMW,” and resumed her trek toward the building exit. Her body protested with each step, hinges stuttering when they should have bent smoothly. By the time she got to the double doors, she’d made up her mind.

She opened the Uber app with a quick swipe and a tap, not even bothering to look at the screen. She knew her iPhone better than she knew her own body—a fact that was twice as true, since said body was constantly rebelling. She longed for the warm summer months when she’d have little pain.

Her heart whispered “Soon,” and she shuffled through the double doors and into the sunshine.

*I initially thought I wrote like 600 words, but I just checked the word count and was kind of disappointed. But something is better than nothing, right?

5 Things I’ve Learned About Self-Publishing in the Last 5 Years

Signing at the Monte Cristo Bookshop in 2012. Photo by Kate Randall.

Signing at the Monte Cristo Bookshop in 2012. Photo by Kate Randall.

Today marks five years since I started self-publishing, when I hit publish on my award-winning short story, “Moon Prayer.” To this day I still get that feeling of anticipation and excitement when I publish a new book. It’s a feeling that never gets old, one that I think will be familiar throughout the rest of my career. It’s crazy to think that five years is such a short and long time; it’s only a blip on the timeline of a lifelong career, but it’s also the hardest period when starting a new business. And I’ve accomplished a lot.

In the last five years, I’ve:

  • published nine novels, with my 10th coming out next month
  • been signed by a small press publisher (now closed)
  • done several signings at book stores
  • made a lot of lifelong friends
  • done several interviews—including a podcast

Since I want to look back on posts like this, I’d also like to mention what I’m currently working on:

  • My 10th novel, standalone NA romance Just One More Minute, comes out November 18th. It’s part of a duology; the other book is a standalone about another couple.
  • Throughout the next couple of months, I will be writing and editing the fourth book in my rockstar romance, the South of Forever series. I hope to release it in early 2017.

I’m extremely proud of everything I’ve done in the last five years, and I know that the next five will be just as fun. I’ve learned many things so far, but here are a few of the most important.

Self-Publishing is an Agile Business

In this industry, change happens quickly. No one knows the formula to an overnight success, and what catches fire in the market changes with the wind. Billionaires, for example, are out, but small town farmers are totally in. You can write to market or you can write what’s in your heart and wait for the market to catch up. (It will eventually.) In that same sense, marketing tactics come and go, too. Amazon could tweak one algorithm tomorrow and your marketing plan could come crashing down.

It sounds kind of awful, and though it can be, it’s mostly exciting. I’m always looking forward to what changes will occur in indie publishing. New markets are opening all the time (see Joanna Penn’s comments on the booming industry in India and Nigeria), and people and companies are forging ahead with some really cool storytelling innovation (like Radish and Night Vale).

Good or bad, you have to be ready to pivot and apply everything you’re learning to what you’re doing in the trenches. Sometimes I’ve had to make decisions on a whim based on new information. This business has been one of the most exhilarating things I’ve ever done.

Publishing Exclusively With Amazon is Super Risky

You know how your grandma always said “Never put all of your eggs in one basket”? She was right.

Before I started building my empire, I was a web designer. I ran workshops and did presentations all the time, where I advised clients not to rely on free websites or social media—they needed their own domain where they could control everything. Facebook, for example, could change their terms of service at any time, completely destroying everything my client had built. With their own website, though, they owned their content and held the keys.

When I came to self-publishing, I applied this same philosophy to the retailers I sold at. Being wide—avoiding programs like KDP Select—put the control in my hands. Many a horror story has been told on Kboards about authors who were Amazon-exclusive and one single algorithm tweak brought their income to a screeching halt. Kindle Unlimited can be great to get a new author started—you can make a lot of money in a short period of time—but it’s not a good long-term business plan.

If I was a brand new author just starting out, I would release a trilogy straight to KU. After 90 days, I would go wide and stay wide. Then I’d repeat it with my next series. As I started seeing income rise at the other retailers, I would start publishing directly to all of them—skipping KU entirely.

