Writing Between Bells and Bedtime

I had a student a few days ago ask me how I could possibly do everything I do in a day. He was genuinely concerned about my state of mind and incredulous that I would even attempt everything. It got me to thinking about what my days actually look like and if I’m really being successful at everything. So, first, my days start EARLY, which is unfortunate. I am not a morning person, which may surprise you if you’ve read any of my posts about sunrises or seen any of my TikToks; but I don’t like mornings. They come way too early for my taste; however, I have stuff to do and, therefore, I am up early (by 4:45, if you must know). I have the normal routine of teeth brushing, morning meds, taking dogs out to pee and walk (you may have seen a walk post on Instagram or TikTok), and then doing my own run/walk and strength workout. (Nothing major. I’m not much of a fitness fanatic.) I try to get done before the sunrise for my morning coffee, journaling, and dog snuggling; but that is often one of the morning things that gets cut during the week if I’m running late for some reason. On weekdays, I am heading to school and then I teach from 8am through 2pm with a short 20 minute break for lunch. (Well, let’s be honest. The bell for lunch rings at 12pm. I can’t head for the faculty lounge for my lunch until all students have left; so, I usually sit down to eat around 12:10-12:15. I also have to be back to my room before the students arrive after their lunch, which means I am usually heading back towards my room a little before 12:30.) My planning period is from 2-3pm at the end of the day and that is when I grade papers, get ready for the next school day, answer and send emails, possibly attend IEP or 504 meetings—the usual teacher stuff outside of physically teaching students. I am usually home a little after 4pm, which leaves me about an hour and a half to two hours to continue grading papers or preparing for lessons, ride, write, clean, or read—really whatever I think I can fit into the time I have—before I need to begin getting dinner ready. After dinner with the family, we clean up, put leftovers away, talk, watch a little television, and then I head for bed to start the process all over again the next day. I always end my day with nonelectronic activity (ie. read, journal, work on puzzles, grade more papers. You get the idea.)

Looking at my schedule, I began to wonder how I ever got anything done, especially my trilogy; and I have to be honest—some days nothing gets done. Some days, the writing is my priority to the detriment of my teaching responsibilities like grading and planning. Sometimes I don’t get much writing done for several days in a row because of the essays, papers, tests, projects, whatever, that need to be graded or the lessons/units that need to be created and planned. I guess, though, that I give off a persona of accomplishing everything—at least, to that particular student. Disclosure alert: I don’t now, nor have I ever, accomplished everything I set out to do in a day, a week, a month, etc. I’d love to think I could, but it’s not possible. I’d love to write more during my day, read more as well, and make sure everything for my teaching is done; but that’s impossible. I mean, right now, this writing is getting done before I head home for the day and instead of going to the barn and riding. While writing this, I have fielded three phone calls—one from my mother, one about house repairs, and one from a parent. I have also had two intercom interruptions, five different students stop by for help, ask a question, or simply chat. It’s taken a lot longer to get through this than I had planned, so no ride, unfortunately.

After I get done with this, I have to finish planning for Monday, run of copies, and complete creating a test because instead of my planning period today, I got to escort my 6th period class to the gym for a pep rally and returned to my class in time for my afternoon duty. So, I will have my planning period after this, on my time, technically after working hours are over. Story of a teacher’s life, though, right?

Something New

I had a productive morning today and thought I would share some of what I wrote while enjoying my sunrise time. So, I have been working a bit on fleshing out the back history of the characters and realms of the Valaraii Rising Trilogy. I guess you could call them prequels of a. sort. They’re not yet anything full-fledged, just stories and. scraps of stories. This morning I wrote about Falinor’s and Syllé’s first meeting when she was simply a child set loose in MithTerra. See what you think:

The elf walking into the Dragon’s Lair pub was furious.  His bloodstained cloak drew a few penetrating glances, but any identifying features like his black hair, strong elven frame, or famous dragon-etched armor were fully hidden within the confines of his cloak.  Seemingly oblivious to the stares, his brown eyes flashing with fury within his hood, Falinor weaved his way to a far table where he could sit with his back against the wall and scan the other occupants of the pub.  Falinor, indisputably the greatest warrior to walk the lands of MithTerra, had felt the darkness for a century or more growing and corrupting lands, peoples, and even those who were supposed to be incorruptible, elves.  This new phenomenon had been titled Dréor, and Falinor had had the unfortunate circumstance of meeting a disciple of one of those beasts just before he’d entered Norolin. 

 Falinor had no home.  The only kingdom he might have called home he had left over a century before when the only female he ever considered as a mate, Azrul, chose Thallan, king of Aelgalad as her husband.  Because of their long history and friendship, Falinor could not ignore Azrul’s urgent summons to return to Aelgalad.  He had thought seeing Azrul again might be hard, but Falinor was too struck by her obvious worry and a disturbing undercurrent of darkness in Aelgalad to notice any past regrets or discomfort.  Her request had been simple—decipher the reason King Arterius had chosen to remove Calarta from the reach of any in MithTerra.  Azrul seemed to believe Arterius’ reasons were key to deciphering who the Dréor stalking Aelgalad’s halls might be.  Falinor got the impression that Azrul had her suspicions but never pressed her for any details, a decision he would ultimately regret.  In hindsight, Falinor should have guessed based on the task she gave him.

 Now, as he sat with his back against the wall of the Dragon’s Lair, Falinor realized how truly alone he was.  No kingdom.  No family.  And now, thanks to a betrayal by one in his company, no allies.  The only thought that gave Falinor any comfort was knowing he had ended the life of the elf who had knowingly led them into the trap before she or her Vikari allies could kill him, but the battle had cost him—his entire party, his trust in anyone but himself, his sense of safety.   Falinor was alone and that knowledge seeped through him, chilling him to his core.

