RELEASE WEEK GIVEAWAY - $50 Amazon gift card and more up for grabs!

Windswept is HERE y'all! And with it comes a category 5 giveaway. Don't you just love a good storm?

Up for grabs:
* $50 Amazon gift card
* Custom leather Kindle cover inspired by Wildwood and hand detailed by Rockstar Custom Leather
* Signed paperback of Wildwood, book #1, with bonus swag
* Signed paperback of Windswept, book #2, with bonus swag
* Custom leather bronc halter hand detailed by Rockstar Custom Leather

This GORGEOUS custom ipad/kindle case
and bronc halter are up for grabs! Hand-made
by RockStar Custom Leather

How do you enter? Why, spread the word about Windswept, of course! Use the Rafflecopter form below to submit your entries. The giveaway opens Tuesday, May 22nd, and ends Saturday, May 26th at the stroke of midnight. Five winners - one prize per winner - will be selected at random by Rafflecopter within 48 hours of closing, and will be contacted directly from me (jadiejoneswrites@gmail.com) by email.

Windswept is on sale NOW for just $1.99 on Amazon for Kindle. If you haven't read Wildwood yet, you're in luck, because it's also on sale for just $2.99.

Check out an excerpt from Windswept:

“Our enemies are close," Maris whispers, her gaze shifting from me to Jayce and back again. "Too close. If we all join hands, I will be able to seal our sounds inside so we can speak freely.”

“How do I know you’re not an enemy, too?”

“You don’t.” She flexes her fingers, but waits for me to decide to make contact.

“For Pete’s sake, Tanzy. This isn’t The Bachelorette Candidates’ special edition. You’re not getting married. You’re just casting a damn spell.” Jayce grabs my arm with one hand and Maris’s arm with the other, and joins us together. “There. Hashtag let’s-do-this-already,” she says, clamping her palms in ours to complete the circle.

Maris suppresses a smile and closes her eyes. I deny a shudder of nervousness and force out a long, slow exhale.

“Air and water join us here, use our light, and make a sphere. Seven colors round and round, shield our circle, hide our sounds,” Maris commands. She repeats the incantation two more times. The air warms and thickens. A growing charge pulses through my arms like an electric current.

Maris falls silent. Everything does. The mist continues to drizzle, blanketing the muddy earth and barren trees, but the steady hiss has vanished. Even though we sit within a few steps from the creek, I can’t hear it. With a start, I realize it must work both ways. No sounds in. No sounds out.

“We are safe to speak, but it won’t last long.” Maris slips her hand from mine. Her charcoal skin is pale in places where I’d unwittingly tightened my grip. Will I ever learn how to use the horse’s strength deliberately?

I rub my clammy, filthy hands together, trying to make them warm enough to stop shaking. They’re sweaty with nervousness, and the rust-colored film on my hands rolls into beads. It’s not gritty like the dirt I clung to when I climbed out of the ravine at Wildwood. It’s smooth, and presses flat into tiny flakes wherever I push down.

This is not earth.

This is dried blood.

David Andrews’s blood, caked in the webbing between my fingers and crusted beneath my nails.

The sound of his last, sputtering breath echoes in my brain. I let out a cry and wipe my fingers violently against my dress. Copper streaks the wrinkled white linen within seconds. The color leaves my hands, but there’s no relief from its weight, its smell.

 “What’s wrong?” Jayce’s voice is an octave too high. “Is that blood?” She sniffs at the air. Her pupils dilate as she arrives at her own conclusion.

I can’t summon the focus to answer—can’t stop trying to make my hands clean. From the expression on Maris’s face, she’s seeing the memory of me strangling Vanessa’s husband. The image of life leaving his eyes. The nightmare I can’t wake from.

Her gaze trains on Asher’s mark, and she brings an open palm to the brand. Heat crawls across my chest, but I’m frozen in place. My arms don’t heed the mental command to bat her hand away. Two of the circles turn black, shimmering like the coming night, and then fade back into the appearance of an old scar.

 “When did this happen?” She regards me with new distance, studying my face like I’m a complete stranger.

“Vanessa tricked me into believing her husband was attacking her. She told me he would kill her. She set me up. She made me believe . . . I thought he was Asher.” The confession tumbles from me, heavy and slipping.

“You’ve killed someone?” Jayce asks, her throat constricting around the words.

“She has taken two lives. Two of these rings belong to her now,” Maris says. Her fingers curl. She stares past me. I risk a glimpse of Jayce, whose face falls from brazen to defeat within a single second.

“Tell me about the first,” Maris orders, her mouth forming a grim line.

“An Unseen attacked Vanessa in the woods. I got between them. He picked me up by my throat and I . . . exploded,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to kill him, but he kept coming.” The memory plays in front of my open eyes. “If I hadn’t killed him he would’ve killed me.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s useless.” Jayce shakes her head and mutters under her breath.

“I’m not useless.” My fingernails dig into my palms.

“Yes. You are,” Jayce growls.

“Enough,” Maris says. “This is Hope’s fault. She chose to keep Tanzy in the dark, and this is the price. Tanzy, you can’t kill anyone else, Seen or Unseen, for any reason.”

“A third kill, and you belong to Asher,” Jayce adds, focusing her icy glare on my face.

All the air is sucked from my lungs. I was under the impression the three circles had everything to do with Spera. How could I have missed this? A mental path quickly links the two lives I took, and arrives at one common denominator: Vanessa. She’s masterminded every move I’ve made since waking with the horse’s Vires blood coursing through my veins. She must know what will happen if I take a third life.
It’s an insurance policy, I realize. If I won’t use the Vires strength for Asher, I can’t use it at all.

*  *  *

Click here for the Amazon listing for Wildwood
Click here for the Amazon listing for Windswept

Want another taste test? Check out snippets, features, reviews, and more on my Instagram page.

Thank you so much for celebrating Windswept's release week with me! If you win the gift card, what will you splurge on? Comment below!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tanzy's journey continues in Windswept, Book #2 in the Hightower Trilogy.

An Unseen World believes Tanzy Hightower is the key in an ancient prophecy meant to deliver the only new birth in all of time. They have waited a thousand years for her soul to return to life in human form. Some of them will stop at nothing to fulfill the prophecy, and others have sworn an oath to end Tanzy’s existence, permanently.

Tanzy’s body is compromised. Her veins are now home to the blood of a savage, wild horse, and its instincts are becoming impossible to control. Her world is also divided. She is determined to rescue Lucas, an Unseen creature who has loved her since her first life, and to find her treasured Harbor and the other stolen horses, which are bound for a catastrophic end in a world she can’t access on her own. Yet the only allies she has left insist she seeks refuge in a remote safe house on the Outer Banks.

While her fellow candidates beg her to stay in hiding, new enemies work to draw her out, making it clear Lucas and the horses are hers for the taking. But Tanzy knows all to well that when your loved ones are used as bait, finding them is only the beginning.

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Windswept Details

Hey y'all!