Setting Up Multiple Honeypots is a Great Way to Maximize Your Income

For the longest time, I was lucky to make $10 a month at Amazon. I was publishing short stories, which I later discovered aren’t the best length for steady sales. However, even with shorter works, when I published consistently, I was able to make at least $10 a month at each of the retailers. This multiplied my income, especially once I joined Kobo’s promotions email list (which is now a tab built into the KWL dashboard for select indie authors).

Each retailer has really great assets. Finding and leveraging those strengths to your advantage is the key to success. For example, distributors like Draft2Digital and Smashwords have reps from Apple and Barnes & Noble that will merchandise your books. I’ve even heard of authors who publish direct being contacted by reps and having their books featured. And Kobo’s promotions, as I mentioned, are a fantastic tool for reaching more customers.

But having honeypots doesn’t just mean being wide. It also means finding related streams of income, like writing nonfiction, speaking, and teaching. I even know indie authors who are also ghostwriters. Another honeypot is doing signings, conventions, book festivals, craft fairs, and art shows. Basically anywhere there’s going to be a crowd of people willing to spend money. There are so many avenues and opportunities—especially in this exciting digital age.

It’s Ridiculously Easy to Burn Out Really Quickly

All of this excitement can easily become overwhelming. After all, indie authors have a lot of work to do on any given day, and that can become stressful. It’s even worse when you get a case of comparison-itis. I often find myself comparing myself to other self-published authors, wondering “How come I’m not making a living?” and “Why can’t I write that fast?”

This is why it’s super important to do two things on a regular basis: put things into perspective, and fill the well.

You can’t compare yourself to someone who’s been writing for decades, for example. I catch myself wondering why I’m not more like Tarryn Fisher or Colleen Hoover all the time. In reality, they’ve been self-publishing much longer than I have. It took me a few years to find my voice and niche—I only just started consistently releasing a series last year—so realistically I’m at a completely different place.

I used to try to jump straight from one project to another. It took me some time to figure it out, but I’m much more productive if I take some time off in between and fill the well. This can mean reading a couple of books and binge-watching a series on Netflix. It’s especially beneficial if I just focus on relaxing.

It’s also important to write a business plan and keep strict business hours. I revise my business plan every six months or so, and usually write a separate marketing plan for each book. I only work Monday through Friday from 9am to 5pm. It took me a few years to realize that even though I wanted to work a lot of hours and even enjoyed it, those long days were wearing me down. Occasionally I break this rule—like when my publisher closed or when I wrote a novel in two weeks. Otherwise, I’m super careful about how many hours I put in—especially since I have a chronic illness. YMMV.

Writing Doesn’t Have to Be a Solitary Career

The best thing that’s happened to me in the last five years was hooking up with other authors who write in a similar genre. I met J.C. Hannigan back in the day when we were both aimlessly blogging through our twenties. After a few years of me harassing her, she came over to the dark side and started self-publishing too. I call her my “work wife” and love her to pieces. I also happen to adore her books! For a long time, I was pretty much on my own, but when she started self-publishing, I was thrilled to finally have someone I could really talk to.

I met my critique partner, Molli Moran, on Twitter. I liked her a lot right away and fell in love with her books. We chatted more and more frequently, sharing story ideas and marketing tips. Eventually we started swapping manuscripts for beta reading, and it was a perfect fit. It only made sense that we become critique partners.

With these two lovely ladies and the sweet Rebecca Paula, I co-founded Romance Readers Anonymous on Facebook. Just the simple act of coming together to do something nice for our readers keeps the ugly loneliness away, but we also bounce marketing ideas and plots off each other. Our group is so lovely in the sense that we respect and take care of each other. Recently we all realized we were a little overwhelmed and decided to make October a roll with it kind of month, rather than scheduling themed posts and games. It’s so easy with these three ladies and I’m so grateful to have them in my life. Eventually we have got to have a meetup!

