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Distraction Detox

DISCLAIMER: you are excused from reading this long-ass post about my personal project/attempt to change my habits and get revisions done. If you’re into things like books about year-long shopping bans and happiness projects, you are of course welcome to stay.

If not, please enjoy this cat photo as thanks for stopping by, and I hope you have a lovely day 💕

June should be interesting.

Note that I didn’t say “fun.” It’s going to be interesting because I’ve reached a point where I can no longer explain why I’m not getting important work done. I’m losing hours—days, even—to my desperate need for the kind of mental stimulation I don’t get from the challenging yet unrewarding work of novel revisions. It feels like I must either give in to my distraction attraction or do something drastic in an attempt to wrangle my habits into something that serves me.

…you can probably guess which one I’m choosing, especially if you were around for my productivity experiment back in 2017.

This is a whole other thing. Less experimental, narrower scope, far less record-keeping.

For one month I’m getting off social media, minimizing multitasking (and what I call “distraction layering” because I don’t know what else to call it), setting my phone out of reach, and ruthlessly eliminating options for my brain when it wants to wander away from revisions and editing.

(I will be here occasionally to record progress and insights, but if it becomes a crutch or an obstacle I’m out. You can hold me to that.)

Big gestures like this have a mixed reputation, with good reason. For a lot of people there’s a solid argument to be made for changing habits gradually, cutting back slowly, and restricting as needed. It’s far more sustainable in the long run, and the adjustment is less painful.

AMAZING if that works for you. For me, it doesn’t. I’ve tried. If the (social media, bingeable show, game, sweets, whatever) is available to me, I struggle with setting self-imposed limits to the point where they become useless.

…unless I’ve first broken the cycle by going cold turkey, adjusting to not having The Thing, and then decided whether to bring it back in a more limited way.

So here we are. If anyone is still reading, please note that this is in no way a suggestion that you or anyone else should try this with me. This is not a fun new productivity trend. It is me charging into battle, unarmed but scrappy and, above all, desperate.

So it’s not a how-to.

It’s also not a “dopamine detox.” I’m not minimizing pleasure for the sake of becoming more sensitive to it.

I will still watch TV with my husband in the evening—after my work is done, and without my phone in hand.

I will still have gaming time—on Sundays and maybe as a reward after I’ve finished all of my work on a focused day (especially if I’m too mentally drained to do any reading).

I will still read—hopefully more than I manage to when other things are on the table as alternate options.

I will do online drawing lessons (again, at appropriate times). I will go for walks and hikes. I will cook and bake (but I will no longer be bingeing Justified on my iPad while I’m in the kitchen).

There will be photos, but they will be for me, not for posting in places that keep pulling me back to see who liked or commented.

There will be joy. There will be glorious consumption of other people’s creative output.

But there will be limits, structure, and rules—things my brain needs, yet consistently rebels against.

Still with me? Weird, but cool. Let’s move on.


-no social media. The need to check notifications is too strong, and that leads to scrolling for stimulation. No one is going to suffer for the loss of my silly observations and cat photos for a month, and I don’t do much book promo these days, anyway. It can wait.

-minimal morning distractions. I suspect this will be one of the hardest parts, but I’ve learned that my morning truly does set the tone for my day. If I’m starting my day with high-reward, low-effort activities like watching YouTube videos while I make breakfast it’s really hard to switch gears to high-effort, low-reward work. I haven’t figured out the exact limits here (can I listen to a podcast even if that starts its own distraction cycle, or will that have to be part of the re-introduction process? Can I read even if that tends to turn into “one more chapter” and often cuts into work time?), but ideally my mornings will be quiet and painfully present.

And I do mean painful. Boredom HURTS. I’ll do what I can to relieve it—exercise, DuoLingo, journaling, and whatever else helps prepare me for the day—but it will be a challenge to not have someone else’s voice in my ear as I go about my business.

