There is a pain to the world not even her characters seem prepared to fix.  This is without mentioning the monsters, the conspiracy, the constant fighting and ever-present danger of surrendering to one’s darker impulses.

Lecarian’s Fang is a novel of dragons, shapeshifters, spirits, magic, and the undead. What begins as a story of outsiders—a core which it never loses—quickly develops into a tale of love and loss, of fates greater than its characters can imagine, and of an exciting world offering promise, threat, and intrigue at every level.

I think, at the end of the day, that’s the effect any creative—cook, writer, painter, singer—desires from their work.  To see the effect it has, to know it connects, that the sympathetic drive that leads us to share our unique perspectives on the world is not in vain but is, in fact, appreciated and understood is an endlessly rewarding blessing. 

Sometimes the best heroes are the ones in stories, and their importance isn’t whether or not they are or were real, but that we believe in the things they do.

For many years, she was the sun of our family—the light around which we rotated, and danced, and laughed, and cried, and flew.

They’ve had moments, or they themselves created moments in my life that have changed it, arguably for the better, but sometimes just for the deeper. 

…a happy swirl acknowledging the want of greatness and its temperance in the small things that keep it afloat.

The conceit of A Desolation Called Peace is communication and miscommunication—how we as people handle concepts we sometimes do not have words for and can therefore only approximate. 

At the end of the day, there is more than a little smile of my face knowing that, as I hold this story of a witch and her struggles with nature, prejudice, grief, and fantasy, that I screamed into the void and received an answer. 

…the culmination of our pasts taking us to a moment where we can look back, remember, and sit with our progress and our loved ones.