The last five years have been quite a ride, but I’ve far from reached my destination. In the next five years, I hope to:

  • be making a full-time income ($5,000 a month is totally all right with me)
  • publish at least two memoirs (one about my chronic illness and the healthcare system, the other about PTSD and the mental healthcare system)
  • have several series in genres ranging across YA, NA, and adult fiction
  • train Dragon or some other speech-to-text program so that I can save my poor wrists 😂
  • be losing my mind because maybe I’ll be trying to write books while raising babies

It’s all within reach, because the magic is already inside of me.

Thank you so much to all of my readers, family, and friends for your unwavering support and love throughout the past five years! This journey has never been easy, and many have doubted me—including myself—but your faith has carried me through. As a thank you for being there, I will be sending my email list a FREE copy of “Moon Prayer”—that award-winning short story that I self-published five years ago.

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Happy Birthday, Love

True love, circa 2009

True love, circa 2009

I can still remember the day I met you. Well, okay—I know that’s debatable. You remember meeting years earlier when I still worked at FYE, and while I vaguely remember that day, I don’t remember meeting. Which you will never let me live down. I do, however, remember meeting one summer night at Toys R Us.

We’d both been working there for a couple of months. It was a slow night and we were both scheduled to close. You were still working in Boys and I was in R-Zone. My friend Kristen and I were talking about her breakup with her girlfriend when you came sauntering up to us. You were such a flirt, those blue eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter as you smoothly asked us what we were up to that night.

Since I sort of had plans with a friend, I just shrugged and turned my attention back to Kristen. But she was a year older than me and that much smarter.

“He’s cute,” she said, “and he can buy us alcohol.”

True. I was 17 and had just graduated high school. A whole summer of celebration lay before me. But I’d also just gotten out of a series of bad relationships, and I needed another disaster like I needed another hole in my head. Plus, I was supposed to be hanging out with my friend Steve, even though I hadn’t heard anything definite from him.

“I don’t know,” I told you. So much warmth radiated from you, even back then. I wanted to hang out with you.

You said something like “Well, let me know before we close” and strode back to your department.

Throughout the rest of our shift, Kristen and I debated. We finally decided that we’d go for it. What was the worst that could happen? We’d have a couple beers and relax. There was no commitment.

At the last minute, though, Kristen backed out. She was still really upset about her girlfriend and not exactly in the mood to hang out. I couldn’t blame her, though I was kind of bummed because I’ll be honest: I had a huge crush on her and wanted to wipe away all memories of her ex from her mind. Which I realize was totally contradictory to my overall attitude about dating at the time, but I was a teenager, dude. Even though I’d endured some serious trauma in recent relationships, my hormones were still driving most of my decisions.

Which is exactly why I decided to hang out with you anyway.

We hopped into the backseat of your brother’s car and took off for a friend’s garage. I’d had my share of partying in garages throughout the past couple months—my friend Steve’s friends regularly hung out in their own version of “The Garage”—but this was different. Once outside of work, I couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull I felt toward you. It might sound cheesy, and I know you’ll probably laugh it off, but I knew almost instantly that I was in trouble.

Given time, I was totally going to fall in love with you.

And I didn’t want to.

We drank beers and shots of vodka while sitting on milk crates and just getting to know each other. Your brother and friends were really cool, and you made me laugh. Your sense of humor was completely off the wall at times—but I got you. Half the time, you said things that I’d always been thinking but could never really put into words.

Since I wouldn’t be 18 until the end of summer, I still had a lame-ass curfew. (THANKS MOM.) But instead of making me feel bad about it or begging me to push it a little later, you helped me keep an eye on the time and then drove me home. When we pulled up in front of my house, I thought for sure you were going to kiss me. I was floating on booze and a little curious. What would it be like to date you? Would we have a normal relationship or would it all be a total disaster? Mostly, though, I wanted to know what it’d be like to kiss you.

“So,” you said, letting the engine idle. “Who do you like at work?”

The question caught me off guard. I was expecting a mostly awkward goodnight, maybe a kiss. I hadn’t been expecting that at all. A nervous giggle escaped my lips and I tried to dodge the question. For one, I couldn’t just blurt out that I liked you. I was supposed to be playing hard to get or something. But I was also a little tipsy and wasn’t exactly sure what would come out of my mouth.