 As Falinor sat in his corner eyeing the other patrons wondering which ones were waiting to end him, the elf was startled by a whiff of lavender and then the room in front of him shifted out of focus.  Suddenly, a voice he knew in his soul called his name. Accompanying High Queen Sedivar’s voice came an image of a child, a young girl with uncontrollably curly brown hair and precocious blue eyes walking a road slightly north of Norolin.  From the image’s vantage point above the child, Falinor could see a warg pack quickly closing in. Falinor closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see what he knew would happen, but the vision was still in front of him.

 “I have chosen you as this child’s protector,” High Queen Sedivar’s voice resonated through his mind.  “I bequeath her to your care.  She is special.  Train her.  Watch over her.  Guide her.”  Here, the high queen paused, giving Falinor a slight break from the power of her voice.  “Her name is Sylémar.”

 Suddenly, the room came sharply into focus, and Falinor could once again hear the raucous noise of the pub’s patrons. Without another thought, Falinor shot out of the Dragon’s Lair and was soon galloping up the road north of Norolin that he had seen in his vision.

Coming around a curve, Falinor caught sight of the girl standing in the middle of the road watching the warg pack, which had surrounded her, slowly creep towards her. Before the elf could react, he was horrified to see the pack leap as one at the defenseless child.  He was too late, but instead of fleeing, Falinor continued up the road.  He was startled to make out the child crawling out from under the melee of the warg pack’s attack and start running towards him, a smug grin on her face.  Reaching the child just as the pack realized their prey had evaded them, Falinor reached down and snatched her off the road.  Swiftly, he urged his horse back to Norolin with the warg pack howling in frustration at their heels

Sunrise

I’ve said before that my favorite time of day is sunrise, but a very specific sunrise event—on my couch or deck with Buck and Annie snuggled up or sitting beside me, a hot cup of coffee, and my journal. Today was on the couch because the three of us do NOT do cold and it was arctic cold level this morning. (I mean, pee freezing before it even hits the ground level of cold!) I sip coffee, scratch doggos’s heads, and write. It’s so serene and a fabulous way to start my day.

Today, however, there wasn’t much writing going on. I did start with something—an outline of the next plotlines in the piece I am currently writing—but the writing didn’t last long as soon as I remembered today’s date. It’s Martin Luther King Day, and as a teacher, I have the day off. My one and only favorite Monday of the entire year, except six years ago. My sunrise that year was very different. I actually didn’t get it because I was too keyed into my appointment that morning—a needle biopsy to check the two masses that had been suspected with my mammogram and then confirmed with a breast ultrasound. January 2020 was not a good month for me, and the need for a biopsy had my usually low blood pressure pushing heart attack territory. I knew about this disease—my mom had it, my aunt had it, and twelve family friends over the years had fought it. Some successfully, but more not so successfully. I had a twelve year old daughter at home and a husband I adored and, let’s be honest, life. I had no desire to die yet. So, my sunrise that morning was not serene, not calming, not sunrise.

After my procedure, I was told that the results would be back by Wednesday and a followup appointment was made for 2:45 that day. And, of course, the customary, don’t worry platitude was given before I left the office. Late morning Tuesday, I received a phone call from the radiologist’s office. It was the peppy nurse calling to tell me that my results had come back in and the radiologist would like to see my at 3:45. Could I make it? Of course I could. Being a normal human, I did ask the nurse if everything was okay; and she gave me the customary answer that only the doctor could go over the results with me and again, not to worry. A person knows, though. When you get that kind of call rescheduling you for an earlier appointment and the nurse is extra peppy on the phone..I don’t know. You just realize the news is not going to be what you want to hear. And it wasn’t.

This morning, instead of writing, I remembered that day six years ago—my anxiety, fear—well, terror, to be honest—and the next day sitting in the radiologist’s office while my husband held tightly to my hand and my sentence was passed. I remembered the first person I called as I left the parking lot and the looks on my parents’ faces when my husband and I shared the results with them later that evening. I remembered my young daughter’s face when we sat her down and explained it to her and how she promised me she’d shave her head to match me when I lost my hair.

2020 sucked for many reasons—the worldwide pandemic comes to mind, obviously—but for me, that was a side note. I remember just trying to find my breath and my way through the surgeries and drugs and protocols on top of trying—and failing—to avoid another disease that was ravaging the world. 2020 was a horror show. But looking back this morning, I thought of all the things I learned about myself: my husband is amazing and never stopped holding my hand through everything. My daughter is a rock star who loves me. Many of my coworkers reminded me that I wasn’t fighting cancer alone. My students sent me care packages, painted me beautiful artwork that still hangs in my home, or sent me cards and emails to tell me they cared. One of my dearest friends called and texted me every morning to let me know I was loved and needed. I could write a novella about all the support. What started as a memory of pain turned into remembrance of all the love and joy that is in my life. So, it was a good morning; and even though, my body is drastically different than before the disease and some days I just don’t want to look at myself in the mirror, I was reminded that my life is full and beautiful and most importantly, I’m still living it.

Thank you, Sunrise, for the affirmation. It was needed.

Where the hell?

My dad is not a fantasy fan. Ask him about Harry Potter and you would receive a shrug and a shake of the head? Game of Thrones? No clue. Lord of the Rings? He didn’t even make it through five minutes of the first movie. He just has no interest, which is certainly his perogative. His choice? Nonfiction, ideally podcasts or NPR; but more recently, he has gotten into reading nonfiction more and more, especially WWII oriented books. So, when I heard he was reading my first book, I was surprised and flattered.

I expected Dad would maybe make it through the first chapter before closing The Forgotten; so when he told me he was in chapter six, I was impressed. To me and anyone who would listen, Dad made no secret of the fact that he didn’t like fantasy and had actually never read anything from the genre before in his life; and he did mention how hard it was for him to get into the book and understand the genre. But he persevered. Why? Sweetly because his daughter wrote a book and he was going to read it.