So it occurs to me that I haven't posted the new blurb or the gorgeous new cover for Windswept! So here you go... p.s. the book trailer should be coming out soon, and my new publisher, Parliament House Press, is becoming renowned for their incredible visuals. Definitely check out the trailer for book #1 - now titled Wildwood - if you haven't already.

Click here to check out the Windswept listing on Amazon

 

An Unseen World believes Tanzy Hightower is the key in an ancient prophecy meant to deliver the only new birth in all of time. They have waited a thousand years for her soul to return to life in human form. Some of them will stop at nothing to fulfill the prophecy, and others have sworn an oath to end Tanzy’s existence, permanently. 

Tanzy’s body is compromised. Her veins are now home to the blood of a savage, wild horse, and its instincts are becoming impossible to control. Her world is also divided. She is determined to rescue Lucas, an Unseen creature who has loved her since her first life, and to find her treasured Harbor and the other stolen horses, which are bound for a catastrophic end in a world she can’t access on her own. Yet the only allies she has left insist she seeks refuge in a remote safe house on the Outer Banks.

While her fellow candidates beg her to stay in hiding, new enemies work to draw her out, making it clear Lucas and the horses are hers for the taking. But Tanzy knows all to well that when your loved ones are used as bait, finding them is only the beginning.

Windswept is blowing ashore this week!

Okay, so that was kind of cheesy, but if you have ever been to the Outer Banks during the winter season, you'd understand how book #2 - Windswept - came to have its name.

Midway through drafting this story, my characters departed for a safe house for candidates tucked away in the Outer Banks, a cluster of barrier islands off the coasts of Virginia and North Carolina. In my mind, I reached the line between sea and sand, the islands a few miles away, but I had no idea how to get them there. I felt stuck and uninspired. I had never made that trip before - and I couldn't picture it in my mind. Do they have to take a boat? What would that look like? So I booked a room at a hotel, grabbed two of my best friends, and set out.

Driving out over the Atlantic at night is the darkest dark I have ever seen. In the middle of a bridge, we stopped the car and turned the headlights out, and the blackness that swallowed us up seemed to somehow steal every sound, too. We were silent. Butterflies stirred in my stomach and I felt like the bridge under us was about to give way. We were alone, suspended over black water, and yet I felt like anything could strike us at any moment. It was the closest to a non-sensory experience I've ever had, and yet every nerve ending was firing. I can't explain how relieved I was to turn the headlights back on.

When we arrived and opened the car doors, we were immediately pummeled by wind on all sides. Each gust would throw sheets of sand across the ground, and even a week after going home I was digging sand out of my ears. The experience was incredible, but even now, four years later, what I remember most was that wind, constant and howling, and the morning we walked outside our hotel and the air was still. It was the most bizarre sensation, like sea legs come ashore. The sky was at peace, and yet I couldn't find my balance.

To me, that is the closest thing I can compare to how Tanzy feels when she finally arrives at the safe house in Carova on the Outer Banks. At last, she is surrounded by allies, by girls who know what she's seen, the war she's experiencing with herself. She's in the company of people who stand a chance of protecting and defending her, fighting alongside her. And yet, she feels more exposed and at risk than ever. She is standing on solid ground, but she feels like she's sinking faster with every step she takes. The coldest solitude is the one suffered in a crowd. It is deafening and silent, whirling and paralyzing, impossibly heavy, and yet a fear you could be swept away and no one would even notice.

Windswept relaunches - polished and updated - in just two days! Tomorrow, I will give some insights into what all changed in the revamp for book #2, and give details on the big giveaway happening this week - including a $50 amazon gift card - so be sure to check back!

Thank you for hanging tight on this ride with me.

Sometimes I poem

Sometimes, when I'm trying to define the heart of a new story or a main character, it helps me to write a short poem about whatever scene I have so vividly painted in my head that I feel compelled to expand on that scene by 80,000 words or so. One WIP I have currently on my burners is tentatively titled "The Maybe Road." Here is the poem for that story:

Fog claims the distance,

leaving the dock, the water, and me.

Weathered planks roll and buck,

Move
         with
    the
          sea
    to
          keep
    from
                  cracking.

I am less safe on solid ground,

Everything I shouldn’t want upon that beach.

So I cannot set foot upon the sand again,

For fear I’ll never leave.

Can you see our Maybe Road

Peeking from the twisted oak?

A lifetime of what could’ve been

Had I traded yes for no.

The ferry comes and I step on board.

You’d call it a decision in itself.

In the sliding gray, I am offered no reflection,

Merely a shadow of myself.

Wildwood by Jadie Jones - Official Book Trailer

SAY WHAT?

Okay - short version: Parliament House Press picked up the Moonlit Trilogy back in 2016, believing in what they thought "Moonlit" could become through a lot - and I mean a LOT - of hard work/editing/rewriting/cutting/slashing/burning/you-get-the-idea. It took months of edits and back and forths to figure out where exactly I had gone wrong, and how to make it right. I wanted to quit more than once, which I go in to detail about here on Colleen Story's blog: https://goo.gl/bGvJ1P

On the marketing end, they saw a completely different vision for packaging, and I loved it. (I mean can you believe that trailer?!)

Five days from now, "Moonlit," book #1 from the Moonlit Trilogy, will re-release as "Wildwood," book #1 in the Hightower Trilogy, and man oh man are you in for one hell of a better story.  Do you want to walk with Tanzy through every step of the day her father dies? Why does her mother warn them not to deviate from tradition? Want to listen in as Asher and Lucas discuss Spera? Want to see the first time Spera met Lucas? Want to see the moment Lucas falls in love with her?

Nearly half the book is completely new content. This wasn't just a face lift, this was a tear-down. I learned so much about my characters and their world. I can't wait to share it with you.

Wildwood is currently on sale for the pre-order special price of just $0.99. Please consider giving the revamp a glance, and if you do, I hope you'll let me know what you think.

Click here to be taken to the Amazon listing for Wildwood.

An election day conversation with my five year old daughter

Mornings are a treasured time for my oldest daughter Marin and me. She takes twenty minutes to eat a cup of yogurt, and I stand on the opposite side of the counter, packing her lunch for Kindergarten, and we talk. Sometimes we talk about five-year-old things: "Mom, do you think there aren't unicorns any more because they were all living on Hawaii when the volcano erupted?" (where she comes up with these things, I have no idea, but damn I'm proud.) Sometimes we talk about more serious things, like how it's going with a classmate who pushes her around.

Today is election day, and I thought I'd fail as a parent if I didn't at least mention it, especially with a woman as a major party nomination. Whether you're #withher or not, this reality is pretty spectacular, as not too long ago women weren't allowed to cast a vote for an elected official, much less become one.

So I brought it up.

Me: Guess what today is honey? It's election day, which means our country is going to pick a new president.

Marin: What does a president do?

Me: Well, let's pretend your school is the whole country. The principal would be like the president. The teachers would come up with ideas for new rules, and if most of the teachers liked the rule, they would ask the principal if they could make those rules real for the students, and the principal would say yes or no.