There were a lot of hot guys and girls at TRU. I knew I had options, and my plan was to kind of play the field a bit. I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to date someone I also worked with, but I wasn’t opposed to having some fun.

So I smiled coyly and said, “I don’t know. A few people.” Then I kissed you on a stubbly cheek and slipped out of the car.

That was the first and last time I’ve been able to control myself around you.

I tell you that I love you all the time, but I still think it’s important to tell you why. Especially on your birthday—a day to celebrate everything you are. I’m always proud to be your wife, because no matter how hard things get, you’re nothing short of amazing.

From your sense of humor to your smile, you are intoxicating. You radiate life, love, and laughter—and I’m not exaggerating. Whenever I’m around you, I instantly relax. Your enthusiasm for everything is contagious; you’ve taught me how to embrace life and live it to the fullest. Your stubbornness is simultaneously your best and worst quality, haha. Because of it you’re both loyal to the people you love and tenacious in pursuing your dreams… and also a fantastic procrastinator when it comes to things like seeing a doctor or trimming your beard.

Love, I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am that you’re on this planet. Your existence has been the best gift I’ve ever received. Your sister tells me all the time that you and I “were written in the stars,” and I have no choice but to believe her. Everything in my life before that first night led me to you, and once I found you, I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to.

If I could, I’d give you the world. I think about that house we talk about sometimes—the one with the barn out back that we’ve converted into your studio. I imagine sitting on our porch drinking coffee, watching our kids play in the yard while I daydream about my current work in progress. You glance out the window at me, a paintbrush resting between your fingers, your hand pausing in midair. Our eyes meet and we both smile at the same time, equally content with the life we’ve built.

That feeling is the gift I want to give you over and over. Even now, when the bills are piling up and our fridge is running low, this is how I feel most of the time. I know things are hard and we both often feel frustrated, but I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything.

I love you forever.

Happy birthday, bearded man.

What I’m Working On (Release News and More)

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Occasionally I like to check in with my goals for the year and to share with you what I’m currently working on. Usually it’s not this late in the year but I’ve been crazy busy! If you want a better idea of what’s up, join my FREE email list to get my newsletter.

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2016 Goals

This year, my goals were:

  • release something every 2-3 months
  • write six new novels
  • maybe join a social club
  • read more books
  • practice acceptance

I’ve done pretty well on all of these so far.

A couple of my releases were actually re-releases through my now closed publisher, but I released books in March, June, and August, and have a new release scheduled for November 18th. That book is Just One More Minute, a standalone NA romance in a duology, and I’ll be sharing more details soon.

I definitely didn’t write six books, but I’m extremely proud of the two I have written so far this year. One of those was Just One More Minute, and the other was the first in a new series that you’ll be hearing about probably in 2018.

Though I didn’t join a social club, I did work really hard on my PTSD. A lot of my anxiety eased up this year, and I was able to get out and enjoy lots of activities with friends and family. Much of the work I did was practicing acceptance, and I’ve forgiven myself and recognized that none of the traumas I’ve endured were my fault. That, to me, would’ve been a win enough for the year.

But I also managed to squeeze in lots of reading. You can see some of the books I read this summer here. I’ve also read the much talked about Author Anonymous by E.K. Blair and the beautiful Pretty Pink Ribbons by K.L. Grayson, which I’ll gush about in my autumn reading wrap-up in December.

This year didn’t go as planned—as life usually tends to do—but I’m extremely proud of every single second of it.

Writing and Release News

As I mentioned, I’ll be releasing a standalone NA romance on November 18th. Just One More Minute is part of a small town duology; this book is a complete standalone about Rowan and Matt, and the other book is a complete standalone about Char and Amarie (release date TBA). It will be available on all ebook retailers for $2.99, though I may be running a promo for the first few days. The duology name is Not Just Any Love.