Shortly, I started getting phone calls from my dad that always started with, “Kris, I’m at … I was just wondering how in the hell you came up with that?” And he was sincere. He was impressed with the depth of my characters and the range of personalities as well as the monsters like the Strygoi, changelings, and malidaemons. He couldn’t fathom what had inspired the Limnades and the Malrauk or the plot twists (as he put it). Those conversations are something I will always treasure in my memory. I was talking to my dad about something I had written and an added bonus? He was a true fan of my work. He loved it and wanted to know when the second book was coming out.

When he got The Lost, Dad sat down and read it through cover to cover. Again, he called me to ask where in the hell I had come up with things. So cool. I’ve been asked that same question incidentally by my students as well as at book signings, book talks, and most recently, a literacy event for local teachers where I was the presenter. Here is my simple answer: I have been a voracious reader—thank you, Mom—my entire life, and everything that shows up in my books are inspired by something—more than likely many things—I have read. Take for instance, the wereling. In my books, they are a race with a humanoid form and a beast form. I call them wereling because I learned somewhere that “were” is Old English (I think?) for man/human and “ling” comes from the term “changeling” which can be interpreted as a shapeshifter. I also read somewhere that according to folklore in Romania/Transylvania, if you were arrested and charged with witchcraft or possibly being a vampire, you could beat the charge by claiming to be a shapeshifter who is tasked with protecting your village from witches and vampires. I always thought that was awesome; so you find a version in my book, except the wereling are charged with protecting the people of Light from the dominions of Dark; and they do it so effectively that Merilik has them exterminiated—or tries to, at least. Also, they are the Light’s version of a changeling. You know that science principle “for everything there is an equal reaction”? (Something like that. I never was good at science.) So, in my novels, for each creature of the Light, there is a version/counterpart in the realm of Merilik, the Dark Lord.

So, the answer to my dad’s question where the hell I come up with things in my books, it’s simple: I have read, I do read, and I will continue to read.

Facing the Uncomfortable

So tomorrow, I am taking part in an author literacy event with a local school district. Actually, I am I guess what you would call the keynote speaker. Intimidating, yes. Even more so since my audience is mainly fellow teachers from this area. I’m so not good with crowds, but I know that I need to start pushing myself outside of my comfort zone. So, I created a cringeworthy presentation. (I say “cringeworthy” because anything where I feel like I am promoting myself to complete strangers makes me break out in hives.) I also put together some speaker notes: basically a simple outline of points to cover with each slide.

One thing I can talk about and am happy to share with others is my experience as a high school teacher. I love working with other educators, trading ideas, discussing best practices, swapping stories. That’s my jam. I am a collaborator and am eternally comfortable within the realm of the classroom. So, I’ve decided to focus on that aspect of tomorrow’s event, instead of the part where I have to talk about myself and my books.

My anxiety about this event brought to my attention again how uncomfortable I am marketing myself in any way. Why does it make me uncomfortable to speak about myself and what I have accomplished? I learned a long time ago that talking about yourself is arrogant. Telling people about your successes or accomplishments is bragging. But is it? I was asked by the coordinator of the event because she thinks it’s amazing that I am a teacher and a published author. Also, her husband loves my books, which they both tell me almost every time I speak with them, which is fabulously affirming. So, why should I be embarrassed to do exactly what I’ve been asked to do tomorrow?

I don’t think my discomfort is some kind of anomaly. Most people I run into, including my students, don’t like discussing themselves beyond a superficial level. And I have noticed that whenever I compliment my students on an achievement—winning a poetry contest, winning State, being named MVP, getting the lead in the local theater’s play—they more often than not downplay the achievement. I don’t allow them to do that. I tell them they’re awesome and they should be proud, not uncomfortable. I need to take my own advice.

I got into the realm of published author because my daughter challenged me about not pursuing my dreams when I was scolding her for giving up on her own without even trying. That was uncomfortable and terrifying but I succeeded. We all need to have faith that we are enough. We can achieve greatness and when we do, we deserve the recognition that comes our way. Don’t downplay your actions. Embrace the compliments. We all deserve it.

Quiet time

I think my favorite time of day is sunrise or really, just after. When the light is starting to filter across the sky and the world is hushed. There’s a video on my TikTok account that I made a few weeks after Hurricane Helene hit our area. It shows the view off my back deck of our pond and land and neighbors and the Appalachians beyond and just how idyllic the world can be even after a horrific natural disaster. I still found peace that day to face the desolation only a few scant miles away. The morning hush was calming. The mist rising from the pond was like a passage into another time long before deadlines and nosy technology and irritating deadlines and a life of stress.

I do some of my best writing at that time of the day. I don’t know why, and maybe I shouldn’t say best because only a small fraction of that writing has appeared in print—my trilogy—whereas the vast majority stays in the journals seeing the light again when I grab a glass of wine and read back over my chicken scratch. I think I just like the quiet. It stills my mind and helps me focus like no other time of the day. It refreshes me even though I have only gotten up a short time before. It’s a breath before the frantic rhythm of my days begins.

The other part that I like about it is it’s totally technology free (Well, except for that morning I took the video, of course. My phone is plugged in, recharging as is my watch and laptop. I usually only have my coffee, my journal, and my pen. I’m old school. Forget the computer. Write with pen and paper. Feel the connection with your words like you never could typing. There’s a switch that gets flipped in my brain every time I pick up a pen—a switch that may only turn on halfway when I use my laptop.

My laptop writing is no where near as good as my pen and paper writing. At least, as far as I’m concerned. Any changes to my stories after they’ve been typed into a computer are always done on paper and then transferred. The very few times I fixed a scene on my laptop, I reworked the fixes in my journals and then fixed them again on the computer. They’re better that way. More real. More impactful. Or so I believe.

It’s a skill—writing with pen and paper—that many of my students don’t have, which I have found to be to their detriment. My opinion: if the government truly wishes to improve education, they need to remove all devices from the schools. Have computer labs for typing only. Everything else? Bring back paper, especially the textbooks. Make students engage their minds again, instead of allowing technology to put those minds to sleep.