Marin: Is my principal going to be the president?

Me: Well, no. It's just an example. But today is the first time that a woman is a choice for president.

Marin: My principal is a woman.

Me: that's true. We've never had a woman president before, though.

Marin: why not?

Me: well....

And then I stopped. How much can a five year old understand? And how much can I tell her without some really tough follow-up questions.

We haven't had a female president because not too long ago women couldn't even vote, or file charges against their spouse if the stick used to strike them was thinner than his thumb, or go to college, or expected to be anything outside the home.

Because women used to be considered lesser than by the majority.

Because in a lot of ways, we still are.

But my five year old doesn't know that. She thinks it's strange we're celebrating the fact that a woman is a major party nomination - because why couldn't a woman be a major party nomination? Why wouldn't my daughter have just as much an opportunity and expectation than the boy she sits next to in kindergarten to be whatever she wanted. To introduce the idea that this is a big deal because we as a country have had some serious hiccups in our commitment to "liberty and justice for all" also introduces the concept that women have been and are still considered less by some. That's a heady thing for a five year old.

I thought for a second, and tried again.

Me: It's exciting because it's the first time we've had a woman to vote for. And you know how the first time for new things is pretty exciting? Like the first time you rode your horse all by yourself? That was pretty exciting, right?

Marin: Yeah! Can I ride her after school today.

Me: Sure.

Marin: Hey mom, if it's this exciting, our silly country shouldn't have waited so long.

Me: You're right about that.

Personally, I'm not a Hillary Clinton fan. I felt the Bern - and was very sad when he lost the nomination. But Trump terrifies me as a woman, a mother, and a citizen of this country, which is already struggling with a divisive culture in many ways. Trump's more aggressive followers make me more nervous to be a woman out in public than maybe ever in my life. People are campaigning for him to lead the free world, when he has bragged about violating women, spewed fear speech regarding whole populations of people, and a host of other scarily familiar tactics a loud, white man used to rally a group of frustrated people. And almost every day since the nominations were decided, I wonder how we got here, how the majority of the Republican party chose this man, listened to his hateful nonsense and said that's our guy, or stood aside and let it happen. More than the idea of Trump as president, the fact that he has such a large fan base in this country scares me. Please, please don't vote for HIM just because you don't like HER. You'd be railing against one establishment to the benefit of another.

Likewise, I wouldn't vote for a woman just because she's a woman, and in fact I didn't vote for Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump. (Yes, I did vote.) Still, seeing a woman's name on the ballot made me teary with pride, and with hope for my daughters' future as American women. I can appreciate this milestone, even if I don't appreciate the candidate.

p.s.

GO VOTE

My five year old hid under her desk today.

My oldest daughter has been sensitive to loud sounds since she was a baby. Back then, something as simple as someone laughing would send her into a fit of shaking, boogery hysteria. Four years later, when her pre-school had it's first fire drill, she cried every morning at drop-off for the next week out of fear that the siren would begin blaring again at any moment.

This year, she began Kindergarten, and I forgot to warn her teacher about what the alarm would do to my confident, rational, five year old. She came home today, chirping and laughing about her new school's "silly" fire drill. The conversation went something like this:

"Mom, fire drills are silly in Oregon."

"What makes them silly?"

"We don't go outside. And there's no alarm. I like it."

"That is silly. Where do you go?"

"Under the computer tables."

"Under the table? Are you sure it wasn't an earthquake drill? I think they have those here. We used to have tornado drills when I was a kid, and we had to curl in tiny balls in the hallway."

"I don't know. Maybe it was an earthquake drill."

"Well, what else happened?"

"Our teacher turned out the lights. And we had to go under the computer tables as far as we could go, and pull our chairs in after us. And we played the quiet game."

Immediately, I knew exactly what kind of drill they'd had at school: active shooter drill.

Even typing that makes me feel sick.

My tender, caring, playful, imaginative, chatty five year old, who has names for all eight of our chickens (Penny, Dollar, Elestia, Springtime, Bossy, Babs, Roo, and Fluff), was hiding under a desk in the dark to practice what to do in the event someone wants to murder a room full of small children.

Again.

I was in high school when Columbine happened. For the rest of that school year, we had to evacuate our classrooms about once a week for bogus bomb threats. Back then, the idea of someone actually committing an act of violence in our school seemed far away - impossible, even. Columbine seemed like a one-time act of utter insanity that would never happen again anywhere. And then it did. And then it did again. And now, as a thirty-three year old mother of three, the possibility - no - probability that it could happen to one of my kids during their years in school feels so close and so present I can hardly breathe, especially on days when my five year old daughter spent part of her morning playing the quiet game in the dark under a line of computer tables, which I remember now is against the closest wall, making it the hardest place in the room to see from the sliver of a window pane in the classroom door.

I'm glad her school is acknowledging the reality we're in, and I am devastated that we're in it. I won't quote you statistics. I don't know them, and any search engine can find them if you need to see them. If Columbine wasn't a wake up call, if the massacre of tiny children at Sandy Hook didn't permanently shake us as a country to our core, I don't know what it will take to initiate real, sweeping change on gun laws, and in how this country treats its mentally vulnerable and ill. I don't know what it will take for us to look at ourselves in the proverbial mirror and say: there is a problem, and I am going to help make this right. What can I do to take a step to make our children safer? How can we keep weapons less accessibly for violent and mentally ill people? How do we take steps to help mentally ill people and their families receive help or counseling? And how sad is it that I don't know every single shooting victim by name between Columbine and today because there are so many. Not one more is a pipe dream - a wish in a bottle cast into the sea - and I am the first to admit it. However, we can strive for better. We can take steps to stop someone. Because if a new law stops just one mass shooting in our country, isn't it worth it?

I am a gun owner. I am a tree-hugger. I am a mother. I am an excellent shot at thirty feet. And I believe in gun laws that expect responsibility and diligence on behalf of anyone who purchases a gun. 

Opponents would say: guns don't kill people, people kill people. Okay, I'll play that game. Cars don't kill people, drivers kill people. If we applied gun regulations to vehicle regulations, a person could walk onto a car lot and purchase a vehicle without ever having driven a car before. Their first time behind the wheel could be on the way home. In the hands of an inebriated person, we acknowledge that a car becomes a weapon. We have recognized the damage a driver can do to other people and property on the road, so we hold drivers responsible for maintaining tags, registration, and insurance. We have tests to make sure people know the rules of the road, and how to drive a car. The fact that people are against similar regulations for ACTUAL WEAPONS blows my mind.

As a gun owner, I do not feel the slightest bit threatened that someone is going to knock on my door and take them away. I feel very threatened by people who have a complete come-apart over the idea of regulating gun ownership. Sure, buy your guns. Keep your guns. So long as you've competed a set number of hours on a gun range with a licensed instructor, or passed a handling and safety test, purchased minimum liability insurance on the gun, and passed an extensive criminal history and background check. Is it perfect? No. But it's a start. And for the love of our children we have got to start somewhere. Step 1: Admitting there is a problem with gun violence in the United States of America. Can we agree on this? Can we start here?