I am currently working on the fourth South of Forever book, tentatively titled Dancing on Broken Strings. The book is outlined and was going to be the final book in the series, but after reading through some recent reviews and seeing how much readers love these characters, I knew I had to write more. Plus, if I’m going to be honest, I wasn’t ready to let go of Jett, Koty, and the gang, either. The fourth book will release in early 2017, and then I’m going to take a break because…

…it’s time to focus on wrapping up the Comes in Threes trilogy. I never meant to be away from this series for so long. When I released Crazy Comes in Threes in 2013, I had every intention of immediately writing and releasing the other two books. But I had a really hard time writing Trouble Comes in Threes. The story hits so close to home, and I was dealing with some other personal things. Then I signed with a small press and it felt like the right choice to focus on my rockstar romance series. I never stopped thinking about Quinn and Tara, though, and over the last three years countless readers have asked me when their story will continue. It’s high time. I am currently outlining the sequel and, as long as my body cooperates, will be writing it as soon as I’m finished with the fourth SOF book.

I’m hesitant to post any kind of release schedule, because both life and the publishing industry are unpredictable. However, for those of you who like neat lists, my tentative schedule looks something like this:

November 18th, 2016
Just One More Minute
Standalone, Not Just Any Love

Winter 2017
Dancing on Broken Strings
Book 4, South of Forever

Spring 2017
Trouble Comes in Threes
Book 2, Comes in Threes

Book 3, Comes in Threes

Summer 2017
Book 5, South of Forever

Dates may change, of course, and I may switch up the fifth SOF book with the Char/Amarie book or another standalone, depending on how things go. However, the plan is for the SOF series to be my main, longer series, with releases alternating with shorter series and standalones.


30% off THE NANNY WITH THE SKULL TATTOOSThe Nanny with the Skull Tattoos is 30% off on Kobo through October 31st! Use code 30OCT at checkout. You can download the Kobo app on your smartphone or tablet for FREE. Click here to purchase your copy.

7-spooky-storiesJust in time for Halloween, my short story collection The Last Minute Before Midnight is back on Kindle Unlimited! Click here to read for FREE with your KU subscription, or to purchase for $2.99.

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The Complaint

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Late Monday morning I finally gathered up the nerve to call my rheumatologist’s office. I was super anxious about it because, in the past, I’d asked to see another rheumatologist in the practice and been denied. Apparently they have a policy that patients can’t switch doctors.

I’ve never heard of any policy like this, but no matter how hard I pushed at the time, the office staff refused to let me see the other rheumatologist—even though Dr. M had suggested I see a psychiatrist and sent me on my way. Even though my weekend was very calm and relaxing, by Sunday night I was a ball of nerves again. What if they wouldn’t let me switch? What would I do then?

It wasn’t until I got to my best friend’s house that I was able to call. Sometimes, you just need a buddy. We sat in her office and, while she worked on something for a client, I got on the phone.

“Hi,” I said when one of the receptionists picked up. “I need to speak to someone who I can leave a complaint with…”

I explained everything that happened last Thursday. Calmly. Even though my hands were shaking. The woman I spoke with was very nice. She listened. She didn’t interrupt me. When I finished, though, she explained that it’s against their office policy to let patients switch doctors.

It felt like the floor had suddenly dropped open underneath me and I’d plummeted through. Still, I took a sip of ice water and a deep breath. I was in control, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer.

I reiterated my concerns, that it just was not okay for Dr. S to come in and change everything when I’d been doing so well. Even if sulfasalazine was giving me nasty side effects, it had been helping—which was what Dr. M was hoping. Seeing the results told us that she’d been right, that I have enthesitis related arthritis. We just had to try another DMARD.

I explained that I had really wanted this addressed before it gets much colder, since that’s when I really have trouble with my arthritis. (And I’m already having a really hard time with the cooler temps, but I guess that’s another blog post.) She repeated their policy and explained that, since it’s not really a complaint and “more a difference of opinion,” they wouldn’t ordinarily have me switch. Plus, Dr. C is not currently taking new patients.

Again, I felt the ground giving way beneath me.

