Readers deserve a place where they can look for stories using the details that actually matter to them. Authors deserve a place where their books won’t disappear beneath titles that have nothing to do with what readers are seeking.

That’s why I created PrideBookHub.

Pride on every page

PrideBookHub is a free discovery platform for books featuring LGBTQIA2S+ main characters and love interests.

It isn’t a bookstore. When you find a book that interests you, PrideBookHub connects you with the author and the retailers where it’s available.

The idea is simple: help the right books and readers find each other.

For readers who know what they want, and those who don’t yet

Sometimes you’re looking for a specific kind of story: a sapphic small-town romance, an achillean fantasy, a transgender main character, an asexual lead, or a nonbinary protagonist.

Other times, you simply want to browse until something catches your attention.

PrideBookHub supports both. You can explore by genre, trope, representation, relationship, heat level, and availability. You can also find free and discounted books, Kindle Unlimited titles, upcoming releases, and books that are new this month.

Readers who create an account can save interesting titles to a personal shelf, making it easier to keep track of an ever-growing TBR.

For authors who want to reach interested readers

Authors can create profiles for their pen names and add eligible books for free.

Listings can include the information readers frequently struggle to find on retailer pages, including meaningful representation, tropes, content information, heat level, formats, and purchasing options.

Authors remain in control of their books, rights, prices, and retailer links. They can also share temporary deals and set an expiration, so no more worrying about outdated sale information remaining on the site.

PrideBookHub welcomes self-published, independent, and traditionally published books. To qualify, a title must feature at least one LGBTQIA2S+ main character or love interest/antagonist and follow the platform’s listing guidelines.

More than a searchable catalog

Discovery doesn’t always begin with a search box.

PrideBookHub will also feature author and reader spotlights, themed collections, new releases, special offers, and community-wide events. These features create more opportunities for a reader to encounter a book they might never have thought to search for.

The site is designed to grow alongside its community, with room for new ways to share recommendations and celebrate the people behind the books.

Come explore PrideBookHub

Whether you read LGBTQIA2S+ stories, write them, recommend them, or continuously add them to a TBR that has taken on a life of its own, you’re invited.

Visit pridebookhub.com to browse the books, create a reader profile, or add your work.

If you know someone who is always searching for their next queer read, or an author trying to reach those readers, please share PrideBookHub with them.

Every reader deserves the chance to find stories that speak to them.

And there should be Pride on every page.

$1,280.11.

That’s Taming Jett, start to finish. Every dollar of it is below.

Most posts about self-publishing costs hand you a range. Somewhere between five hundred and five thousand, they say, depending. Depending is doing a lot of work in that sentence. So instead: one real book, 85,196 words, 413 pages, three formats, with the receipts.

Editing: $425.98

Let me say this first... your editor is worth their weight in gold. A proficient editor is priceless. They will save your behind and teach you how to be a better writer.

My biggest line, and nothing else comes near it.

My editor charges half a cent a word and does a developmental pass, a line edit, and a copyedit for that single rate. 85,196 words at $0.005 is $425.98.

That rate sits well below market. Leaving that out would make this whole post a lie. Hire three separate editors for those three passes at standard rates on a book this long, and you should expect four figures. I have a long relationship with mine.

The cheapest I’ve ever paid was $0.35 a page. On 413 pages that comes to $144.55, and that editor does all three passes at that rate too.

Rates in this business vary far more than the work does, which is worth knowing before you assume the higher number is the safer one.

Free exists as well. Critique groups, writing partners, one beta reader with a merciless eye. Free costs time and reciprocity instead of money, and for a lot of people starting out that’s the right trade.

The cover: $150

I built the cover myself. The design cost nothing.

What cost $150 was the character art I built it around, commissioned from an artist.

Those two facts belong side by side because “I made my own cover for free” is technically true. I did design the hardcover, but it’s also misleading. The paperback has $150 of somebody else’s character art sitting on it, and a friend helped me design the rest.

Across my catalog, I’ve paid anywhere from nothing to $200. The cheapest premade I ever bought was $15. All of those are real. None of them is the number. That’s the point.

ISBNs: $88.50

The line people get wrong most often.

In the US, ISBNs come from Bowker, and the pricing is designed to punish you for buying one at a time. A single ISBN is $125. Ten cost $295, which works out to $29.50 each. A hundred cost $575, or $5.75 each.