My daughter just lost two bottom teeth. She sleeps with a purple leopard stuffed animal that she calls Tigey Rose. On a homework assignment for school, she listed one of her three wishes as being tall enough to reach everything she needs in the house. She fills shoe boxes with dirt, leaves, and sticks to make homes for worms and roly-poly bugs. And she was hiding under a desk this morning because we grown-ups can't accept responsibility or the concept of change, or because we get our backs up at the idea of the government encroaching on the second amendment. God, we're sad. 

I'm not telling you to take to the streets with signs and a bull-horn (or do, if that's what moves you). But as election day approaches, think about the power we do have as we decide who we will send to represent our interests - our children - in Washington. I'm a believer in stronger gun regulations, but I've never been much of an advocate. Today changed that. I am my child's advocate. I am her voice.

America, we are better than this.

Where should I start?

Backstory: my second daughter, Annabelle, was a very, very hard baby. She screamed for the first four months of her life. Literally. If her eyes were open, so was her mouth. Her howls could be used on sound tracks for horror movies - not for the victim, but for whatever was chasing the would-be victim. Straight up otherworldly. At one point, my older daughter asked if we could "put her back inside Mommy until she's done."

Around six months she started to... well, not mellow. I'm not sure what the right word is, but she stopped screaming every red second. She still wasn't easy, but she actually had moments of maybe-this-is-a-human-baby-after-all.

Then she started walking - at around 8 months old. I was teaching horseback riding full time, which I wasn't worried about juggling, because I'd brought my oldest daughter, Marin, with me to lessons starting when she was about a year. She'd play at my feet in the sand, get her energy out, and then pass out on the way home. Win-win.

When I first brought Annabelle to lessons, she would scream most of the way through, and all I could think was: this will be easier/worth it/doable/not hellish once she's mobile. She'd be happier once she could run around the riding ring. Pacified. Quiet. Then she became mobile. And in thirty seconds flat, she'd toddled out of the ring, across a driveway, and into a horse pasture, which was mercifully empty. So I ran after her and scooped her up, and she screamed from my arms for the rest of the lesson.

I tell you all that to tell you this: my husband and I decided on no uncertain terms that we were done, DONE, with having more kids. He'd made an appointment, he'd done the pre-op class of we-just-want-to-make-sure-you-know-what-you're-doing-before-you-do-it. In jest, I quipped that if he knocked me up again in the window between the stupid class and the actual procedure, he would have to buy me a farm. The next morning, I opened the trash can, and then ran to the sink and nearly threw up because of the smell.

What the hell was in that trash..... Shit.

I rummaged under the sink until I found an EPT. For some reason, I was still shocked when that second line appeared. Check the box, check the stick. Check the box. Check the stick. This is kid #3, you'd think I'd have this down cold. Anyway, I was letting my husband sleep in, and I decided to keep on letting him sleep, mostly because I wasn't sure what to say, and I needed to sit on the news a minute. Annabelle was ten months old. How was I pregnant with a ten month old? It didn't even seen possible. If I'd had a second EPT, I probably would've peed on that one, too.

Patrick came down the stairs about an hour later. and said: "thanks for letting me sleep in. I feel like a whole new person." I crossed my arms, mad and scared and excited and overwhelmed, and said: "good. because today, we're going to go look at farms."

He was confused. And then he was really confused. And then he got it. And we stared at each other. And neither of us had any idea what to say.

Looking back, I think that's when the ball-o-change started rolling. That's when I realized the life we'd built was a house of cards. It's funny. That tiny pink line was a starting line. I just didn't know it yet. I've heard countless times how the third baby (and beyond) just rolls with it, and is wholly flexible because they have to be. Our third baby set a hundred changes in motion before he was ever born, a hundred changes I didn't see coming, and wouldn't believed if you'd told me, a hundred changes I wouldn't take back for a single second. I promise I'll get to them as I sort them out. It's like untangling knots in a fishing line. There's a stick on one end and a hook on the other, and somehow, in the middle of those, a single, straight thread goes a million directions, and that's life.

Hey there

This past March, I made a decision to step away from most social media. My world as I knew it was imploding, and my life was teetering on the brink of even bigger changes. Some people find solace in times of turmoil by rallying the troops and reaching out for emotional support. I find solace within. I'm a classic introvert by nature: time alone is how I recharge and process stress. So I went dark.

I heard somewhere that moving, changing jobs, and having a baby are among the most stressful things a person can go through. This spring, I left a job, had baby number three, sold two houses, bought one sight unseen, and moved 2,675 miles (I just googled it) with three kids, two dogs, an aquarium full of fish, a potted plant, and two horses. Even writing that sentence makes me tired all over again.

There are other details in there that make things even more complicated, and some pieces I'm not yet ready or willing to revisit. But I think I'm ready to start taking some of the thoughts out of my head and unpacking them here. I'm not promising it'll be neat and tidy, or that the posts will have any sort of organization. I have three kids, ages five and under, and am solely responsible for the daily chores of a small farm. I'm lucky if I remember to eat, much less string a pretty sentence together. But I'm happy. Really, truly happy. Not every day. Not all the time. (I'm not sure I know anyone who is.) But for the first time in a long time, I love my life.

So I'm going to attempt to start blogging again. Really, honestly blogging. Not because I love my life, but because for a long time, I didn't. I'm going to tell you why I left most social media, and the 360 degrees of impact this decision has had. I'm going to tell you about my good days and about my really shitty ones. I should mention that I'm going to use foul language, not for shock value but because it's how I talk. I'm going to write what's in my head, which means, if I'm being really honest, I'm going to annoy you, because I can be petty, ungrateful, selfish, and short-sighted with the best of them. I often irritate myself, so i can only imagine how I look from an outside perspective. I'm going to talk about my family, my critters, my fears, my chores, my proverbial shadows, the weather, my hopes, my writing (I am actually, slowly working on something new,) my regrets, the whole bag of sugar cookies I just ate... you get the idea.

So, who ever you are, thank you for reading this. Thank you for helping me unpack.

A huge sale and a giveaway, including an amazon gift card, a Barnes & Noble gift card, and special Moonlit swag!

First, the sale:

For two days ONLY - September 16th and 17th - all three books in the Moonlit Trilogy will be available for Kindle for $0.99 each!! That's the whole trilogy for less than $3. Then books 1 and 2 (Moonlit and Windswept) will spend a few more days at deeply discounted prices, and Wildwood will stay at $0.99 for at least another week. (Get them here: http://www.amazon.com/Jadie-Jones/e/B00ECVQ9T4) The listings on my author page my not reflect the actual price, but fear not! Each book's kindle listing will show the reduced price!

Want to know why? There are a few film industry insiders interested in taking Tanzy's story to film.
I would love to see what these books "look" like through someone else's eyes. I would do a happy dance to end all happy dances. And as the "film treatment" for Moonlit is being reviewed, we need two things: chatter and sales.