But, she said, it just so happens that a new rheumatologist is joining the practice at the end of the month—and she takes my insurance. (Which is state insurance, and boy, do patients on state insurance get treated differently. But that’s also a post for later.) The receptionist told me that she can talk with Dr. S and she’s sure that he will okay the switch. In the meantime, she asked, “You are going to do your blood work, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

She asked if I wanted her to wait to talk to Dr. S, and I said no—I’d rather her speak to him right away. So she was going to send him a message and then the office would call me once they got the new doctor’s schedule. I thanked her and, mostly satisfied, hung up with her.

When I got off the phone, Sandy—who’d been sitting there the whole time—told me that she was really proud of me. “You handled that conversation really well.”

Unfortunately, it just comes with the territory. For the last near decade, I’ve had to learn to advocate for myself. Doctors and their offices are busy, at best. At worst, they don’t want to listen for whatever reason. I’ve been steamrolled by so-called professionals many times—people telling me there’s nothing wrong with me or it’s “just” this or that. It’s hard not to feel beaten down. Throughout my early life, I got spoiled with a pediatrician who usually knew the answers and always listened to my parents and me. I could trust that he would help me feel better, or at least take the time to try.

I could get into all of the things wrong with the medical system—especially when it comes to being a chronic illness patient and a woman—but I honestly don’t have the spoons right now. I’ve spent the last nine years feeling invisible in so many ways. I don’t want to be erased. This is my quality of life, and no one else is going to fight for it.

I’m the only one who can.

I have a young family member who is in the DCF system and placed with another family member. He is special needs and, through DCF, has an APRN social worker who oversees all of his medical and occupational needs. She keeps track of everything and assists his foster parent with setting up appointments and getting different issues resolved. The other day I was thinking about all of this, and how helpful it would be if all people with chronic illnesses were able to have an APRN like that.

I know my body really well, but I don’t have all the knowledge that an APRN does. And since they understand the medical system as well as various illnesses, they can help you accomplish quite a bit.

I don’t know what it would take to get something like this rolling in the U.S. Hell, maybe it already exists. But it sure would be amazing.

Anyway, I’m moving forward. I’m nervous because, for the next month, I don’t exactly have a rheumatologist. I can’t call the office with complaints about my knees, hips, and elbows and expect any results (since Dr. S insisted that I can’t possibly have arthritis, that I don’t need “those medications,” and that I “should be grateful”). It makes me both angry and uneasy. It’s not fair.

But for me and so many others, this is the way it is. Not only do we fight our bodies, but we also fight for our rights as patients. And I get that rheumatologists have polarized opinions on seronegative arthritis. There are countless medical journal articles and research about both opinions. Dr. M was strictly of the “arthritis has to show up in blood work” camp—until I refused to stop coming to appointments and kept reiterating my symptoms and issues. She finally decided to treat me based on my symptoms rather than blood work.

It took me almost ten years to find someone who would.

I can’t afford to spend anymore time working with another doctor who doesn’t believe in seronegative arthritis. Dr. S was very nice and is very much entitled to his opinion. But this is my life, and I refuse to continue being miserable in order to hold his or anyone else’s hand through ten more years of jumping through hoops.

Unplug, For Fuck’s Sake

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For quite some time, I had a hard and fast rule: no social media on weekends. Over time I started bending it. After all, my life doesn’t stop on Saturdays and Sundays, and I enjoy sharing it (especially on Twitter). I still try to hop on as little as possible, using my time to just recharge. But this weekend, I needed a cold turkey cleanse.

I completely unplugged from both Twitter and Facebook—a feat that required gargantuan effort. Actually, Friday night I hopped on several times “just to see.” What I was trying to see, I don’t exactly know. Truthfully it was my way of getting another fix. I didn’t cut myself off from Instagram and Pinterest, but I used them only minimally. Mostly I relaxed.

On Saturday, I slept in until 2:30pm. My friends with children are glaring so hard at me right now, but in my defense I hadn’t slept Thursday night, and I’ve been fighting off flareup fatigue while juggling anxiety attacks. I desperately needed the rest—even if I woke up somewhat panicked because more than half the day was already gone.