-limit multitasking and distraction layering. This is one of my worst habits these days (in terms of my own goals, not objectively or morally). I’m rarely doing just one thing. There’s always something else pulling me out of being present and focused. If I’m cooking, I’ve got Netflix on in the background. If I’m watching a movie I also have my phone in my hands to scroll social media or play a mobile game.

Sometimes this layering is beneficial. I genuinely focus better on writing if part of my mind is engaged with music. I get more exercise if I can listen to music or a podcast while I’m walking.

But I think, for me, I’d like to cut back and return to a place where I either enjoy what I’m doing in off-hours or go find something I like better rather than layering distractions on top of entertainment (or whatever).

Again, I need to explore a bit to define limits. Can I try learning cross-stitch or practice drawing while my family watches a movie we’ve seen ten times? That feels fine in a way scrolling Instagram or reading a book doesn’t. TBD. Again, the point isn’t to torture myself with boredom, but to explore.

-work time is for work. Simple rule, and probably the most important. I’ve had it for ages, but it doesn’t work without the other rules to support it. From 9:30 to 2:30 on weekdays (barring appointments) my butt will be in my chair and my fingers on my keyboard. If I’m stuck, I’ll write about why I’m stuck and figure things out that way instead of wandering off to do something else. No posting to social media because “it’s for work.” No other business tasks coming before revisions. Coffee breaks and lunch break, yes, but scheduled and with time limits.

Most importantly, no other options. No phone. No distracting websites. No Kobo packed with tempting books at my side.

Music, yes. And a notepad where I can write down whatever other chore or activity my mind suggests we could be doing (to be saved for a more appropriate time). Also a journal for observations and for writing through the hard parts when necessary. And cats. Always cats in the office, and visually appealing clutter, but they help more than they hold me back.

(Side note: the danger of burnout is real, and accommodations for things like migraine days and mental exhaustion will be necessary. This is just the goal.)

-stay accountable. My brother has generously offered to let me send him chapters as they’re finished so I’ll feel pressure to get work done. That’s my book accountability. For this project I also have a friend who understands my struggles and has agreed to let me check in with her so I feel the pressure to stay on track. One for the tasks, one for the habits.

-get off your damn phone. Pretty self-explanatory. I hate how I reach for my phone as a way to fill every quiet moment of my day. I need it within ear-shot for phone calls (I can’t pick up messages at the moment), but I don’t need it in my hands.

-choose whenever possible. This one sounds a bit silly and obvious, but I’m keeping it. My biggest problem isn’t the things I do, it’s that I do them without conscious thought or choice. I have never consciously thought yes, I’d like to lose an hour to scrolling posts about ridiculous baby names on Facebook, but it happens. There’s nothing wrong with spending three hours reading about architecture, but when I did that instead of editing it wasn’t because I decided it was more important, and I wish I’d chosen it at a better time instead of letting it pull me away from my intentions. I want to practice choosing what’s best for me in the moment rather than acting out of habit. Deciding to crash in front of the TV at the end of the day because I’m mentally done is TOTALLY fine. I just want to make sure it’s my choice.


As this is not a process of punishment and deprivation, there will be rewards and celebration along the way. If I start work on time and get a chapter done in the morning there’s a treat with my name on it to go with my lunch. Revising 10 chapters in a week earns me a night off from cooking. Each chapter over that buys me an extra hour of gaming on Sunday (if I want it).

There will be others, but you get the idea. When the work isn’t intrinsically or immediately rewarding we can try to make it feel like it is.

So that’s about it.

Not tackling anything other than getting my habits in order and facing down my craving for mental stimulation (and trying to get my work done).

Not experimenting with other productivity strategies like changing my schedule or recording hourly time use.

No dietary changes, though eating healthier would definitely not hurt.

Just me trying to get comfortable with discomfort and helping my brain get back to doing what it does best.

Time to make the stories.



The Deletion Dilemma

My computer is old.

Not OLD old. She’s not working with floppy disks, we’re not distracting ourselves with games of Oregon Trail.