That's where you come in.

I need help spreading the word. I like to give stuff away. It's a beautiful combination.

Prizes up for grabs:
* $50 Amazon Gift Card
* $50 Barnes and Noble Gift Card
* The Moonlit Trilogy in signed paperbacks with a swag pack
* One signed canvas print of a Moonlit Trilogy cover of your choice.
* A page from the original, handwritten first draft of Moonlit, signed and framed. (If this does make it to film, that would be pretty cool to have!)

How you can enter: Use the Rafflecopter form below to enter for a chance to win these prizes! This giveaway begins 9/16/15 and ends 9/23/15. Winners will be notified by 9/25, and have 72 hours to claim their prize before new winners are drawn. No purchase necessary for entry!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thank you for all of your support over the past three years. This has been an incredible ride!

Editing Wildwood - aka - Nanowrimo in reverse

For those of you who have never participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month,) the idea is to write a complete first draft of a novel, or at least 50K words of one, in one month. It is HARD, and, to date, I've never succeeded.

So what does this have to do with Wildwood, book #3 in the Moonlit Trilogy? Well, the draft I submitted to my publisher was 156,000 words, and I knew in my soul that it was the best story I'd ever written. It's my favorite piece of the trilogy. My editor agreed: do not, under any circumstance, touch the plot, she said. And then she said: But I need you to cut 57,000 words. Minimum. Really, it'd be better if you could find 60,000 words to cut.

Sixty. Thousand. Words.

Or, NaNoWriMo in reverse.

When I first sat down to tackle this edit, I thought: I can absolutely do this. No problem. I'm wordy and I know it. I can clean this up in a single pass. So I painstakingly evaluated every word, tightened up sentences, cut an expository paragraph or lines three and four of a description here and there. And at the end of the first pass, I had cut 6,000 words. I had also taken two weeks to do it.

Editing a 75,000 word story like Moonlit and Windswept took every brain cell I had. Once I realized I was essentially editing them BOTH size-wise, I buckled down, glared at my screen, and launched into pass #2.

I started seeing some serious word-loving habits. Like descriptions. Boy-howdy do I love to word-draw. Three paragraphs of artsy, flowery page-decor became a sentence or two bold, direct strokes.

I'm a transition-junkie. I quit cold turkey, cutting their heads off whenever I saw them peek up at the bottom of a paragraph. CHOP CHOP CHOP. And boom, without the transition present, the paragraphs flowed BETTER, because if the writing is tight and the motion is streamline, a transition becomes a speed bump.

Full-body feels. This probably accounted for 25,000 words. And I don't mean the way a "feels" moment pulls at a reader's heart strings. I mean the way every single action pulled at every single possible part of my main character (although hearts, centers, stomachs, guts, middles, and mouths seem to be favorites of mine). I shouldn't tell a reader how my character internally responds to a positive or negative moment because the reader should experience the moment without me telling them how to do it.

And, last and certainly most painful for me, expository paragraphs. I love to sink into a scene and roll around, like a dog on a carpet, feet in the air, tongue out, just *feeling* it. Inviting a reader into a character's head space for a good long time. Like a page. Maybe two. I caught myself skimming these words and sections I was sure I loved, and why? Because sure they were pretty but they didn't affect the story in any way so I didn't need to change them so why look at them.

Wait, what?

If a sentence does not affect the plot or the character, if the plot and the character are exactly the same on the other side of the sentence as they were before it, then what was the point of the sentence? The idea of a story is to keep the action and characters in motion. You know what dogs do after they roll all over the floor? They take a nap.

And there was my other 35,000 words.

Finally, one month, 60,000 cut words later, edits for Wildwood were done. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and taught me some invaluable lessons about the way I write, and how to make it better.

Wildwood now has a release date - September 22nd, 2015, and one truly amazing cover.

I can't wait to see what y'all think of the conclusion to Tanzy's story, and my new, lean, action-packed story-telling skills.

It's been one helluva ride.

Thank you for coming along.

Augusta Literary Festival - AKA my first attempt to travel with two kids

I'd like to start this post with a little diddy about how my experience at the Augusta Literary Festival concluded. The festival was drawing to a close. My husband was holding our 4 month old baby with one hand and helping me pack away odds and ends with the other. My 4 year old daughter was helping herself to leftover candy. She looked up at me and said: "Momma, why does one of your earrings have a hole in it and the other one doesn't?" I figured one of the earrings - dangly loopy silvery things - had become hooked on itself some kind of way. I reached up to feel for both. I was wearing two completely different earrings, and had been All. Day. Long. And that, in a nutshell, is what it's like to tour with small children in tow. Hey, at least they were both silver. (Can you spot the difference in the picture at the end of this post?)

A more extended version of events:

We arrived in Augusta on Thursday night. I checked in with the front desk at the hotel and then shuttled my sleeping children from the car to the room using half-ninja-half-mama-grizzly tactics to scare would-be noise away. My four year old slept between my husband and I on a king size bed, some how turning perpendicular, where-upon she began making snow-angels in her sleep.

On Friday I was scheduled to attend a round panel discussion with the other four finalist for the Frank Yerby Award for Fiction. We asked Siri how to get there. Dear Siri sent us to the wrong place five times, after which I spied the little yellow house I saw on the festival website, told my husband to stop the car in the middle of the road, leaped out, and ran to the front door. There was a piece of paper on the door. That's never a good thing, never: congratulations, you found the right place! And this was no exception. The panel had been moved to a different building. I had the name but no map and not the foggiest idea of how to get from here to there.

Then an angel appeared: a woman in her car called out to me (I don't know if I was radiating desperation or just looked really, utterly lost). She was part of the award panel and told me where the discussion had been moved to. I thanked my lucky stars I'd opted to wear boots instead of heels, and ran across a field and three parking lots, arriving at the panel sweaty, but on time.

The panel discussion was freaking amazing. There's really no other way to describe it. We clicked and bantered and dove in and swam around. We challenged each other. We supported each other. I would do it once a week if I could. This is where I first met fellow writers Amanda Kyle Williams, C. Michael Forsyth, and Kimberly Teter. Meeting these people made the entire trip worth it, and the festival hadn't started yet.

Amanda Kyle Williams won the Yerby Award - and she absolutely deserved it. She is witty and razor-sharp. Her book - Don't Talk to Strangers - is book three in her Keye Street series. I'm reading book #1 - The Stranger You Seek - right now, (because I'm one of those OCD types that has to read series books in order even if they're all stand-alone) and it has the most chilling opening I have ever read. Hands down. No contest. Put it on your to-read list right now. Right. Now.

Me, I'm happy to be a finalist, to have earned some bling for the Moonlit cover, to be counted among heavy-hitting company, and to own all three of Amanda's books. Signed. Boom.