Sometimes, you just need quiet time.

Because the last couple of weeks had been full of panic attacks, I really needed to calm my mind. Thankfully, my old therapist E gave me some really great tools. I used eucalyptus essential oil to combat my three-day tension migraine. If you put some on your chest, the back of your neck, your forehead, and temples, it really helps sooth the pain.

I also binged The Fosters. If you haven’t caught this show, you need to. Going in, I thought it was going to be a lighthearted family show. And for the most part, it is; no matter what happens, you know the Adams-Foster family goes to sleep with love in their hearts. But damn, do they tackle some heavy stuff. They do it in such a way, though, that you can’t help but feel good (even after they’ve played with your emotions and made you cry). I love the healthy relationships and choices they portray. No matter how hard things get, there’s always a chance for these characters to move forward. And the fact that this show is so pro-LGBT+ makes it even more of a winner.

In between episodes, Mike and I started Luke Cage, which is like a billion times better than those other Marvel shows. *cough* Daredevil *cough* Jessica Jones *cough* I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who doesn’t dig those shows. I tried really hard to like Daredevil, but I couldn’t even get through one episode of Jessica Jones. However, Luke Cage is kick-ass. Maybe it’s because Mike Colter is oh-so-damn handsome. Or maybe it just took some time for the team behind these shows to really hit their stride. But the acting, pace, story, and characters are just phenomenal. We’ve only been able to watch one episode a night, and I’m dying for more.

Side note: I recognized Colter from Ringer and The Following right away. I was super excited, because I loved him on those shows. He’s such an awesome actor. And did I mention how gorgeous he is? 😍

We also went grocery shopping, which ended up a bit more of an adventure than intended because we ran out of money before we could finish. Starving artist problems, sigh. I’m so looking forward to the day when we don’t have to worry about these things. But we have enough to get us through the next couple of weeks, and that’s all that matters.

On Sunday, I spent the entire day binging The Fosters and working on a project I’d thought I’d completely abandoned. Back in 2007 when I was in college, I took a crafts class as an elective. It was a difficult course because it was very hands on, and that was around the time when my arthritis first started. I had to get a doctor’s note to skip certain projects because they put too much strain on my wrists, and it broke my heart. However, there was one activity that I really fell in love with: embroidery.

Even after the semester ended, I continued playing with it, learning new stitches and working at my own pace. Though it is hard on my hands, I’ve found that using a hoop really helps. Frequent breaks, too. 😉 I’d started a project in 2012-ish, recreating leaves placemats that I’d seen in the Kohl’s store I worked in at the time. They weren’t even that pretty, and the store had jacked the price way up. I thought to myself, I can totally make those, and started… but never finished.

In fact, when I picked it back up again this weekend, I realized I’d made even less progress than I’d thought. I was able to finish my first one, though, and nearly completed a second. By the time I went to bed last night, I was so relaxed, I dropped off to sleep almost right away. And I didn’t even need the eucalyptus oil!

This weekend I also got to spend a little much needed time with my sister-in-law. We jammed out to this song on the radio, which I’d heard before but hadn’t caught the artist. Now I know and Kiiara is fantastic writing music. I just love how chill this song is, and her voice is angelic.

This weekend I learned something really cool about myself: No matter how hard things get, I’ll always work through them and move forward. In the past, my anxiety and depression have felt suffocating, like they would go on forever and ever. While my anxiety was pretty bad these last couple weeks, the key difference this time around was that I knew eventually it would pass—especially if I kept using my self-care tools. This time last year, I was so lost, but in the past twelve months I’ve grown in leaps and bounds. I’m a completely different person. I’m still me at my core, but I’m also stronger. More confident. Empowered, not ashamed.

In the quiet of my calm mind this weekend, I sat reflecting on all of this. It feels so good to be in this place, to be this version of me. Even though I still have my challenges to work though, I’ll always keep moving forward.

And when I need a break, I’ll keep making myself unplug, for fuck’s sake. 😉