The Shattered Aurora is Live!

The completed Grimm Star Saga: First lIght is on sale everywhere

Each book of The Grimm Star Saga: First Light is now on sale for $0.99! If you haven’t picked up the trilogy, now would be the perfect time to get caught up.

Before our story worlds expand, and before The Grimm Star Saga starts with The Song Of The Piper in January, read about the origin of The Grimm Star Universe and find out what happens to Troylus and Zellendine.

And if you want to support your local indie book store, they are all also available at Bookshop.org

Having A Plan

And now, back to our more regularly scheduled programming:

Last week I talked about some of the details of the many (OHHHH SO MANY) projects I have happening. Well, I thought maybe some of you would like a little insight into how I keep all that stuff going.

So, first of all, I absolutely, one hundred percent know, feel, believe, and understand that life enjoys punching you in the face when you think you have a plan. Which is why, on the days where my life becomes triage, I accept it. 

But, I like to not always be in a state of sprinting from one crises to another… I like to not be in that place, it doesn’t mean I make it to even half the time not there, but hey. It’s an ongoing process.

What do I do then? I have a lot going on in my non word life, and I would be lying if I said I slept well, but it isn’t just insomnia getting me there.

A friend of mine recently laughed at my system, but it works for me. I have a planner. A very well marked up, always referenced, planner. I have a kanban board. And while I have a loose plan for the whole year, I have a very set plan for every quarter. I also should own a notebook company. It would be cheaper.

The question is, why am I bringing this up? Because it has come to my attention that I am supposed to have another planner.Supposedly I need to do more with social media…

Yes, I have social media accounts dedicated to my writing life, but how exactly do I use them?

Well, I think I have a plan for that.

The Social Plan

The socials I have for my writing life are on Facebook and Instagram. While I am admittedly not a fan of these social media sites, I am honestly not a big fan of any of the social media sites so… Still don’t have a good solution for this part.

While the platform is out of my control, the accounts are fully within it. And I’m going to try and do more regular posts on all of them. 

Mondays will be for Midnight Writes.

I often (read always) stay up far later than is strictly healthy to write. So on Mondays I am going to be sharing a photo of the night sky and a word count for one of the things I’m working on. I also may have some Mondays be Meet The Character days. On those days I will be doing a little note on one of my many characters.

Tuesdays are going to be for Teasers.

I will be sharing a quote from one of my books, or even from one of the things I’m working on. Either way this should be fun.

Wednesday will be Writing Buddy, What’s Yours day.

Everyone feels better with cute pictures of animals in their feed. I have two dogs and a cat and half the animals who live within a ten mile radius seem to visit my house on a regular basis. Not only am I going to be posting cute pictures of all these sweet fluffs, I want to see yours in return.

Thursdays are newsletter and blog post day.

You all know what day this little letter comes on, and my blog is always updated on the same day. So I will be posting a link to my latest blog post every Thursday.

Friday… This one is tough.

Not only is this something I will likely only be able to do every other Friday, but I am drawing a blank for a good idea. Right now I’m wondering if Fandom Friday would work. But who cares about the things I nerd out over? If you have any suggestions for this one, I’m all ears.

Saturday is a special case. I am planning on taking the weekends off of social media for the most part. But what if I did something really special on one Saturday of every quarter? What if I did a giveaway? Of a paperback maybe. And then, once a quarter on here, not the same one running on my socials, I could giveaway another paperback. Is that a good idea, or something no one would be interested in?

Let me know what you think of all of this. I would like to hear from you.

https://www.facebook.com/jdarl…

https://www.instagram.com/ever…

And now for the next chapter of our story –

The Voice In The Forest

Arabella

“You haven’t been able to speak with anyone in ninety years?” she asked, her mouth falling open. How lonely he must have been, how desperate had he grown?

She spent one year in a place she was forced to speak to people she didn’t want to, had difficulty connecting with the people around her because she knew every move and word was watched and used in ways she believed would be against her, and she was locked away from all the people she would have wanted to speak to. Ninety years of that, she couldn’t imagine.