Taming Jett came out in three formats. Ebook, paperback, hardcover. Each format needs its own ISBN, so this book used three of my ten. That’s $88.50.

Bought one at a time, the same three would have cost $375.

Where you live changes this entire section. Canada gives ISBNs away. So do New Zealand and India. The UK charges around £91 for one and Australia around AUD $44. If you aren’t American, my $88.50 might be your $0, and you should go check before you spend anything.

Amazon will give you a free ISBN for your paperback. Don’t take it, unless you are certain beyond doubt that the book will never live anywhere but Amazon. A KDP-issued ISBN names Amazon as the publisher and ties that number to that edition on that platform permanently. You cannot carry it to IngramSpark. You cannot carry it to a bookshop. Going wide later means a fresh ISBN and a fresh edition, and at that point you will wish you had spent the $29.50. Reviews don’t always carry over. I’ve heard mixed comments about KDP moving over reviews.

Bonus content art: $150

A second commission, different artist, a VERY spicy piece that went out to those that purchased a signed hardcover.

I’d always wanted some NSFW artwork. People readers loved it, and it sits in the total because it was real money leaving my account for this book.

Promotion: $150

I don’t run ads. Not on Amazon, not on Facebook, nowhere. Not yet.

What I do buy sometimes is paid promotion, meaning newsletter features and promo sites that put a book in front of readers who already read the genre. Taming Jett got $150 of that.

Zero is a legitimate option, and I’ve launched books on it. Zero costs hours instead, and the hours are not small.

Proof copies: $0

I don’t buy the proof copies with the banner. I do order author copies for signed books. That info is in the next section.

To publish the book: $964.48

Editing, cover art, bonus art, three ISBNs, promotion. Just under $965.

That’s the number if you want a book out in the world with some art and nothing else.

Signed copies and merch: $315.63

I sell signed copies from my own site, which means a second small business bolted onto the first one.

Ten hardcovers ran $114.10, or $11.41 each. Fifteen paperbacks ran $104.76, or $6.98 each. Two hundred and fifty bookmarks cost $40.90, sixteen cents apiece and far more bookmarks than one book needs, but that’s their minimum. Another $25 went on other merch. Shipping has run $30.87 for six books so far, call it $5.15 a book.

$315.63 in total.

That number hides something. I bought 25 copies and I’ve shipped six. The other nineteen are in my house waiting on my book signing on Saturday.

Direct sales means fronting the whole inventory in one payment and getting it back a package at a time across months. Plan for it, or you’ll be surprised twice: once when you pay for the books and again when you see how slowly they move.

All in: $1,280.11

On 85,196 words, that’s roughly a penny and a half per word.

Has it earned out?

Not yet. Taming Jett was released on June 29, 2026, so as I write this it has been on sale for one month.

I’m not going to publish the sales figures. A one-month number on a book is bad data. Books earn across years, not weeks, and a figure taken thirty days after release would look precise while telling you nothing true. It would also follow this book around forever, quoted by people who never read this paragraph.

One thing did surprise me.

Direct sales through my own site have brought in several times what Amazon has, from a small fraction of the units. If you’re deciding whether signed copies are worth the packing tape, that’s the finding I’d want you to have. Roughly 75% of my profits come from direct sales. Of the rest, about 35% come from KENP reads (pages read with Kindle Unlimited) and sales through Amazon. My library sales are so small they don’t make a percentage point, but they are important to me. I want my work available to everyone whether they can afford them or not.

Ask me again in a year. I’ll post the update, and it will be a more honest number than anything I could give you today.

What this number leaves out

Two things, and I’d rather name them than let you find them.

My time is the first. Writing the book, building the cover, formatting it, packing envelopes, answering messages. Pay myself anything for those hours and the figure above stops looking like $1,280.

The second is the software that runs whether or not I publish. Email platform, design tool, ARC team platform, domain. Together those come to roughly $423 a year. They aren’t Jett’s cost, they’re the cost of being open for business, so I’ve kept them out of the total. Budget for them anyway. They arrive whether a book does or not.

The typo that cost me $36.50

Different book, same lesson.

I ordered ten preorder copies of Written in Malice. They arrived with the spine reading WRITTEN NI MALICE.

Ten copies at $3.65 each. Thirty-six dollars and fifty cents of waste.