Okay, off my soap box now and back to my most creative and restoring time of day. I need my mornings with my journals and the silence of the world waking up to stimulate my creativity, It’s in that silence that my ideas pour forth to fill the void. I realize that not everyone’s revitalizing time is then. Whenever your time for refreshing and resetting is during the day, make sure you don’t ever miss it. And maybe have a journal and pen ready for your great ideas. Leave the technology alone. I dare you.

Finding my voice.

Yesterday, I gave my English students an assignment—a six word memoir. We had standardized testing today, so their memoirs are due tomorrow. They’ll present them in class, which I always love because it’s interesting to find out what six words students will boil their entire being down to. Some will go for the comedy, I know. I mean, we are talking about teenagers. Being serious or introspective or honest about themselves is uncomfortable. No one wants to open themselves up to the ridicule they seem positive will happen; so, they often try to get ahead of the hilarity—control it in a way—by creating the comedy first.

I understand that. I believe most of us understand. I feel that way with social media, especially the videos. I second guess myself every time I make a post and often, edit and edit and edit before putting something out there. Many times, I completely abandon the post and don’t post anything. I do find this blog easier. No pictures to take or create. No videos of me to overanalyze. Just my words, which are something I am quite comfortable with sharing at this point. Actually, I can imagine this as a sort of journal for myself, which takes the pressure off even more since I’ve been writing in journals since the second or third grade. It feels familiar and much safer.

I noticed that many of my insecurities about social interactions are mirrored in my novels. My characters share those traits with me in many cases, even the ones who appear the most together and confident. Take Sylle. She has faced incredible darkness and evil for the majority of her life, including the total destruction of her home and family and friends when she was just a child. She was created for the purpose of combatting Merilik and his horrific creations and has a power unlike any other within MithTerra. She is confident in her abilities, loved and/or respected by those around her, seemingly indomitable; and yet, as we see in the trilogy, Sylle has moments of doubt and anxiety. It’s proof that even the seemingly toughest, strongest, most fantastic amongst us still have moments of self doubt whether they will admit it or not. That’s a part of us all. How we face those doubts and concerns is the key to who we are, which brings me back to my assignment for my students.

I got to thinking what my memoir would be. What six words would I use? A sentence, a phrase, or just six adjectives. I do this every time I give this assignment. Here’s what I decided for this year: Guiding voices while finding my own.

On Writing Who I am…

I grew up relatively invisible—too shy or awkward to feel comfortable engaging with those around me; and most days, I chose to live in my imagination and create so many of my different worlds, MithTerrra included, because I could be, see, do, say anything my mind could dream. I could outfight Apocalypse and save the X-Men with my mind-bending, world-altering powers. I could destroy Sauron and take his ring in an epic battle in front of the Black Gates. My imagination always followed a well worn path: I was a heroine and the most powerful with all the best quips and fight moves and intelligence. No one could match me, and I would always save the day and get the love. As I grew older, those dreams became more sophisticated. I also recognized that in my imagination, my character was a far cry from my reality. I was the center of attention, instead of the wallflower. I was definitely seen, not unnoticed.

It wasn’t until I started teaching that my writing persona started to merge with my real self. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean that I suddenly started having mutant powers or awesome sword skills. (I did take a few weeks of Taekwondo. Impressed?) Nor did I get better timing on my comebacks. (I still think of the best quip hours or days after the conversation. I’m going to have to get more comfortable with confrontation for that to change, and I don’t see that happening any time soon.) But what I did start to recognize was that everyone wants to be seen, acknowledged, celebrated at some point in their lives, which is a big reason why I always greet students whether I know them or not when I walk through the halls at school, especially in the morning. It’s why I always try to respond to students with a positive even if their answer to a question is wrong. It’s why I am the teacher I am even if my sarcasm wins out at times.

My lessons, my yearnings, myself show up in my writings as well. In several of my TikTok videos about my series and my tv interviews, I mention that Sylle is my idealized self—a popular, quick-witted warrior, who never loses a battle of strength or the mind. She does have my curly brown hair and blue eyes, intense loyalty to family and friends, solid concept of right and wrong, and deep desire for justice; however, that’s about it. On the other hand, Tarin, the dwarf lord of Exulias in my trilogy, is a version of me, wanting to be seen, always saying things wrong, not knowing what’s socially correct or incorrect, feeling invisible to those around him. He comes from my experiences as most. writing does. I think every author has different iterations of themselves in their work. Often more than one. We write best what we already know. It rings the truest. That’s why MithTerra is so real to me. I lived there for many, many years. I escaped and lived in a world of my creation with characters influenced by my life outside. I have to admit the world outside my imagination often felt cold and very lonely while my stories were full of vibrance and light. That’s what gives us the best stories, though. Life, our life, our experiences, our pain, our joy, our hopes, even our failures. They’re all the stuff of legends.

Footnote: This post has been hard for me. I have typed, erased, typed, erased so many times and I still can’t seem to get it right. To be honest, every way I write it sounds like a “woe is me” piece; and frankly, that’s not how I see my life, past or present. I’ve had struggles. I’ve had horrible experiences. I do suffer from excruciating social anxiety and been known to be paralyzed by my shyness. However, that’s only a part of my life. Yes, a part I’ve learned a lot from and often wished different, but still only a part. The majority of my life, including my childhood, was amazing. It gave me the time and imagination to create worlds, histories, races, monsters, and everything that you will find in my books. Additionally, without my past, I wouldn’t be me. I certainly wouldn’t be a teacher or at least, as successful as teacher as I believe I am. I wouldn’t have the richness of characters, realms, plot, symbols, etc., that I have in my books because my imagination would never have been adequately fueled to create the series. So, if this post seems to be heading towards the victim syndrome, ignore it. My life may not have been a cake walk, but I definitely ate a lot of cake through out it.

Finding my voice in a loud world.