But she is the MacBook Pro I bought in 2014 with my first book income. She’s been fantastic—reliable, problem-free, endlessly useful.

But the world is moving on. There are new and updated programs I might not be able to put on her because she doesn’t have the memory for them (very relatable).

I can’t get a new computer just yet, but as a nod toward pretending to acknowledge the problem I just deleted a ton of old files to clear the old girl’s mind a little.


Word files that were just single chapters of drafts I have compiled (and better yet, updated) elsewhere.


More screenshots.

Outdated promo images.

It’s weirdly hard to declutter all of this stuff that I haven’t used in years. Not just digitally, either—I have a plastic bin under my bed that’s stuffed full of the notebooks I planned my first books in.

On some deep, survival-oriented level my brain seems to think I need to have proof that my books are mine from every stage, concept to publication.

But why?

Am I scared that someone is going to come at me like a creationist demanding that every gap in the evolutionary timeline be filled in before they’ll believe I wrote Bound or Vines and Vices? That if I’m missing “pre-beta version 3” of chapter six that this missing link will be my downfall in spite of the fact that I alone did, in fact, write my books?

I might have thought at one time that it was good to keep these things in case I decided to go back to an earlier draft, but after publication it’s all just flotsam and jetsam and clutter that burdens my poor old computer.

So hooray for me. I deleted a lot of crap.

Yes, I should have been editing at the time, and yes, I’m still keeping those old notebooks.

But it’s a thing I did. Somewhere north of a hundred files, all gone.

If you’ll excuse me, I am now going to stare at a wall now while I wait for the draft police to arrive.

Ye olde girle

Curses and Crimes: Prologue

Curses and Crimes cover art
COMING MAY 9, 2022



The world returned to life with every step Gale put between herself and the dead witch’s cabin.

Two years of blight and famine had left her village and the mountain forests that surrounded it starving. Dying. Now the curse was broken, and as she and her brother Hawk walked home, ferns had sprouted around their feet, leaves had burst forth on the trees, and the woods had filled with birdsong that had been absent for too long.

But Gale walked with her head down, focusing on the squish of newly fertile soil beneath her too-large boots as she and her big brother crossed Mister Coldstream’s wheat field.

Almost home. Mama. Papa. Home.


It was all her seven-year-old mind could handle, so it was all she allowed herself to think. Even questioning why her heart didn’t leap at the thought of seeing her parents again was too much.

Hawk took her hand and pulled her forward. “Almost there, little bird. We’re going to be heroes for killing that witch, you know.”

Gale glanced up at him. He was still skeleton thin and too pale, just as he’d been when Father took them into the woods and left them there. Though Gale had been just as gaunt when they’d left home, she’d gained back every stolen ounce as she’d eaten at the witch’s table, and her skin glowed tan and healthy from long days in a bountiful garden that hadn’t been touched by the curse.

A flash of laughing eyes came into Gale’s mind.

Don’t think of her.

She focused instead on Hawk’s words and tried to make the word hero in her mouth, just to try it on and see how it fit her.

It tasted bad.

Hawk deserved to be called a hero. Not her.

The shocking green of the fields, the riot of life and noise and God-given goodness that had sprouted around them since the witch’s death were all the proof Gale needed that he’d been right to want to kill the witch.

And Gale had been wrong to trust her. To eat at her table. To embrace her as guardian after their own parents had placed the siblings in God’s hands when there was no food left for them at home.

Her throat closed at the thought, choking her.

I’m glad to go home, she told herself, desperate to believe it. Mother and Father will be pleased.

The curse is broken. God’s will has been done. We are heroes.

Bright Hollow would be in view soon, past these sprawling fields, cradled in its sheltered space on the mountainside.

It had been a sour, dull place when they’d left. No snow forts this past winter, no dances, no candies and songs, no candles in the windows to chase the darkness away on the longest night of the year. But maybe now, if enough folks had survived, it would be like before. Classes in the big schoolhouse. Harvest festivals. Friends playing in the streets.