I caught it before another human being could buy one, which is the only reason this is a funny story instead of a horrifying one.

Order the author copies before it’s released. Look at the spine. Look at it again. Better yet examine everything carefully before you upload it.

What the same book could have cost

Zero.

A cover built in Canva with no commissioned art. A critique partner instead of a paid editor. Amazon’s free ISBNs. No hardcover at all. No promotion. No signed copies, no bookmarks, no merch.

It locks you out of going wide. But it exists, and anybody telling you that publishing requires thousands of dollars is selling you something.

Most of what I spent bought quality and reach. Some of it bought things I wanted. Those are different categories, and you’re allowed to skip the second one. I did for several books.

Questions I get about this

How much does it cost to self-publish a book?

Anywhere from nothing to several thousand dollars, and that spread is honest rather than evasive. My last release came to $1,280.11 all in, of which $964.48 was publishing and $315.63 was signed copies and merch I chose to buy. The same book could have gone out for $0 using free tools, a critique partner and Amazon’s free ISBN. For anyone paying for it, editing is almost always the largest single line.

Do I need to buy an ISBN?

You can get a free one on Amazon, but I don’t recommend it. Buy your own so you’re the publisher. You’ll need one per format: ebook, paperback, hardcover, audiobook. Your country decides the cost. Canada, New Zealand and India issue them free. In the US they come from Bowker at $125 for one, $295 for ten, or $575 for a hundred, so a block is the only sensible purchase if you intend to publish more than once.

Is Amazon’s free ISBN a bad idea?

Yes, if there’s any chance the book will live somewhere other than Amazon. A KDP-issued ISBN names Amazon as publisher and stays tied to that edition on that platform for good. Going wide later requires a new ISBN and a new edition. If you’re certain you’ll stay exclusive forever, take the free one. Most people aren’t certain, and extra $ buys the option to change your mind.

How much should editing cost?

More than I pay. My editor handles developmental, line and copy passes at half a cent a word, which came to $425.98 on 85,196 words. Those three passes bought separately at standard rates run far higher, often into four figures on a full-length novel. If money is the binding constraint, a strong critique group can catch more than a cheap single-pass edit will.

Can you publish a book for free?

Yes. Free cover tools, a critique partner in place of an editor, free formatting software, and Amazon’s identifier instead of a purchased ISBN gets you to zero. You pay in time and you accept limits, chiefly on distribution. The claim that publishing requires money is false, and it stops people who ought to be publishing.

Has the book made its money back?

Not after one month, and I’m not publishing the figures. A thirty-day number on a book looks precise and means little, because books earn across years rather than weeks, and whatever I posted today would be quoted forever without the context. What I can say is that direct sales from my own site have brought in several times what Amazon has, from a small fraction of the units sold. I’ll post a real update at the twelve-month mark.

Is selling signed copies from your own site worth it?

Depends on how you feel about inventory. I spent $315.63 on copies, bookmarks, merch and postage for one book, and that money leaves before a single order arrives. Twenty-five copies bought, six shipped so far. Readers love it and so do I, but treat it as a small, separate business with its own cash flow rather than as part of publishing the book.

Five kittens, single file behind her, hugging the wall where the shade was. We live on four acres out in the country, so things turn up. But she didn’t turn up so much as move in, and she picked the garage the way you pick a place you’ve already scouted.

We couldn’t get near them. Not close, not almost close. The whole family went liquid and disappeared under the shelving every time a door opened.

So I did the only thing I could. Food out every morning. Fresh water twice a day once the heat settled in for good. I leave the garage door cracked so they can come and go, and when a possum figured out the arrangement and came back two nights running, I spent an evening out there adjusting the gap, hunting for the height that lets a kitten through and keeps a possum out.

I asked the neighbors whether anybody was missing a cat and got the answer you get out here, which is a shrug and a long story about a different cat from four years ago.

Nobody claimed them.

A week in, we found one of the kittens in the yard.

No wound, no sign of anything at all. It hadn’t even turned hot yet.

There’s no lesson to put here. It happened, and we buried it, and I set the food out again the next morning because the others were still under the shelving and still hungry.

Then came a day when the heat sat down on the whole property and would not get up.

My husband went out to check their water. That was the entire errand. A man with a jug, middle of the afternoon.