I’m an introvert, which means social situations are tremendously difficult for me. Actually, dealing with and interacting with people in general is massively anxiety inducing. I seem to suffer from “Foot-in-mouth-to-hip Disease” and have my entire life or at least, that’s what it feels like. I have always felt invisible and my thoughts unheard or unnoticed because I am quiet. I don’t really raise my voice. I allow others their space (Mainly because it makes me more comfortable and I was also raised to believe in the golden rule: “treat others as you would like to be treated.”) I know that this has led to many people not even noticing me, especially since my brother and sister were loud, vivacious, in-your-face personalities that everyone responded to positively. Their names were always remembered, not mine. In fact, there are people my older brother went to school with who truly had no idea that he had two sisters because they were aware of my younger sister, but had no clue I existed. I was quiet. I sat in the back of the classroom and rarely spoke because when I did, it felt as though I was always saying the wrong thing. I still feel that way.

Going to social activities like banquets, book signings, conferences, work related events, whatever requires me to interact with the public is excruciating for me. Also, terrifying. For instance, I recently attended a dinner that was a fundraiser for our local children’s hospital with my husband and a couple who were good friends of mine. My husband’s company had reserved two tables and other than my friend, her husband, and I, everyone was related in some way to my husband’s company. Plus, there were other people there I knew from school (parents of students, fellow teachers). I didn’t know who to talk to and for how long. I became overcome with anxiety that I was ignoring someone because I was talking to my friend, instead of a parent of a student who approached our table to say hello or my husband’s work colleagues and their wives at our table. I began to wonder if I was talking too much to my friend and ignoring them. By the end of the dinner, I was exhausted from all my wondering about who I was offending and upsetting.

You can imagine what my brain feels like with all the self-promoting that I have to do for my books. No offense to those who love being on social media, but I loathe it. Analyzing what I’m saying: does anyone really care? Are my books even good enough? When is promoting bragging? Why am I putting myself out there just for people to mock? And the videos—so awkward and weird. Why am I videoing myself for others to see? Don’t I look stupid? Is a non-stop chant in my head. So you can imagine how well I have been promoting myself. Not well. But after a conversation with my amazing daughter, I decided to do what she suggested—talk to people in small doses and have faith.

I put that plan into action two days ago when we went for a window shopping walk through our little town of Jonesborough. There’s a new shop that we stopped in because it looked interesting and it was. Fantasy inspired. Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Spiderwick Chronicles. Local artists—my favorite was a sketch of a really cool woman I will call the “Owl Woman” and then this wood art that were scenes from Lord of the Rings—The Bridge at Khazad-dum and the Battle at the Black Gates among other pieces. Just an amazing shop for fantasy lovers. It’s called the Fern & Fable Collective and you can now find my books sold there. I took a deep breath and promoted myself and my books, and it worked. My daughter was there and watched the whole thing and was so proud of me. Now, if you are in Jonesborough, Tennessee, and walk by the Fern & Fable Collective, you can see my books featured in the window.

I’m learning how to speak for myself and stepping out of the shadows in which I have always found so safe. It’s terrifying and empowering. Thanks to my daughter and my students, I’m finding my voice.

Embracing what 2025 taught me.

So, tomorrow is 2026. How did that happen? And yes, I do understand the concept of time. It’s just that every December 31st I wonder where the past year went; and like many, I consider those life affirming, self bettering resolutions that are totally forgotten within weeks if not days. In recent years, I have been setting anti-resolutions. It’s a lot less stressful. What I mean is that I like to look back over what I experienced, what lessons I can pull from those experiences, and then take that forward into the next year. No fancy resolutions or self-promises that I will ultimately go back on shortly after making them. Just lessons learned even when life was so hard I could barely see my way forward. And there were several dark days this past year, but there was much more light, thankfully. Unfortunately, we tend to focus more on the dark.

This year was hard. I lost two people who were extremely important to me within weeks of each other. I still have their numbers in my phone. I still have our last text stream and can still hear my uncle’s voice from our last phone call. I can’t bring myself to erase them from my phone even though their contacts just remind me of what I have lost and can never regain. That’s true emptiness. So, what kind of lesson could this ever teach me? It taught me to value those I still have, to make sure that I tell them how important they are to me, to not leave things undone or unsaid. (I learned that last one over many years—with my Aunt Marj, my Grandma, my Grammy. Those three are my biggest regrets. I put off a letter, a phone call, a visit until I couldn’t do any of those things. Thankfully, I didn’t do that this time. I got to say everything I wanted to say.

I’ve also been sick A LOT this year—COVID, flu, allergies, UTIs, migraines, food poisoning, frozen shoulder, hip injury, pulled back—let’s just say that this year’s been a huge pain in about every part of my body. You get depressed when you’re faced with one setback after another and I’m not even going to try and imagine that my immune system is now ramped up after fighting off so many things. I know better, especially since I’m a teacher and that lovely germ factory that is a school will find all new sorts of illnesses for me in 2026. It’s inevitable.

Along with all my ills, I had social media to conquer (which I definitely haven’t yet, but I’m getting better) and interviews to do and book signings to survive and colleges to visit and peopling to do, and I did it all. My tv, podcast, and newspaper interviews were seriously better than before showing me I can put myself out there. I mean, I really couldn’t do any worse than my first tv interview. I got to my car after the interview and couldn’t remember anything I had said, except that I had started crying part way through. Not the best. But this year, I was more confident and that is spreading into other parts of my life, which is what I will try to build on in the next year.

On one of my college visits with my daughter, we went into an adorable bookstore in Danville, KY, and when I went to the cash register, a dear friend of mine was already there plugging me and my books. They decided to put them in their store. I was embarrassed and anxious about it. I don’t like to promote myself. It feels arrogant and braggy; but today, my daughter and I were in a really cool new store in Jonesborough that is fantasy-themed—artwork, books, jewelry all fantasy inspired. (They had these amazing wooden carvings; one was of Gandalf and the Balrog facing off in Moiria—”Thou shall not pass!!”) As I began talking with one of the owners, I brought up my books. Long blog post short, I’m taking my books by the store after the holidays for them to see if they’d like to carry them. How cool is that?