Gale’s chin trembled as she forced herself to take in everything around her, to make it all fit what she remembered from before the curse.

For Gale, the world had changed. Her time with the witch, with magic, had made it different. Where once she’d seen and heard and felt and tasted and smelled, now there was something else that she experienced beyond those natural senses.

Magic. Not everywhere. Not here. But it had been present in patches of the land as she and Hawk walked home, in the new forest plants and the animals that fed on them. She was glad to find there wasn’t any magic near Bright Hollow, though its loss made her feel strangely empty. In the woods near the witch’s home it had sung, called, teased, beckoned.

Sinful. Corrupting. Vile. The words Hawk had whispered to her when they lay in the loft at the witch’s cabin echoed in her mind. He’d tried to warn her. She hadn’t listened.

It hurt to remember magic flowing through her body, a river of warmth and light.

It hurt to think something so lovely could be so bad.

She cursed the land and Bright Hollow. The curse ended when she died. I was wrong. Wrong.

Someone shouted—a man’s voice, high and reedy. Across the field a thin figure in a grey shirt and bib overalls ran toward them, waving his straw hat in one hand. Mister Coldstream. One of Bright Hollow’s farmers.

Someone had survived. There would be others. Mother and Father, if God had willed that they live out the curse. The Luminary, surely, waiting to hear the story of their victory over evil.

Gale fought the urge to turn and run away. It wasn’t sensible, and Mister Coldstream would think it odd if she was afraid to go home.

Besides, there was nowhere to run back to anymore, even if she’d wanted to go. The witch was dead, the cabin burned.

Hawk slowed and turned her to face him. “We need to get our story straight. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you did.” He crouched slightly, placing his eyes at her level. “I’ll protect you, Nightingale. No one needs to know.”

Gale scrunched up her face to keep tears back as Hawk’s words broke through the dam she’d built around her memories.

The sleeping potion, perfectly made. Madrigal would have been so pleased to know how her student had used proper magic, but it had to be a secret.

Madrigal collapsing to the floor, her golden curls spread out around her as the potion subdued her magical protections enough to make her fall asleep.

Hawk’s knife, hidden in his belt, then pressed to her throat.

Madrigal’s eyes opening, meeting Gale’s. Widening. Understanding.

Gale’s breath hitched, and she pinched herself to call her mind back to the present.

She tried to answer Hawk, but words wouldn’t come no matter how badly she wanted to speak.

Hawk nodded. “Probably better if you just let me talk for the both of us. I’ll say we worked together, that we both defeated the witch and ended the curse, that it was our plan. The two of us, all along.”

Gale wanted to ask what would happen if anyone found out about her sin, but it didn’t matter. Hawk knew best. He’d proved it, and he’d keep his word. All she had to do now was follow him back to town, learn how to be a better girl, and forget.

The garden. The cabin. The warm fire. Secret lessons. Fresh rosemary bread.

The knife. The blood po     v coling on the floor, staining it the colour of death.

“Ready to go home, little bird?” Hawk asked, raising an arm to wave back to Mister Coldstream.

The farmer continued toward them, calling their names.

Gale’s legs trembled. She sank to her knees and sobbed as though she would never stop, telling herself it was because she was so happy to be home.

Pre-orders available now through most ebook retailers. Visit www.books2read/cursesandcrimes for links!

Protected: Come From Away

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All Good Things Must

For nine years I’ve had a dog. Boxer. White, with a left-side pirate patch and sad eyes. High-energy, clever, eager to please. But I’ve had so much more than that.

For nine years I’ve had a shadow, first following me around as I followed the kids, then trailing behind me as I did my work in an otherwise empty house when everyone else was at work or school. My shadow slept by my side while I wrote stories I thought no one would ever read, sat in the kitchen while I cooked, looked for me if I disappeared when he was napping.

For nine years I’ve had an angel whose need for exercise motivated me to walk, which turned out to be the best thing for my depression. He urged me to keep up with that little act of self-care and helped me get back to feeling like myself. And he jogged with me, at least until his aging body couldn’t run anymore.