One of the kittens was on the garage floor. He was alive. His eyes were open and he wasn’t moving.

That night I fed him with a syringe, a few drops at a time, first on the bathroom floor and then in my own bed, for hours. He didn’t fight me.

That was the part that scared me.

We were at the vet’s office when they unlocked the door. He had his first seizure on their table.

The vet thought it was heat related. Something that had climbed into his brain and made it swell. Steroids for inflammation. Antibiotics in case a virus was underneath it. A conversation I heard maybe half of.

The seizures came every twenty minutes.

I held him through all of them. You learn the shape of it faster than you want to. The glazed eyes first. Then the stiffening, then the paddling, then the long blank stretch afterward where he stared past me and I talked to him and got nothing back. Twenty minutes of quiet. Then again.

The next day I called, and they added a third medication, something to hold the seizures off while the other two did their work.

It worked. Not at first. But it worked.

A couple of days after the last seizure, he started purring. He hasn’t stopped since. It’s a ridiculous sound to come out of two pounds of cat, loud enough that I can find him in a room without looking for him.

A friend named him.

My last book is called Taming Jett. She pointed out what I was too tired to see for myself, which is that I had spent that entire week taming a Jett of my own.

So he’s Jett.

He likes to remind me he’s feral. He’ll level a look at me from across the room, the one that says we both know what I am. Then he rolls over for a belly rub and ruins the whole performance.

Today he climbed me like a tree. Claws out the whole way up, using my leg and then my shirt and then my shoulder as rungs. It hurt.

I laughed anyway. A kitten with the strength to climb you is a kitten who is not dying.

He’s barely over two pounds. He has a long way to go.

He’s ours now. My husband is as far gone on him as I am, which neither of us planned and neither of us is fighting.

The dogs are a slow negotiation. Three of them, all curious, none of them aggressive so far. We started with blankets, letting them sort out his smell without him attached. Then noses, with him in my arms and my pulse going. They’re interested. He’s not a fan. He already rules this house the way a cat king should, from a height.

His mother and the rest of the litter are still out there. Three kittens, though one of them hasn’t shown himself in a few days, and I’ve stopped letting myself do that math before bed. Catching them is the next job, getting them fixed is the job after that, and finding them homes is the one after that. I might keep one. I might keep two. I’m not making promises to myself that I’ll have to break later.

And then the part I didn’t see coming.

I hadn’t had a cat in almost ten years. Not since Salem, who was attached to my lap for nearly twenty years, and who has a character named after him in my books because I couldn’t come up with a better way to keep him around.

The ten years since were circumstance, I told myself. Timing. Life being full. I believed it right up until this scrap of a thing was breathing against my collarbone at two in the morning and something in my chest came unstuck.

I didn’t know it was stuck. You can close a door so quietly you never hear it shut, then live a decade in a slightly smaller house and never once wonder why.

Most things are grayer than people admit. I’ve changed my mind about plenty, and I expect to change it about plenty more.

Not this one. Animals and children get protected. Whatever it costs.

And it cost. We couldn’t afford this. There’s a version of this story that leaves it out, and I don’t trust that version. There was no world where I let him die on a garage floor because the arithmetic was bad.

Then friends started sending things. Toys. Food. I opened a box on my porch and sat down on the step and cried.

He didn’t just steal my heart.

He stole dozens.

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Imposter Syndrome… the phrase is wrong.

Whether you spell it imposter or imposter, it’s the wrong word. An imposter is a person who practices deception under an assumed character, identity, or name, according to dictionary.com

That’s where I want to start, because the moment you admit you feel like garbage about your own book, somebody hands you the same phrase. Imposter syndrome. Delivered with a small nod, like naming a thing takes it apart. Congratulations. You’ve been diagnosed. Go home and rest.

An imposter is a person pretending. A man in a borrowed lab coat who talked his way into the room and spends the whole evening praying nobody asks a follow-up question.

That isn’t me.

I write books. I finish them, which is something I never thought I’d say. I publish them. Strangers pay money for them and some of those strangers write to tell me what chapter nineteen did to them at two in the morning. By any definition, I’m an author. No costume, no borrowed credentials. Nobody is coming to tap me on the shoulder and walk me out of the building.

And still.

What Writers Call Imposter Syndrome Is Usually Something Else

What sits in my chest has nothing to do with being found out. I’m not hiding. The problem runs the other direction. I’m scared of being seen with perfect accuracy and discovering that I’m not good enough.