While I was at the award ceremony, my husband took our girls to Outback to attempt dinner single-parent style. He was brave, and he went down fighting, but that ship sank hard, fast, and loud. He wound up tossing dinner in to-go boxes and wrangling our tiny circus back to the car as fast as possible. Once I came back, I helped him get both girls asleep, and then ate my dinner perched on the hotel toilet so I wouldn't wake our baby, who bursts to waking at the slightest sound. Proof positive mashed potatoes are the bees knees - no matter what temperature they are or where you are when you eat them. Bonus: they're super quiet to chew.
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At last - Saturday - the actual Literary Festival portion of events. The venue was beautiful, the organization spot-on, and the support was fantastic. Writers, if you have a chance to attend this festival, I highly recommend it. The 2015 group of authors was one of the most interesting, engaging, benevolent group of people I've been a part of. Aren't we a snazzy group?

And then came time to pack up, and my daughter pointed out my earrings, and I was so freaking tired, and still kind of giddy that Amanda Kyle Williams stopped by my table and snagged a piece of chocolate and laughed at my one-liner, that I shrugged and kept packing. At least I have big hair. Earrings are more like a glimmer, an after thought, a peekaboo behind a curtain of brownish. Like I said, at least they were both silver.

What's in a name? More than I thought.

I'm working on a new manuscript - a new adult, chick-lit novel with a paranormal twist (of course!) I have a basic outline of the plot. A fun, spunky secondary character is taking solid shape. The love interest's voice is clear and strong. There's just one tiny, itty bitty piece of the puzzle that I'm missing: the main character. More specifically: her name.

Right now I'm calling her Natalie. She's already been Hannah, but that name was so wrong I couldn't bare to keep typing it. Neither name belongs to her. They're just place holders until I finally figure her out. She's polar opposite from strong, visceral, impulsive Tanzy, or at least the Tanzy she becomes by story's end.

I haven't bonded with my new cast of characters to the extent of the bond I formed with Tanzy, Jayce, Vanessa, Asher, and Lucas. And how could I? I first met Tanzy back in 2009 - and back then her name was Holly. Then Rynn. And then a Google search for name meanings unearthed the perfect fit: Tansy (I swapped the S for a Z) which is a Greek name, and means "immortality". Once I figured out her name, the rest of her became more obvious. And as she developed, the plot became richer and deeper.

Here we are, six years later, and I'm roughly five rounds of edits away from saying a final farewell to these characters who have become utterly authentic in my head, and who helped me fulfill a dream.

For now, it feels like my new main character and I are sitting across from each other on a first date. She's only letting me see the surface. Her smile is practiced. Her manners are on point. I haven't figured out what's really going to brass her off yet. And until I know what she cares about - what she deeply, wholly, irrationally defends - this new story is going to be just as skin-deep.

I think it's going to take the entire first draft to figure her out. I hope I do. Without her, the story will have no heart, no organ beating meaning and purpose and cohesiveness to the other parts. So who are you, not-Natalie, not-Hannah? One thing's for sure. You are not a cheap date.

A look back at the year I swore I'd use to put writing first.

This past January, I declared to myself (and quite possibly to my Facebook network) that this was the year - 2014 - that I would put my writing first! I would join every writing group/club/association I could find. I would draft during normal-people hours and not just at 3am. I would commit to the craft: learn, read, study. I would act like a REAL writer.

So in January, I joined several writing groups. I left my full-time job as a social media specialist. I used the time my daughter was at pre-school to crank out word counts. I took a research trip to Cumberland Island with a few friends to experience the setting of book #3, and we camped back country (i.e. gather and boil water). I was serious about this writer thing. SERIOUS.

Before too long, my drafting sessions became more of a stare-down with my blank computer screen and the taunting, blinking cursor. I started avoiding my office. Then the second floor of my house all together. I tried writing by hand in the woods in the dead of winter, sitting on fallen trees to resurrect the magic and compulsion of that feeling of i-have-to-write-right-now-or-i-will-throw-a-fit. Instead my butt went numb. And my hands.

I started skimming over emails from those groups I dutifully joined. Then I started screening them by their titles and the few words visible on gmail's preview. And once Gmail started separating emails by categories, i stopped checking them all together.

In February, I revamped my swag and headed to IndieGirl Con in Charleston, SC. I met some amazing people - inspiring, kick-you-in-the-pants people, which made the drive and the predictably unpredictable southern coastal weather worth the trip. I had my first video interview, and I also suffered a royal case of food poisoning. Or at least I *thought* it was food poisoning.

In March I found out I was pregnant... two months pregnant. Turns out baby #2 had gone back country camping with me, and had definitely been on board during the now suspect food poisoning. Suddenly, finishing book #3 in the Moonlit trilogy had an expedited deadline. And all those groups and trips and conferences... needless to say, that part of writerdom took a back seat to just sitting down and writing, which became harder week to week as my energy tanked and i found myself spending a lot more time in the kitchen. Plus, pregnancy brain is no joke. I once went to Target and then called my husband to ask him what I'd gone to get. I still have no clue what I intended to buy.

In May, I bought a horse. (I what...? I WHAT???) I know, I know. Even though I work in the horse world, I haven't owned a horse in ten years. This January, when I finished tuning up a client's horse, my three year old daughter asked me: "Mommy, will we ever have a horse we don't have to give back?" See, now you want to go buy a horse too, right? I found an ex-race horse that needed lots of food and time off, so we were the perfect pair. And he made me feel like me again. Suddenly I wasn't avoiding my laptop anymore. I'd mentally chew on a major plot point as I curried the daily clumps of mud from his coppery coat. Then it hit me: my brain works the same way whether I'm trying to find a certain object in my house or write a story; if I'm trying too hard, i don't stand a chance.

By mid-summer, I was asleep around 8pm most nights, which was eating up my best writing times. So I had to learn to draft smarter. I learned to write in 15-30 min snatches of free time while tuning out Dora the Explorer instead of needing to make a mug of tea and settle in for a several hour stretch. I used my beta-readers earlier on, cringing as I sent them the third draft instead of the thirtieth. And I finally, finally learned to outline (which with five POVs, two worlds, a hundred threads to tie in, and pregnancy brain was a MUST.) I also attended UTopYA Con in Nashville, TN, where I reconnected with several of those fantastic people I'd met in Charleston, shook my pregnant booty all over the dance floor, and heard this amazing piece of advice from the keynote speaker: Feeling selfish is better than feeling unfulfilled. It's rock solid advice.

In October, I turned book #3, which my publisher has coined "Wildwood," Eight days later, baby #2, Annabelle Rose, was born. I'm up to my eyeballs in diapers and still waiting to see if this draft will be green-lighted to head into the official editing process. While I wait, I'm sketching out a few new ideas to see which one demands to be written next, and I'm toying with the idea of a kids' book series.

And now here, looking back on the last twelve months, I might just feel like a writer after all. We write because we live, and we write TO live. But there's a balance - a tiny, new human that depends on me, a big, beautiful sun to enjoy, a horse that has a love for having his ears scratched, a Britney Spears dance party with a three year old in a tutu - and there are days or nights when the words come and need to be given attention.

