I don’t plot my books; they come to me in the spur of the moment from a single scene, idea, voice. Sometimes I know where I’m going, sometimes I don’t. In the writing world this means I’m what’s commonly known as a pantser: I write by the seat of my pants. It’s a pretty accurate… Continue reading Finishing Yet Another Silly Manuscript
[This post comes from an exchange I had last winter about writing characters—specifically why do I write mine the way I write them. It contains spoilers for my short story “The Foreigner’s Loneliness” (read for free here!) It also discusses What Boys Are Made Of, but does not contain spoilers.] Why do I… Continue reading We Find Small Candles in the Night
The big advice writers hear a lot is that they have to have a platform. Nobody wants to read nobody—they want to read people who have a presence! Who have a blog, a Twitter account, a Facebook author page, three portraits, an Instagram, a Tumblr, and that Linkedin that they don’t use. Last summer, I… Continue reading I Think I’ve Been Doing This Blog Thing Wrong
A couple weeks ago, just prior to publication, I was at my parents’ house chatting with my mom when my dad picked up my proof copy of What Boys Are Made Of and began to read. I sort of froze up, frantically gesturing to my mother at what was happening in an attempt to indicate that… Continue reading What Happened When My Dad Started Reading My Book
So you’re friends with an indie artist, and you want to support them. The problem? You’re not really that *into* what they actually make. What do you do? It’s not an unusual problem. Maybe your friend makes gorgeous beaded earrings, but you don’t have pierced ears, or they do fantastically detailed sketches of bird bones,… Continue reading Sharing Is Caring: Literally
A few weeks ago, Husband decided to grow some herbs. He went about this in his usual fashion, where he said, “I’m going to grow herbs in our apartment!” and I said “No” and he did it anyway. Before I knew it, five little pots arrived in the mail, pastel-colored in concession to my decorating… Continue reading My Husband Is the Plant Whisperer
One of the downsides of doing lots of formatting and design work is you begin to recognize common fonts. “But why is that a downside? Isn’t that cool to be able to look at a brochure and go ‘Calibre, Calibre, Times New Roman?’” No. Because most people use the same fonts over and over and… Continue reading Papyrus: Looking Terrible Since 332 BC
Travis West has posted a fantastic review of What Boys Are Made Of on his blog, Darker Voice. As he was a big fan of my short story “The Foreigner’s Loneliness,” my fingers were crossed he’d enjoy an entire novel of my writing.
That turned out to be exactly the case!
I was so blown away by the book, that I just had to share my thoughts. This is one of those indie books that is so much better than anything else on the market, it makes you question the entire traditional publishing model. It’s a dark, dystopian western, and it’s certainly not for those looking for something lighthearted and easy-going. But it’s beautifully written and the characters continue to haunt me as I eagerly wait for book 2.
You can check out the full review here:
What Boys Are Made Of Review on Darker Voice
[Adult me disclaimer so people don’t get angry: I wouldn’t personally consider any book in the Saint Flaherty series to be YA; it contains quite a bit of strong language. Plus, I aimed it at adults.
That said, sixteen-year-old me would have devoured this book alive. And I had worse language than this book contains. So.
Hand What Boys Are Made Of over to teens at your discretion.]
More than four years ago—was it five, was it six?—I wrote a short story late one night. There was nothing of consequence about it, except the voice. It was urgent, and close. It spoke in words you’d hear any day of the week, using grammar that was less than standard. Its metaphors were colloquial, whispers intimate.… Continue reading Announcing the Publication of What Boys Are Made Of
I spent most of today trying to write a blog post that wasn’t about my book. It didn’t work for a variety of reasons, starting with “how can I write when I’m feeling queasy from nerves” and ending with “not thinking about my book means I just think about it double.” Have I mentioned I… Continue reading My Life Is a Cosmic Joke