Two different animals. The advice for one does nothing for the other.

Fake it till you make it assumes I’m faking. I’m not faking. I’m doing the work in full view.

Everyone feels this way. That one gets offered as comfort. It functions about as well as being told the other planes have turbulence too.

Comparison is the thief of joy comes closest. That one at least aims at the right thing, but it tells me to quit measuring, and measuring is the whole job. I measure this draft against the last one. That’s how I found out my dialogue got better somewhere around book three.

Why Comparing Yourself to Other Authors Never Quite Stops

Midnight, and an author group I shouldn’t be scrolling.

Somebody’s cover reveal. A hundred preorders before release week. A signing table with a line bending out of frame, and under it forty-one comments telling her she deserves every bit of it.

She does, for the record. I’ve read her. That isn’t the hard part.

The hard part arrives about four seconds later, when the math starts. Not loud. A low hum underneath the ribs that says she is doing the thing you are doing and more people can see her do it.

The stick is rigged. I know the stick is rigged. She’s nine books and six years in. I’m holding my newest release, still warm, up against an entire career. My Tuesday against her launch day.

I’m not racing her. I have never once wanted her to lose. The only writer I’m running against is the one who wrote my last book, and I beat her on purpose, with feedback and craft classes and a stubborn willingness to rewrite the middle a fourth time.

So the hum is lying about one thing and telling the truth about another. I’m not worse than her.

I’m just harder to find.

Knowing that has never once stopped me from picking the stick up.

Writing Under Two Pen Names Should Feel Fake. It Doesn’t.

You would think two names would make this worse.

I write romance as Carly Bryant and thrillers as Carly Black. Two names that aren’t the one on my driver’s license. If anybody has a claim on feeling like a fraud, it’s the woman publishing under names she invented.

The names aren’t costumes though. They’re doors.

Carly Bryant knows how a person’s breath catches when the woman she’s been circling for six chapters finally reaches for her hand. Carly Black knows what it means when a ball rolls in a straight line across a floor that isn’t level. Both of those women are me. Me facing different directions.

The name was never the lie. That’s what I keep landing on. There is no lie anywhere in this. There’s a woman who wants to be better than she is and hasn’t found the off switch.

What I Actually Do About It

Here is what I do. None of it qualifies as advice.

I keep a few screenshots. Someone who read Bloodlines in one sitting and then slept with the hall light on. A reviewer I’ve never met who said a character reminded her of someone she used to know, and meant it as the highest possible compliment. The folder is the least sophisticated coping mechanism ever devised and I’m aware of that.

I open it anyway.

Not for flattery. For evidence. On the nights the hum gets loud I need something with a timestamp on it, proof that at least one person out there did not waste her evening on me.

I also finish things. That one carries more weight than the folder. A completed manuscript is a fact. The hum is fluent in you will not be enough, and it has nothing to say about a file that exists.

Does Author Imposter Syndrome Ever Go Away?

For years I assumed there’d be a threshold. Some number of books, some review, some sales figure, and the feeling would lift off like weather. I’d cross the line and sit down at the table like I belonged there and breathe.

No such line. Watch authors ten rungs up from you say the same thing and the sensible conclusion is that it never lifts. It changes what it’s measuring, and that’s the whole of the improvement.

Which sounds bleak and isn’t.

Once you quit expecting a cure you can get on with management. You learn the hum’s schedule. Mine turns up during revisions and the week after a release, and it goes quiet in the middle of a draft, when I’m too far inside the story to look up and compare.

Quitting has never been on the table. Not one time, not on the worst day. I love this too much, which isn’t a brave thing to say, it’s a practical one. The love doesn’t counterbalance the doubt. They live in the same house. Most days they get along.

You’re Not an Imposter. You’re Measuring.

So don’t hand me imposter syndrome. I’m not an imposter.

I’m an author with a demanding internal editor and a broken sense of scale. Longer phrase. Less catchy. Carries the advantage of being true.

If something in this landed for you, odds are you’re not an imposter either.

You’re measuring.

Put the stick down. Or keep hold of it and write the next chapter anyway.

That’s mostly what I do.

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The dark came anyway.
Not the kind you survive.
The kind you become.