The words, the worlds in my head, they're what make me a writer. I set out this year to commit to my craft, put my writing first, and learn how to be a "real" writer. It didn't happen quite like I thought it would or should, but I think maybe it happened anyway.

Blog Hop: My writing process - take 2

I first took part of this hop about six months ago, but with full blown, third trimester preggo-brain, I completely forgot. When I realized I'd already answered these questions, I nearly declined the opportunity. I read over the answers I gave back in April, and realized that drafting Wildwood - the final book in the Moonlit Trilogy - has changed a lot about my process. So I answered them again, if only to chart my growth, and I enjoyed reflecting on how much I learned while writing book 3.

Thank you, Brittney Joy, author of the Red Rock Ranch series and fellow equestrian, for inviting me to follow her on the hop. I adored the first book in Brittney's series, Lucy's Chance, and can't wait to get my hands on the sequel, which is coming out this fall. With a tagline like this: "Sixteen year old Lucy Rose is spending her first summer away from home and she has two things on her mind: an abandoned, violent horse and a blue eyed cowboy... only neither is hers." How could I resist? We also both have an obvious love for writing a lead female character with grit and a feisty streak. Learn more about Brittney Joy and the Red Rock Ranch series on her blog: http://brittneyjoybooks.squarespace.com/redrockranch/

Now for the blog hop writing process questions:

1. What am I currently working on?

I am currently working on "Wildwood," the third and final book in the Moonlit trilogy. At this point, two dimensions are at play, so I'm using a multi-POV approach to braid the sides together. Characters on both sides are gaining different pieces of information - and not all of them are true. The reader will see their mistakes/wrong turns long before they do. Using the multi-POV approach has been the most challenging thing I've done with my writing so far/ It's so important to have a reason for why the next POV is chosen, and to layer the plot lines in a way that is seamless and natural. I'm really excited for readers to experience how this tale concludes. The paths and endings of several aspects/subplots took me completely by surprise

2. How does my work differ from others in its genre?

The Moonlit trilogy is a very different read in general. The first book (Moonlit) is not a straight-shot plot, but more like a puzzle. Once you reach the final chapters, I think you experience Tanzy's moment of shock with her when she realizes how far she was lead from where she believed she was going. The second book is more like a bullet- it's direct, fast-paced, and action-oriented. The third book goes back to the elements of mystery I used in the first book, but the characters are kept more in the dark than the reader.

Also, two major thematic differences are the use of love/romance as a sub-plot and not the main point of the story. Horses are used as a setting; the main character, Tanzy Hightower, was raised on a farm, and has working knowledge of the equine industry. In books 2 (Windswept) and 3 (Wildwood), the wild/feral aspect of horses is explored, as Tanzy's blood has been replaced with that of an ancient wild stallion. Her environment and the use of horses in it reflects what's happening inside of her.

3. Why do I write what I do?

Sometimes this world seems too sharp at its edges, too mean or cruel, and in the depths on my being I know beyond all reasons there has to be something more. I explore the thoughts of what that more could be through my stories. My mind is quick to leave this reality and scurry down a path of what-ifs. I use horses as a vehicle to take these journeys because they've always possessed a kind of magic for me. They are excellent teachers, and they ground me and make me feel like I'm flying at the same time.

4. How does my writing process work?

My writing process evolved a lot for book 3. I used to tear apart each sentence as I was drafting, and that slowed me way down. I'd get so involved in how to say it I'd forget to just say it and move on. Also, since I used five POVs in book three, I had to use what I call a "short-projection," where I outlined the main purpose of the next 3-4 chapters before writing them. This was my first attempt at any kind of an outline, as I've been a total panster before this manuscript. I wrote the entire first draft before incorporating any edits, and kept a separate word document where I made notes to myself regarding any edits to what I'd already written, large or small. Once I began the second draft, I tackled that list first, and then reviewed the story as a whole, editing as I went. I just sent the second draft to beta readers to make sure the story is solid before I spend a lot of time/energy polishing the actual writing.

Another key part of my writing process is not writing. If I'm not feeling inspired, I don't force it for the most part. Every now and then I can tell it's just me not focusing or seeing a scene clearly, and then I make myself slog through it. But getting outside, especially to the barn, is a critical part of my creative process for bigger-scale plotting. My imagination works much better in the open air.

Time to Tag!

I'm tagging the lovely, one-of-a-kind, force of nature Sarah Ashley Jones, who I had the pleasure of meeting at Indie Girl Con this past February, and thoroughly enjoyed seeing again at UTopYA. She just revealed the cover of her newest book: Rebel Souls. She's crazy busy, so I'm not sure when her post will go up, but her blog is worth checking out regularly, so check back if it's not up yet!

Click here to go directly to Sarah's blog.

Work in Progress (WIP) Blog Hop - giving you a tiny sneak peek into Wildwood, book 3 in the Moonlit Trilogy

First, thank you to Colleen Story for inviting me to join the Work in Progress blog hop, which gives me the chance to offer Moonlit fans a tiny peek into the third book of the series. I can't wait for my tribe to experience the conclusion of Tanzy's journey. I'm honored Colleen chose me, as I'm a huge fan of hers, and I'm appreciative of her commitment to exploring how to maintain mental, emotional, and physical wellness while working in the creative field. Check out a glimpse of Colleen's WIP on her blog HERE. She also provides a fantastic analysis of the mental/emotional process of drafting, which I found myself nodding along with as I read it.

Here are the rules of the hop: Provide a link back to the person who nominated you (done!) Write a little bit about your WIP and give the first few sentences of the first three chapters. Then nominate a few more writers to do the same.

Here we go!

WIP Title: My wonderful publisher has already christened book 3 in the Moonlit trilogy "Wildwood." We added a sneak peek of book 3 into the back of Windswept (book 2) so we came up with the official title early on this one. But before my publisher named book 3, the working title was "Ascent."

A little bit about the story: My current WIP is the third and final book in the Moonlit trilogy. I can't tell you too much about it without giving away spoilers for book 2, but I'll tell you what I can!

In the final book of the trilogy, both sides of the veil are at play, and several characters step into the spotlight for a turn front and center, continuously blurring the line between good and evil. Asher and Vanessa's motives and histories are explored in depth. They truly took me by surprise, and I'm curious to see how readers react to their part of the story. This book goes back to the mystery feel of Moonlit, except I keep the characters more in the dark than the reader, who will realize when a character is acting on a false lead long before the character does. The pieces of the puzzle and prophecy are woven together primarily by four characters: Tanzy, Vanessa, Jayce, and Hope, with one of the last chapters coming from a very special voice. And I promise nearly every thread I've pulled along the way will be tied in and resolved by the last page.

Here are the opening lines of the first three chapters. These are from the second draft, and are totally devoid of an editor's polishing, so bear with me :)

Chapter 1 (Tanzy's POV): If I lose ground to Asher, I will not regain it. This basic fact screams through every muscle like a commander to an army. Prepare to hurt. Fight through the pain. Asher will kill me the moment he detects a chance.