And then we walked again, because I couldn’t lace up my shoes and run without him.

For nine years I’ve had a friend, someone I could talk to when there was no one else, who listened without judgement. He laid his head on my lap and gazed up at me, letting me know I was loved unconditionally, that I was never alone.

For weeks now, my shadow has been fading. He hasn’t been eating. He’s been in pain, though no one can tell me why. I’ve done everything I could to keep him with us, even when he didn’t like the examinations and medicines.

But he kept fading.

A few days ago, my friend gave up. He stopped trying to follow his family around the house and instead stayed in bed all day, only getting up when prompted—and then not at all. The light went out of his eyes, though he still listened, still responded to gentle affection.

I didn’t want to give up, but there comes a time when it’s cruel to force someone onward when their journey is so clearly over.

We humans take familiar things for granted—shadows, friends, angels. I think I’ve appreciated mine while I had him, knowing it wouldn’t last forever, but I still wish we had more time.

We don’t, though. Today it was time to repay all the kindness this beautiful spirit has heaped on my family all these years.

Jack spent his last day in the shade of the maple trees in his yard, surrounded by his family, before his trip to the vet. He died peacefully at 4:30.

It hurts. A lot. But he’s okay now. And we will be, too.

Okay, but who am I supposed to throw it at?

Screenshot 2019-06-13 10.04.50


Can I throw it at whoever wrote this ad?

Or whoever decided it was right to show on my blog?



COVER REVEAL: Revelation (Immortal Soulless Book 6) by Tanith Frost

*taps microphone*

This thing on? Hello?

*blows dust off stage*

I know, things have been quiet around here, but we’ve got something exciting for you today: The cover reveal for Revelation! This is the second-to-last book in the Immortal Soulless series (my pen name’s dark, decadent, and deadly urban fantasy series featuring vampires in Newfoundland), and things are just getting darker and more intense as we approach the finale.



Convicted of treason and sentenced to oblivion, Aviva finds herself hunted by the vampires of her own clan. But she’s convinced that Tempest won’t give up on their plot to bring Maelstrom to its knees, and would sooner be damned than stand by and watch as her home is destroyed—even if nearly everyone there has turned their backs on her.

Alone and unprepared, Aviva heads to Tempest’s territory intent on gathering information on their plans, proving her loyalty to Maelstrom, and maybe saving the love of her afterlife in the process. She expects pain, challenges, and simple, brutal cruelty. What she finds instead is a fascinating, isolated kingdom where allies are enemies, wrong is right, and lies are truth.

It’s only by embracing Tempest’s pure darkness that Aviva stands any chance of surviving. But if she loses herself in this seductive world of pleasure and power, what chance does she have of finding her way back again?

So when is this beauty going to hit your Kindles, Nooks, phones, or whatever you read ebooks on*? That’s the best news. We’re just sorting out one last detail, and then the book will be yours. No drama, no waiting…In fact, it’s already available through Amazon and iBooks!

Now, you definitely don’t want to just go ahead and jump into Immortal Soulless at book six (or three, or four…) Conveniently enough, Resurrection (Immortal Soulless Book One) is currently available for just 99 cents for a limited time! It’s a great time to start a series that will keep you hooked all summer long. ** Here’s the link.

Happy reading!



*Paperbacks will be out ASAP as well, but as this means waiting for a proof copy to make sure everything looks okay, it will take a little longer. Books 1-5 are available now in paperback through Amazon.

**I mean… I guess that depends on how quickly you read, though. You might fly through them in a week. If so, let me know and I’ll toss you an imaginary gold star. That’s some impressive reading.

Mer-licious Giveaway!


You’ve seen this calendar all over social media, right? The Merb’ys calendar (by the Newfoundland & Labrador Beard & Moustache Club) went a liiiittle bit viral last year, raising over $300,000 for mental health. This year they’re doing it again in support of Violence Prevention Newfoundland & Labrador…

…and I just happen to have one to give away along with a signed copy of Bound.