His face got a far off look with a rueful, tiny smile.

“It’s funny, at first it was unbearable, especially because I didn’t know who I was or who the people around me were. Then it was a narrow thing, holding on to my own sanity. But now, I’m used to it.” His voice was low and there was a sadness to the words used to it. A sadness she thought said more than the few words he actually spoke.

“You go deep inside yourself and construct a whole new world and have whole conversations inside your mind,” she said, her voice barely there. While she said you, what she meant was me. 

Blackwell turned to look at her again, his eyes soft. But there was appraisal in them, something she didn’t think was possible to exist at the same time as anything other than disappointment or calculation.

“Arabella, please allow me to say, you are handling this very well. I was… concerned that you would run screaming from me as fast as you could.” He smiled as if he thought about laughing but pulled back.

How hard would it be to hold on to your laugh if you weren’t able to speak with anyone, she wondered.

“Believe it or not, you aren’t the scariest person I’ve ever encountered that no one else could see,” she said, pausing to furrow her brow and stare at the water. 

“What is it?” he asked, his voice hushed, a hand reaching toward her, and open concern on his face.

“The other…” She shook her head and focused back on him, looking him up and down, trying to see through him, trying to make sense out of it all and coming up with no answers. “Before, when I saw things, they weren’t quite like you.”

He looked down at himself, his face falling.

“Not quite like me, how?” 

For the first time in years, she allowed herself to actually think about the things she saw and heard as real, as something more than what she had been told they were by people who couldn’t see them. 

So she decided to tell him, tell him things she had avoided even saying to the doctors.

When I was small, I used to have a friend I played with a lot. 

Back when my father was still around, we lived in a home so old there was a plaque on the front porch and Mother could only do certain things to the front yard.

Father spent most of his time on business trips, and Mother spent most of her time doing something not at the house. 

I spent most of mine with little direction beyond stay out of trouble, and the housekeeper to get me anything I needed.

Maybe I would have been a lonely child, but I had my little friend. We played during the day, and they would visit me at night. Sometimes I got in trouble for being too noisy talking to them.

She didn’t come see me every night, nor was she there every day. 

But I saw her at least a couple times a week. 

In my memory, those were the best days from that time, other than when my Father was home. 

At some point I learned to read in those early years, but even now I couldn’t tell you how. Some of what I experienced back then is blocked from my mind, some I have actively tried to forget.

But my friend remains, there, in my mind. As clear as the day we met and the day I saw her last. Never changing.

Her clothes were always the same, a pretty little summer dress in yellow with small cornflower blue forget me nots on it.

Eventually, I grew to want to see one just like it. I grew to want to match my friend, although I hoped I would be able to keep mine from getting the tear hers had along the hem. When I finally found a dress like it, I asked Mother to buy me one too. She told me it was a cheap dress and no one wore that old style anymore.

She called it a prairie dress.

We played on the swing set outside, in the sandbox we built castles and pretended we were the princesses of fairytales. Her favorite was to pretend we were Snow White and Rose Red, sisters although we were different, who saved ourselves.

She was fierce and fun, but she never wanted the hugs I offered.

My friend’s name was Ada.

I was too young then to know her name was strangely old fashioned. I was too young then to know a lot of things, to realize a lot of things.

For some reason, I don’t remember thinking it was odd that she never changed her clothes. She just kept wearing the same dress, rip and all. 

And at no point did I wonder why she wasn’t growing as I was.

But I still expected her to be there on the first day of school when I was five, sitting in my class waiting for me. Instead, it was just me, learning to make friends with children who could talk. Children who could push and call me a liar and a freak when I drew her picture on that first day to show everyone my friend.

You see, Ada couldn’t speak. 

We communicated fine, through gestures, and the occasional word scratched into the dirt, but someone with their throat slit and bleeding has trouble making sounds other than a horrible drowning sort of gurgle.



Tada!

Please let me know what you think of social media and may plan, I hope you like this chapter, and don’t forget to pick up your completed First Light trilogy.


As always, Thanks for reading everybody!




— Everly

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