Chapter 2 (Jayce's POV): Clouds pass overhead, murky grays laced with slivers of pink. They remind me of a charcoal sketch. My left hand tingles and a memory of smudging pencil lead from line to shadow flitters across my mind.

Chapter 3 (Vanessa's POV): "You must have missed something!" I slap the closest canvas from its easel. The sound of it clattering to the floor does nothing to release the pressure brewing in my chest, nor does the reaction of my Mouse, a blind Unseen creature, who jumps back as if I struck her instead of the painting.

My turn to tag! I nominate:
Charity Bradford
Paul Anthony Shortt
Kerri Cuevas
Elisabeth Wheatley
Lori Ann Robinson

I opted not to give my nominations a deadline for their posts, as we are all furiously working on new pieces, so make sure to check back if they don't currently have up their WIP posts.

What are the most memorable opening lines you've ever read?  I don't know if a book has ever hooked me as fast as Gillian Flynn's "Dark Places: A Novel." Check out the opening lines, told from main character Libby Day:

I have a meanness inside of me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slip out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it. It's the Day blood. Something's wrong with it. I was never a good little girl, and I got worse after the murders.

How could you read those sentences and then STOP? I couldn't. I think I read the whole book in two days.

The "My Writing Process" Blog Hop

I am thrilled to take part in the Writing Process blog hop. Thank you so much Devika Fernando for inviting me. You can check out her answers to these questions on her blog here. I've tagged three new authors at the end of this post to keep the hop hopping.

1. What am I working on?

     I am currently drafting the last book in the Moonlit trilogy, and am coming very close to the end! Since book #2 hasn't released yet, I can’t give away details about book #3 without spoiling earlier twists and turns. I can tell you every question and mystery posed in the first two books will be answered.

     I am so excited to dive into this moment, which I've anticipated writing since 2009. The setting, motives, and survivors have changed in my mind many times in the last five years, but now that it’s within my line of sight, the big moment where all sides descend on the door of the veil is crystal clear. I’m also doing a couple of “rough sketches” for new projects once Moonlit wraps up.

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

     Book #1 in the Moonlit trilogy was described in one review as a “magnificent explosion shot backwards,” which is a beautiful way to describe the elements of mystery that lace up the story’s corset. These books are written in first person present, so you discover questions and answers with main character Tanzy Hightower.

     Horses are used in a bass-drum way throughout the series. They mark an important part of the heart of the story, but you don’t often hear them over the sounds coming from the other “instruments.” The equine industry serves as a setting in book #1. In the sequel, Tanzy travels to the Outer Banks, and seeks refuge in a safe house located in the four-wheel drive district, where the residents coexist with wild horses. In book #3, the main characters are split in two very different locations, one of which is Cumberland Island, where development is extremely limited, and the resident wild horses tolerate the presence of people.

3. Why do I write what I do?

     Growing up, I never felt fully attached to the world around me. I knew there had to be something more – be it somewhere more beautiful during times when life seemed gray, or somewhere that I would be understood, and I would matter, when I felt like a weirdo or out of place. Horses were a piece of tangible magic for me, a door way between this world and somewhere Unseen. I will always see fairy dust when dawn sets dew soaked leaves aglow, and feel the most capable when I’m on a farm.

4. How does my writing process work?

     In fits and starts! I have a three year old daughter, two large indoor dogs, another job, and baby #2 on the way, so my time is limited. I used to write well into the night, once my daughter went to sleep. But presently I’m either too tired or nauseas to concentrate. I’m hoping that’ll ease up in the next couple weeks.

     I don’t outline very well, so I use one of my best friends as a “sounding board.” Her mind works in a straight line, where mine is more like a squirrel in a crystal shop. I talk my way through my ideas about the plot, and she’ll stop me mid-sentence if I’ve contradicted myself or if I’m making a big tangle. I’m also learning how to let go of a new sentence in a first draft and just let it be weak until I come back through to edit, or else I’ll spend 45 minutes tweaking every word in a new paragraph.

     As for new projects, typically they arise from either an image in my head, an interaction I witness in real life that I spin further out, or a “what if” question that keeps popping up. Then I break out note cards and jot thoughts down as they come. 

Now for the next round of authors on the Writing Process Blog Hop:

1. Charity Bradford, author of "The Magic Wakes" and "Stellar Cloud."

2. Kerri Cuevas, author of the "Deadly Kisses" series.

3. Bailey Ardisone, author of "Sweet Oblivion," "Sweet Escape," and "Sweet Requiem."

Their posts will be up on/around April 15th.

Tell me about your writing process! Especially die-hard outliners or fellow pansters who figured out how to successfully incorporate outlining... I'd love to learn!

It's been a *head-desk* kind of winter

I am about 40K words into the first draft of Moonlit book #3. I'm not quite as far as I hoped I'd be. After steeping myself in the editing side of the process for months, is very hard to see the forest for the trees again. I over-analyze and tear apart every sentence instead of letting really terrible sentences/paragraphs/dialogue stand where they are as a plot place holder, to be polished during the second look.

I began drafting book #3 in November, and as of two weeks ago (when i was still busy inspecting every inch of bark on said proverbial trees) I was sitting, stalling at about 23K words, and I've probably cut at least as many words already. Now, as a disclaimer, I'm not a die-hard word-count girl. I don't set daily goals. Between my other job, two large indoor dogs, and my nearly 3 year old daughter, the only goal I have is to have a mostly-clean kitchen before I go to bed. Still, I knew I had a problem.

I recently read Stephen King's "On Writing," where he notes he typically does two drafts and a "polish" before submitting his work. And he's a Panster, to boot. I was both mesmerized and mildly devastated by this. I *know* authors all have different processes. But I barely know where I'm going until the third draft. Then it hit me: I am trying to figure out everything all at once in every sentence.

Yesterday, I was perusing one of my notebooks to find where I'd jotted those pesky notes for last year's expenses. I came across pages of ideas for Moonlit book #2, and from the date at the top, I knew I'd made these notes well after I'd finished the first draft. Some of the ideas were good, some were mediocre, some made me cringe. None of them made it into the draft I submitted to my acquisitions editor at WiDo. Not one.

I realized two things: first, that it's a-okay to come up with some really terrible ideas right now. And second, I've become more proficient at spotting and beheading a bad sub-plot before it grows legs and runs away with my main arch. As I imagine happens with killing anything, i have to grieve a little when I realize I've spent my precious window laying down 2000 words to nowhere. Select. Delete. Eat a cookie. Start again.

My hope is by the time Moonlit #3 is ready for beta readers, it will be in a tighter, tolerable place so they can dig into the sentences and conversations and help me chase those down instead of being bogged down by a loose, wandering plot.

Confession: this actually wasn't what I meant to write about at all, but it's apparently what was on my mind. I'll follow up with more on Moonlit #3 soon. :) So what are you working on? How's it going? What do you find trips up your process?