Unleashed Imaginations

  I recently told a friend the story of my trip to England and she practically shouted, “You have to write that down!” So… here goes. It all began on a cold, blustery winter’s day—cue the Dickensian fog—when I found myself walking the cobbled streets of Leeds, England, which looks like the inside of a storybook someone forgot to close. Ancient stone walls wrapped around the city like it was guarding treasure, and every shop looked like it could house a wooden puppet with commitment issues. I was enchanted. Also: giftless. Christmas was a few weeks away, and I was on a mission. I needed something special for my in-laws, something with heart, history, and hopefully, less drama than last year’s personalized cheese board fiasco. Then—I saw it. The Angel. Hand-carved, about eighteen inches tall, made of sturdy wood with elegant embellishments along its gown. It practically glowed under the shop lights. My husband, predictably waiting outside, looked up from his coffee as I ca...

  The forest whispered secrets to Elroy Reed that night, dark promises woven into each gust of wind, slipping between twisted oaks and slender pines against a backdrop of granite boulders. His knuckles were white against the worn wooden stock of his rifle, eyes narrowed as he struggled to see through sheets of rain illuminated briefly by jagged streaks of lightning. Each flash brought pain—burning memories of places he'd never been, people he'd never known. It had been that way since the first time he’d been hit by lightning at age 12. The static electricity flew down his arm, snapping with energy as he held his rifle. He pushed through the pain…and the memories. The storm had come out of nowhere. Thunder rattled above, shaking Elroy's chest, pushing him further toward the hollows he'd always feared as a boy. It was 1922, and the world was changing faster than he could keep up. Motorcars now ruled roads once claimed by horses, and the ancient trade of the blacksmi...

  I recently went on a trip to the Everglades to visit my bestie, Carol, who spends part of the year in a luxurious resort several months each winter. Me? I was rubbing elbows with mosquitos the size of pigeons, but it helped alleviate the stress of taking care of my 92-year-old father, lifting off me in sheets with each nature experience.   And nature was all around us. Now, Carol and I have a long history of Everglade adventures. One of our favorite activities was to drive the Loop Road. This is known to the locals as a great animal viewing spot – a ten-mile dirt road with canals and untouched water areas on either side of you.   A get your camera-ready kind of place. And the sounds of the birds while you are there…well, it’s   a bit magical. On this visit, Carol asked me what I wanted to do. We don’t do tourist traps, but she pointed out a boat ride to the gulf in one of those platform party-barge boats and I immediately said yes. Anything to get out on the wa...

  It Finally Happened Deep breath. Writing has always felt like a solitary sport to me, full of highs and lows—almost like backroad biking. You put in the effort, push through the grind, but there’s always that gnawing unease, that whisper in the back of your mind: Did I just write junk, or is this one actually good? This fall, I took a leap and wrote my first attempt at a Romantasy — A Touch of Magick. The setting hit me like a gut punch. It had to be the Everglades , with its haunting beauty, its mist-drenched cypress trees, its raw, untamed magic. A perfect place for a witch, a curse, and lovers torn apart. I wanted readers to feel it—to smell the damp earth, to hear the rustling fronds, to step into the murky depths of something ancient, powerful, and undeniable. The story flooded out of me. I’ve always been a fan of Ladyhawke and wanted to create a modern twist on that aching, impossible love. So, I put my head down, let my fingers fly, and let the smoke rising fro...

  Witches…and Magick - On My Mind As a writer, stories emerge from a confluence of inspiration: nuggets of ideas, personal experiences, meticulous research, and those electrifying moments that seem to materialize from thin air. The latter happened with my last novel, a story that hijacked my carefully laid plans. I was prepared to delve into a sequel, research complete, character biographies fleshed out, story arc meticulously mapped…then a simple conversation veered me onto a completely different path. It began innocently enough—a chat with my writing buddy, Becky, about movie remakes. Titles flew back and forth, and then the word Ladyhawke slipped from my lips. I hadn’t seen that film in two decades, yet the memory lay dormant, coiled and ready to strike. The moment the word left my mouth, it pounced—a phantom predator sinking its teeth into my creative neck. I physically flinched . Star-crossed lovers, bound by an ancient curse… a shiver ran down my spine. The possibili...

       The holidays have passed, and just before the year’s end, I hit a major milestone: I finished my latest novel, A Touch of Magick . Three months. 82,000 words. And yes, there was a happy dance across the kitchen floor—because this story poured out of me, arriving fully formed in ways I couldn’t have anticipated when I sat down to write that first word. Literally, I was going to write a totally different story and then that spark of creativity launched and took hold. Here’s what I learned along the way: deadlines work for me . There’s power in setting a goal and harnessing that inner static energy of momentum. Deadlines turn my creative spark into a fire, fueling me to step into the unknown and make it real. It’s about controlling the narrative—the one within myself—and now, I’m shifting that mantra to tackle something completely outside my comfort zone. The goal? Launching my own television program for kids. Yes, it’s a big leap, but creativity thrives in...