And somewhere between the funeral
and the first morning
I didn’t flinch at my own reflection,
I learned to see without light.

The circle shrank.
Thank God it shrank.
I stopped squinting at people
who were never going to get closer.

Now I hold the ones who stayed
like they’re made of something breakable.
Because they are.
Because I am.

Thank you, for this great idea and the daily prompts. I love poetry month! #Escapril #PoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo

nothing dramatic

just a pen

and a page that didn’t flinch.

Spilled the mess of me in ink.

The ugly stuff. The 3 a.m. stuff.

The things I swore I’d never say out loud

so I wrote them down instead

like that’s somehow different.

It is different.

It’s worse.

Because paper holds everything you give it

and doesn’t look away,

and now it’s sitting there

raw and breathing on a page

that anyone could find.

I didn’t write it for me.

That’s the lie writers tell.

I wrote it for the stranger on the train

who reads the first line standing

and sits down by the third.

For the woman who dog-ears a page

and texts her sister you need to read this.

For the kid who finds it ten years from now

and thinks, oh someone else survived that too.

I want you to feel something.

I don’t even care what.

Anger works. Grief works.

That strange ache behind your sternum

when a sentence hits a wound

you forgot you had? That works best.

I’m not asking you to love it.

I’m asking you to bleed a little

when you read it

proof that what I poured out

landed somewhere warm

and living.

Because here’s the thing about writing:

you rip yourself open on purpose,

stitch the wound into stanzas,

and hand it to a stranger like,

here. I made this from the worst of me.

I hope it’s enough.

And sometimes

not always, but sometimes

they hold it like it matters.

And that’s the whole damn point.

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There’s a particular silence

that follows the closing of a door

not the angry slam you expected,

but the quiet click

of something final.

I kept making excuses.

Told myself loyalty was a long game,

that people are complicated,

that I was being too rigid

too much, too sensitive, too something.

But there’s a line.

And you didn’t just cross it.

You planted a flag there,

called it home,

invited me to visit.

The hardest part isn’t the anger.

Anger is clean. Anger has edges.

The hardest part is grieving someone

who is still alive,

who finally feels the weight of

too late, too many gone,

the math of it undeniable.

Here’s what I know now

some friendships aren’t built to hold

the full weight of who you become.

They crack

right where they should.

I wish you well, I do.

From exactly this distance.

With exactly this much

of myself left intact.

Hey Book Besties!

I’m not going to bury the lead... Bloodlines is live!

If you read “Pretty Little Slashers,” you already know the bones of this story. It’s based on an ancestry test that unravels everything... the family secrets that should’ve stayed buried, the dawning horror of realizing your bloodline might be your curse.

But the novella was just the skeleton. The novel? It’s the whole body. New chapters, deeper darkness, and an ending that made someone message me with “WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
I’ll take that as a compliment.

GET BLOODLINES NOW!

Oh, and because apparently I enjoy chaos: Encore dropped yesterday too.

It’s a spicy second-chance romance novella. Think... a woman who swore off love meets a younger country singer who fumbles his bass guitar the moment he sees her. It’s sweet, it’s steamy, and it’s the exact opposite energy of Bloodlines.

Sometimes you want blood. Sometimes you want butterflies. This week, I’m giving you both.

GET ENCORE NOW!

One last thing and I mean this genuinely:

If you read either of these and feel something (good, bad, confused, emotionally wrecked), would you leave a review? Even a sentence or two helps more than you know. Amazon’s algorithm is a mysterious beast, and reviews are the only way to feed it.

Thank you for being here. For reading my words. For caring about the weird little stories that live in my head.

Now go read something. I’ll be over here refreshing my sales dashboard like a completely normal person.

~ Carly

P.S. Signed paperbacks of Bloodlines are coming soon. IngramSpark is doing its thing. If you want one, let me know. I’ll make sure you’re first to know when they’re available.

Loving Lauren is in a promo with some other incredible books. Check them out.

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I saw a post on IG from my friend Author Ruby Thorn talking about a challenge to write fifty sweet & spicy stories each day of February. It’s the brain child of Author Erica Damon. She even posted prompts to get you going in case you need them. You don’t have to use the prompts, but it’ll be fun. Are you with me? I thought it would make sure to include our mystery/thriller/horror writers to the mix, so I added some scary prompts. See below and pick your poison!

