FROM IACULA
My thoughts. My craft.
Prologue: Meda I
Screams slid across a smooth glass surface. They were her mother's screams. The glass cracked, and in the splintered reflection, violet eyes that were not her own studied her.
Muddy Shoes
Ethel stood at the tall window with the curtain held back in one hand, watching the street the way she watched it most afternoons.
The Beam
A liquid-black, triangular shape hung above the traffic three cars ahead, rippling like melting metal through the air.
One Signal, Many Tongues
On building a world-spanning prophecy where every tradition has only a part of the picture.
Demessie I — Gone
The smell of woodsmoke woke him. He lay on his mat and watched the light move on the wall — a pale bar across the clay, sharp-edged, climbing slow. Past sunrise.
A Precise Grief
I used to skip the scenes where characters got broken. Now I'm the one holding the pen.
Meda I: A Kingdom Before The Fall
A droning hum spiralled—and inside the vibration, the rhythmic tread of thirty thousand men.
The First Fantasy Novel I Ever Tried to Write
I was twelve years old when I first tried to write a fantasy novel. I didn’t know what I was beginning.
Why I Write
Writing has always been my thing. Other kids had the guitar, or football, or dance—mine was the pen; my way of being myself.
A Hissing Sound
Thunder growled outside her window, making Dinah shiver. Silver flashes streaked across her bedroom walls, sneaking through the cracks in the heavy pink drapes.