Why? Because I’ve been meaning to do a paperback giveaway that celebrates my own merfolk, and what better way to do it than by supporting a good cause?

From the calendar:

“Violence Prevention Newfoundland & Labrador will be the main recipient of the funds we raise this year. We wanted to help them continue their very important work of changing attitudes and breaking down stereotypes. Their goal is to challenge negative attitudes of masculinity and empower men to become meaningfully engaged in violence prevention.”

To enter, click this link to go to the rafflecopter giveaway. You can earn entries by spreading the word about the giveaway on Twitter, visiting my Facebook page (share the giveaway post while you’re there if you’d like, but it’s not required), or by subscribing to my very infrequent email newsletter. New subscribers receive three free stories as a thank-you for signing up, so really everyone’s a winner.

Please note: This giveaway is not endorsed by the NL Beard & Moustache club. I’m just giving away their amazing calendar and spreading the word on their project because I think it’s awesome and I love me some mer-dudes. For more information on the NLBMC or to order your own copy of the calendar, visit


I Lost A Phone and I Liked It

(That’s only halfway true, but you’re welcome for the earworm.*)

A month ago, my phone disappeared.

Vanished. Poof. I had it out in the back yard. I know I brought it into the house; I just don’t know where in the house it ended up. Calling it wasn’t an option; by the time I realized it was missing, the battery was dead.

Cue the frantic searching. I tore the house apart. My husband, who’s a much better finder than I am, did the same. We retraced my steps (which were very few on that lazy summer day). We checked cupboards, freezers, freshly folded laundry, and garbage cans.

Not a trace.

I was so mad at myself. I wondered whether I’d have remembered to plug it in (or at least have noticed where I put it) if I’d taken my meds that day. I felt ashamed of myself for not being able to manage the simple task of not losing the miraculous tiny pocket computer that had served me well for several years, and I beat myself up pretty hard for being so irresponsible.

I mean… almost all of my friends live in my phone. I LOST MY FRIENDS.

Now, I was due to upgrade my phone a year ago (cue conspiracy theories about the phone company kidnapping my poor iPhone to force the issue). I could have just gone out and done it. But I’m stubborn, and I was convinced that the moment I got a new phone my old one would turn up. I was determined to not give in.

So how did that go?

There were inconveniences for sure. We went on a week-long family trip that involved splitting up for appointments and activities, and we had to do it without “WHERE ARE YOU?” texts. I didn’t have my music or podcasts in the car or on walks. I couldn’t post anything to Instagram (the horror, I know).

But all in all it was really okay.

I checked my email less because it wasn’t in my pocket and realized what a huge waste of time it is to check it at all from my phone. I got help with the break I’d been trying for months to take from Facebook, and I found that I didn’t miss it**. I checked Messenger occasionally from my computer in case people needed to contact me, and I don’t think anyone else really noticed I was gone.

I missed out on a lot of work-related FOMO, that’s for sure, which meant a little less anxiety at a time when it’s been a real struggle. I forgot to take the “real” camera on a day trip and managed to focus on enjoying and remembering the day instead of posting constant photo updates to social media.

Turns out experiences really do happen even if I don’t record and share them. Weird.


Other people had cameras, anyway.

No, it wasn’t a blissful vacation or an eye-opening epiphany. I didn’t miraculously gain an increased attention span, and my brain found plenty of other distractions when I didn’t have my phone in hand. I didn’t even get any extra reading done. But slipping the electronic leash for a while helped me realize that I don’t always want to be available or in the loop.

I broke down and upgrade a few days ago. It was the music that pushed me to it, really. The weather will be cool enough to take my dog for long walks again soon (I hope), and I need the motivation that music provides to get me into my running shoes and out the door. And there are times when it’s important for people to be able to reach me even when I’m not at home–my husband, my kids’ schools.