Maybe if I can learn to advocate for myself face to face, I can learn the social media and become more comfortable in front of the camera. Who knows? I could actually rock my next interview. Really, as long as I don’t cry, it’s a win.

My writing process…

As a teacher who writes, I get asked often about my process and as an English teacher, I get paid to teach the writing process or the trend of the moment. I often ignore the trends and stick to the tried and true. It works better for all concerned. For me, personally, writing always starts with pen and paper, not a computer. I truly believe there is a connection between our brain directing our hand and the thinking process associated with the physical task of writing as opposed to the disconnection of the brain and a computer screen. And, yes, I am aware of several studies that back up my theory about writing, but in reality, I believe I write better with pen and paper over a computer. Once I’ve gotten my ideas down on paper, then I transfer them to the computer and from there, I can revise, revise, revise. That’s the other key to writing well—your ability to revise your work. Nothing is finished, not even your “final” draft. That’s just the one you have to turn in by the deadline. To be honest, there are plenty of things I’d like to continue revising in my first two books, but that’s just me and my views on my work.

If you’ve seen any of my earlier TikTok videos or some of my Instagram posts, you will have been introduced to my writing journals and one in particular—the soft leatherish bound journal with an etching of the Tree of Life on the front cover. This journal was gifted to me several years ago by a dear friend, who is actually a sister more than just a friend; and in its pages are all my recent ideas for The Valaraii Rising books. Some pages hold ideas that never made it into the books. Some pages cover ideas that made it in and then got changed or revised. Some ideas are full fledged scenes while others are simply outlines like the final battle scene from The Dead where (spoiler alert) Sylle and Tarin face off with the Dark Lord Merilik and his armies in front of the ruins of Shara and Cere. I also have jotted down family trees and flashes of early history like the origins of the Dreor and the destruction of Lumenas. These histories in various forms also made it into my books. (The scenes from the Desolation of Lumenas you’ll have to wait to read in The Dead. Sorry.)

My point is that this journal is my first step when writing about MithTerra. Every idea that rises does so on those pages first before being transcribed onto the computer. It’s the most important first step and I believe this so completely that when my students are assigned a writing task, I have them handwrite the rough draft first as well as requiring them to handwrite their own journals, which I call daybooks, in class. Sometimes, I write in front of them as well. For example, the impact letter assignment. I sat at the front of the class and wrote my own impact letter rough draft by hand while they created their own. I think it’s important that I actually practice what I teach, which is why I don’t really follow the newest educational trends or try to convince my students that essays only have five paragraphs. They can have six or four or FIFTY. It truly depends on the prompt. (Sorry. I’m ranting, but I HATE seeing my students’ anxiety spiking because they can’t make their assignment fit five paragraphs. So write it in seven or three or ten. I promise the world won’t end.)

The step that gets repeated into infinity is revision. That’s my students’ least favorite step. Or maybe it’s the idea of a rough draft. Or maybe it’s just the idea of writing period. For most, they just want to write it, turn it in, and never look at it again. Revision is unnecessary. I disagree. Revision is key to good writing. No one ever gets it right on the first try. (I refuse to use “perfect” in that sentence because, frankly, no one ever gets it perfect.) Once entered onto my computer, the trilogy was read and reread too many times to count. Sometimes a few words were changed. Sometimes entire scenes were rewritten. Several times entire chapters were deleted, reworked in my journal, and then retyped into the computer. Once I deleted the first five chapters and started over and twice I deleted the final ten chapters of The Dead and reworked them. It’s a process and it continues even now. After I finish this, there is a chapter in The Dead that still bothers me; so, I’m going back to it in my journal and then on the screen. Hopefully, it will be my last time, but I doubt it. It’s revision and that step is always happening.

Merry Christmas…

So, if you’re like my family, you celebrated Christmas in some form yesterday and I hope that your holiday was fun. Again, if you’re like my family, you celebrate with family either through an actual get-together, phone calls, texts, SnapChats, Facebook posts, or any combination of those. So, the day is filled with family and friends and often a great deal of “spirits” of all kinds!! As a published author, I always field questions about my books: plot lines, characters, how well they’re selling, where to get them, when’s the next one coming out, and the inevitable, who’s the next book dedicated to. That’s a fun one as there seem to be more and more relatives vying for that honor and the discussions (more like confrontational debates) can get awkward if not quite heated. If you know me at all, you know that I hate confrontations.

Now, if you also know me and my books, you know that The Forgotten was dedicated to my nephew Henry, a fourth year at Annapolis. (I always add that epithet in when I bring up Henry because I am one PROUD aunt. Just saying.) Here’s the reason why: when I was challenged/encouraged by my daughter to do something with all those horridly bad fan fiction stories from middle school and high school, I started writing what is now my Valaraii Rising Trilogy. As I was writing it, several people asked to read it; so, I would print off what I had, put it in a binder, and give it to them. I was actually really interested in their feedback. You can guess what happened…no one ever read those pages. (That doesn’t do a lot for your confidence in your work.) No one read them until Henry. Henry sat down and read the pages while on a beach trip with us on Pawley’s Island. Every last page and then gave me awesome feedback that really bolstered my confidence. So, of course, the first book had to be dedicated to him. He’s the reason I had the confidence to even finish the work.

For The Lost, I chose my daughter and if you’ve seen the dedication, you know that its says, “For my daughter, Emma Grace. Be kind….of a badass. I love you.” I thought that dedication was perfect because my daughter is the one who first challenged me to do something with my writings and then (albeit during an argument) further challenged me to try and get my work published. Plus, the series itself is full of strong female characters who aren’t in the background but front and center. Strong, independent female characters developed by a woman. Strong, independent female characters modeled after women in my life as well as inspired by the type of women I want myself to be and my daughter as well. There’s a reason my favorite sweatshirt is just that. (Not because it’s red and I do look fabulous in red. That’s just a bonus.) I LOVE the quote on it: “Here’s to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.” I believe I’ve raised one. I mean, she’s amazing, independent, intelligent, major math brain, phenomenal runner, beautiful soul, and gorgeous.

So, I guess the race is on for my book three dedication. It’s title The Dead so I’m not sure how any of my living relatives might feel about that book’s dedication. Right now, they don’t seem to care as they are all about being the one whose name is on that page in the front of the book. I have a few ideas, including my students. I mean, I wouldn’t be a teacher without them and I certainly wouldn’t be the teacher I am without them.

So I read a lot…

I love reading and have been quite a voracious reader since elementary school. I loved Dr. Seuss and Amelia Bedelia followed by Nancy Drew and Jane Austin. Not a real fan of the Bronte sisters—too dark and depressing. I found Tolkien, which you already know helped lead to this trilogy. I got into nonfiction with Elie Weisel’s Night and began years of memoirs, biographies, autobiographies, and most often, specific histories (ie. Stephen King’s JFK or Ambrose’s Undaunted Courage. After reading Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee in high school, I became very interested in Native American history and read anything and everything I could get my hands on—fiction o nonfiction or a blend. I also read everything I could find on world mythology, folklore, and legends, which is where the idea of the wereling originated.

In a book or books whose title(s) I cannot remember, I read about various legends of shapeshifters. The ones that gave me the idea for the wereling came from Romania, I believe, where you could get out of punishment for being outed as a witch if you said that you were actually a shapeshifter protecting your village from vampires and other evils. Perhaps that’s where the ancient lore about the war between vampires and werewolves originated. I don’t remember if what I was reading ever said that or it just became my idea. As I have said, I have read a lot of books in my life and sometimes stories, facts, and ideas run together.

Anyway, when I began writing my bad fan fiction, the wereling weren’t a race but a couple characters who could transform—one into a black wolf and another into a mountain lion. Neither was especially good or evil. They were just there interacting with my character who became Sylle. When my daughter challenged me to do something with all my horrid stories of the past, those two characters morphed into the wereling race—a group of beings who were animal and human—and I chose three of my favorite animals for them: bears (think Kodiak), wolves (because no shapeshifting story is complete without wolves; plus, they are absolutely the coolest), and mountain lions (because nothing is as unsettling as a catamount shrieking in the mountains of Appalachia).

Their power and strength is what made them a target for extermination. In The Lost, Sylle must get her group safely through their desolate kingdom and to say the journey is unsettling for everyone in the group would be an understatement. But are they all gone or do some remain? Or is it only their dead that occupy the mountains who still remain? You’ll have to read my book to find out.

In The Dead, which is the final book in the trilogy and comes out in 2026, I introduce one last type of wereling inspired again by all the mythology and legends I have read. These wereling are the rarest of the rare and can shapeshift into one of the rarest and in my mind, one of the coolest creatures from mythology. I look forward to everyone meeting them.

The art (?) of world building

My dad is not a fantasy fan. In fact, Dad has read exactly two fantasy novels in his life—mine. I know he read them because I wrote them and for no other reason, which is sweet; but he’s also my greatest fan. He loves to tell anyone who will listen about how much he loves my books and how amazing they are, which is his right as my dad; but whenever he tells these stories, at some point, he always says something along the lines of “I kept thinking, ‘How did Kris ever come up with this?’” He still tells me how amazed he is that I thought up these stories and the realms and creatures of MithTerra—something I never gave much thought to. To be honest, world building wasn’t something that I thought a lot about, but I understand it’s importance in a story. So, how do you create real stories that speak to an audience, that are believable—especially when it’s a totally fictional world full of orc, elves, wereling, dwarves, goblin—species that don’t exist in our real world?

You start with what is real and believable to you because if you can’t believe it, if you can’t see yourself and/or others in your story, how can you possibly expect others to do that? MithTerra works, Middle Earth works, Westeros works, because they are innately human. They are broken, dark, kind, beautiful. Everything humanity is. That’s what makes a world believable even if none of the creatures or realms ever existed in reality. The link to our humanity. We can see ourselves in the story. Have seen someone like that character. Experienced a similar situation. It makes sense to us.

I’ve already expressed how Tolkien inspired me to start my stories by trying to write myself into Middle Earth, but my world building comes from many sources. I am a voracious reader of not only Tolkien but a plethora of other authors as well. Not all fantasy. Other than C. S. Lewis, Tolkien is really my only fantasy author. Wait, I did read a Fablehaven book once a long time ago that I though was pretty good and I did love A Wrinkle in Time. But mainly, I have read nonfiction…a LOT of nonfiction on a wide range of subjects—WWII, various presidents, the Holocaust, Tecumseh, American history—as well as enough mythology (and not just Greek and Roman) to get me an honorary doctorate on the subject. All of this stories helped me create my world and my characters, not to mention my own life experience.

My family and friends and even a few former students are evident in the characters of my books. That’s what helps make them “real” to me. I see myself and others I know within their depths. So, when you create whatever you create, fill it with your reality, your knowledge, your stories and experiences. That will make it real to others. That will make it believable and have people nodding, laughing, and relating to your work. It’s all about making it human.

Confidence

Creativity doesn’t stem from some deep well of talent within one person’s brain and it doesn’t just exist in only certain people. Everyone can create. I do get tired of hearing my students tell me what they can’t do, instead of just trying first; and every time something gets turned in, I get the litany of why it isn’t good. I get it. I do the same myself with the things I create. It took my daughter challenging me during an argument for me to try and get published. I realized I was failing her because I was showing my child I had no confidence in myself or my abilities. To say I was devastated at the revelation would be an understatement.