But I’m going to try not to let this phone be the constant companion my last one was. It won’t be my go-to when I’m in need of a quick hit of distraction or the sense of validation that comes from checking Instagram likes. I’m not going to have it in my hands at all when I’m talking to people in person.

…because that might have been my biggest take-away from this experience. When I didn’t have a phone to distract me I noticed how reliant so many of us are on them. We Google minor facts and news items instead of staying focused on the present conversation. Phones are in-hand during restaurant meals. Even lulls in conversation can be an opportunity to check notifications, as though it’s not worth just sitting quietly  with friends and family when the grass might be greener somewhere else.

That’s not a criticism. I’ve guilty of it, too. And I want it to stop.

So thanks, old iPhone, for disappearing. Your absence made it clear what I really needed you for and what I absolutely didn’t, even if I thought I did.

And new phone? You’re on notice. I’m the boss. Not you.

(Also, please don’t get lost. I can’t afford to replace you for at least two years.)




*If you don’t now have Katy Perry stuck in your head right now, please tell me how to avoid it.

**I missed being in touch with my reader group, and I think I might have missed an invitation or two. That’s about it.

Ready to Kick Off Your Summer Reading?



Let me show you the view from my front window just over a week ago:

Screenshot 2018-06-01 14.55.34

It got better. We’ve got grass again now, though we’re expecting flurries on the weekend. But still. It ain’t summer.

But according to the calendar, we’re almost there. And that means it’s time to plan for summer reading, and I’ve got a couple of books to share with you–one on sale, one FREE, both Urban Fantasy by Canadian authors. Whether you’re looking for something hot and blood-spattered or a ghost story to chill your bones, we’ve got you covered.


Resurrection (Immortal Soulless Book One)


Tanith Frost



Since the night of Aviva’s murder she’s been forced to accept a new reality—burned by sunlight, dependent on the blood of the living, searching for her place in a dark world she didn’t believe existed until she awoke without a heartbeat. When rogue vampires arrive in her clan’s territory and threaten the uneasy peace of the supernatural world, this uncertain new vampire with troubling gifts may be the only one able to stand between a pack of ruthless killers and the unsuspecting humans they prey on.

Amazon reviewers call Resurrection “decadently dark,” “completely gripping,” and “a phenomenal new take on vampires”!**

99¢ for a limited time! Available via Amazon Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and iBooks



Death at Peony House


Krista Walsh



Magic is a dangerous temptation 

After lights are seen in the windows of the city’s abandoned hospital, sorceress and journalist Daphne Heartstone heads to Peony House in search of a headline.

What she discovers is a dead body and a clue to a hundred-and-fifty-year-old cold case.

Detective Hunter Avery, the man Daphne loved and lost, warns her away from the case, but the ghosts of Peony House have demanded her help.

Not to mention, her job is on the line if she doesn’t have a story on her editor’s desk for Saturday’s edition.

Daphne has worked hard to escape her past of dark magic and blind ambition, but as she walks the balance between light and dark, she’ll learn how many promises she’s willing to break to protect the people she loves.

Personal note from Kate: I love this series, and this book being FREE for a limited time means now is the perfect time to dive in! Unforgettable characters, mystery, ghosts, a bit of romance, a whole lot of interesting worldbuilding… this is my jam. Fair warning, though: This is a complete series, and it’s hard to put down once you start.




*Fullest of full disclosure: I’m mentioning these books because I think there’s a good chance you’ll enjoy them if you like my books, but I do have personal relationships with both authors. Krista Walsh is an author I’ve worked with for a few years as a critique partner, and we’ve left our fingerprints all over each other’s books. And Tanith Frost is… we’re close. We share office space. And brain space. If you’re wondering what I’ve been up to since I last published under my own name, there you go.

**If you prefer a “clean” read, this isn’t the series for you. It gets hot in here. And dark. And there’s cussin’. Gasp.


Anastasia Writes

politics, engineering, parenting, relevant things over coffee.

Beth Camp

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