I want my daughter to strive for greatness, not be held back by insecurities. I want the same for my students. They’re all amazing strong, creative individuals. Who cares if our stick figures don’t look like stick figures? Neither do Picasso’s. When I was a proud new mama, I was visiting friends. Both were parents. I was sure they would see the gorgeous entity that was my beautiful baby girl. The woman had no interest in my daughter. In fact, she looked me straight in the face and said, “Don’t be offended but I don’t want to hold your daughter. I never liked kids. They don’t get interesting until they’re at least in their twenties.” The point is that there is no single person who everyone loves. There is no single piece of art, literature, music, architecture, anything actually, that everyone adores. Take cars. You favor Fords, or Toyotas, or Chevrolets, or whatever brand. Or you like SUVS or coupes or sports cars. How about music? I could start a war in my classroom just bringing up Taylor Swift. She’s either the end all be all, couldn’t care less, or sucks, depending on who’s doing the rating. But that’s my point.

Not everyone is into fantasy. So, obviously, not everyone is going to like my books. They may never be New York Times bestsellers, but I’m published. And many people have told me how much they have enjoyed reading my work. More importantly, (to me, anyway) I showed my daughter that I could believe in myself, even when it was terrifying, which opening your work to others is. It’s a part of your soul, a part of your heart, and when you share it with others, you often want to qualify it to them to lessen the blow if they don’t like it. I get that. Creativity is hard. Opening up to others is hard, let alone to the whole world. I just hope that my students understand that they don’t have to qualify their work for me. I always find good in whatever they truly put effort into regardless of whether or not their poetry rhymes or their stick figures look like stick figures.

Inspiration

My students often tell me when given a writing assignment that they have no idea what to write and very often that inspiration is one of the most difficult parts of writing. For my trilogy, Valaraii Rising, my inspiration was Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings as I have said many times. I discovered the series thanks to an English teacher who assigned independent reading—we had to read 1200 pages a semester—and was convinced I would like the trilogy. With much reluctance, I started The Fellowship of the Ring on a Friday after school and finished the series by Sunday night. My English teacher was right.

I can still remember how mad I was when I reached the final page. Tolkien had created such a magnificent world, Middle Earth, and amazing characters that I didn’t want to leave his realm. I wanted the stories to continue and my immersion in that world to never stop. So, I started writing exceptionally bad fan fiction (for myself, of course). In this way, I could continue to live in Middle Earth as my own character—the character that his world was missing—a strong warrior woman. His stories fueled my imagination and I channeled that creativity to create a world and characters all my own that revolved around me—or an idealized version of me. Frankly, the only characteristics that Sylle and I share are the fact that we both have blue eyes and curly brown hair and an intensity about the importance of family. I wouldn’t know the first thing about sword fighting or hand-to-hand combat or destroying orc. I can shoot an arrow decently. I wouldn’t say amazingly, but I can hit a target. It might be the outer edge, but I can hit it.

The point is that Tolkien inspired my world, but it was truly my deep desire to be seen, to be powerful and not a pushover, to have control and not be bullied that inspired my character. She has evolved over the MANY years since school, as have all my characters and the worlds of my story; but Sylle remains at her core the person I always dreamed of being: strong, independent, intelligent, loved and admired, a leader.

That’s the thing about inspiration. It can come from so many different places, and it’s never just one thing that sparks our fire. Most often, it’s a combination of ourselves, our desires and hopes and dreams, and our experiences. Shakespeare created his famous play Romeo and Juliet from an extremely long poem that itself had been inspired by earlier Italian novellas and even ancient Roman tales. That’s the point. Inspiration is everywhere you look and in everything you see, read, feel, and do. It’s why I have so many journals filled with so many ideas. Maybe one day I’ll get to them all, but there are many, all the poems for starters, that are probably best left in those journals.

Embracing the Uncomfortable

Well, here we go. My first blog post. Yikes. Who would have thought I would ever be here? Writing on the internet about myself, my hopes, my thoughts, my writings. Actually, who’d have thought I ever would have published two books with the third due out next year and plenty ideas for more? That’s the interesting, terrifying, and fun thing about life—you truly never know what is right around the corner.

Since it is my first post, I should probably tell you a bit about myself beyond what you have seen on this page or in my bio on my books. The epithet on my homepage is correct. I am a teacher and an author. I’ve been teaching since 1995 (yes, I’m old) and a published author since 2024, but I’ve been writing and creating for as long as I can remember. Writing stories, really bad poems, memories, ideas. I have journals all through my desk at home with half-started ideas, outlines for new ideas, fully completed stories, and random horrid poems that I wrote when I was trying to channel my inner Emily Dickinson. Apparently, I don’t have one of those.

I’m an introvert who loves my space and recharges with a good book or writing journal, a glass of wine or cup of tea (depending on the time of day) sitting in a quiet place I’ve found for myself. I prefer that solitude to crowds and the overwhelming stress of the public, especially when I need to make a good impression or carry on a conversation with someone I don’t know. I’ve heard most authors are introverts, so I guess I’m in really good company. Strangely, my jobs in life have not been for those who don’t like to be social. I mean, I’m in a classroom for seven and a half hours a day with a large group of ever-changing teenagers or walking through halls filled with people during class changes. I’m always with people and many of those people sit in front of me, eyes staring me down, asking questions, answering mine, interacting with me nonstop, especially since Tennessee banned cell phones in the classroom. My middle school and high school selves would never believe I chose this job. I mean, I spent my entire life hiding in the background hoping no one would notice me and force me to interact. Teaching was not an idea for me, but ever since I stumbled upon this career and ended up in a classroom, I have loved it. And it doesn’t hurt that my students are pretty amazing in their own right.

Now, I’ve added author to my resume and it has been daunting. The things I never realized—the social media requirements, the interviews, the book signings. There’s so much more than just writing the words. One of my interviews is linked on this website and you’re welcome to watch it. It was with Daytime TriCities, who also interviewed me when my first book came out. Now that interview, I hope, has disappeared into a digital black hole. It was my first interview ever and I was so nervous I actually cried at one point. I left the studio and got to my car and couldn’t remember one thing I had said during the interview. I think I’ve gotten a little bit better since then. I, at least, feel more comfortable.

Maybe that’s the point of this post—embracing the uncomfortable, instead of always playing it safe. Safety is good, but stepping out of your comfort zone periodically can bring you experiences you never could have imagined.