Sweet & Spicy?

Or spooky & scary?

I won’t deduct points for going over a little, but the challenge is to see if you can do it in fifty words. If you know me, I can’t write short stories. Most of my novellas turn to novels, but I’m going to try.

Who is up for the challenge? Share this with your friends! #fiftyinfebruary

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Fifteen years is supposed to mean something?
Time heals all wounds, they say.
They lie.
Nobody tells you grief just learned to walk beside you
instead of dragging you down the hall.

I still reach for the phone on the drive home.
Every single day.
Muscle memory doesn’t get the memo
that there’s no one picking up.

You chose me.
That’s the part people don’t always understand
chosen love, they call it, like it’s somehow
less than the other kind.
But you chose me first.
Chose me without hesitation
or fine print.

I moved back in at the end.
Watched the woman who raised me
shrink into something I barely recognized
and I stayed. Of course I stayed.
Not out of obligation.
Out of the same stubborn, unearned loyalty
you gave me the day you brought me home.

Cancer doesn’t care about timing.
Doesn’t care that you were mid-sentence,
mid-life, mid-everything.
It just takes the best parts
and calls it biology.

I don’t remember your last words now.
That’s the thing nobody warns you about.
Not the grief itself
but how the details go quiet,
one by one,
like someone turning down the volume
on the only song that ever made sense.

Best friend. Best mom.
The words feel too small,
like trying to fit an ocean
into one of those little paper cups.

But here’s what I know
fifteen years out, bruised and still standing.
You didn’t have to love me.
You did it anyway.
And that taught me how to love someone
so completely
that losing them
rewrites the rest of your life.

And I wouldn’t take a single day back.

Not one.

Meet Cole Stone…

Cole and his brother, Decker, are country music’s newest sensation. Still playing at small venues, but on the verge of hitting it big.

Autumn Winters is a homebody. After a failed marriage, she’s done. She pours herself into her job, an animal rescue that she started with her bestie, Eli. The crew drags her out for a band that Brynn is obsessed with.

Then midway through his song, his eyes locked on hers. Out of everyone in that place, he was looking at the girl with dog hair on her clothes and not the best body image.

To say sparks fly is an understatement.

Releases on February 5, 2026. Pre-order now!

I’m also looking for ARC readers, if you’re interested. Apply at this link.

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Spit in a tube.

Ancestry promised answers

but gave me questions that bleed instead.

Some doors shouldn’t open.

Some family trees grow poison fruit,

roots tangled in graves nobody visits.

The test results came back wrong.

Or maybe they came back right,

and I’m the one who’s rotten now.

There’s darkness in these veins

inherited or invited, I can’t tell anymore.

The difference stops mattering

when you’re standing over the body.

They say blood is thicker than water.

Nobody mentions what happens

when it pools on the floor.

~

I wrote this poem in the voice of my main character, Alyssa, in Bloodlines.

The story of Bloodlines was inspired by my own journey to find my biological family. However, none of them are dropping bodies… that I know of.

Preorder the ebook today. Paperbacks available soon.

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The doctors say my bloodwork looks fine.
They smile, check boxes…
as if I haven’t already tried everything that doesn’t cost thousands.

My body is a house filling with water.
Slowly. Then all at once.

I wade through the kitchen at 6 AM,
fill dog food bowls that I can barely remember doing,
work a job where I nod through meetings.
No one notices I’m drowning.

They need me upright.
Need the paycheck.
The insurance.
The pretending.

So I don’t get to collapse.
Don’t get to say I can’t when there’s no one else.

The fog rolls in around 2 PM…
thick, relentless.
I lose words mid-thought.
Forget what I walked into rooms for.
Read the same email four times and still don’t absorb it.

Is this forever?
Will I drown in increments, year after year,
or wake up one morning and just... breathe again?

No one knows.
Not the specialists.
Not the forums.
Not the people who love me but can’t fix this.

I’m so goddamn tired of sinking.

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Photo courtesy of Engin Akyurt: https://www.pexels.com/photo/underwater-photo-of-a-woman-1559285/

Bloodlines is scheduled to release in just under four weeks. I’m beyond excited to share this story with you. It came from my own journey to find my biological family. My joke to my husband was what if one of them is a criminal. I have a twisted sense of humor. From that was born, Bloodlines. I’m looking for ARC readers. If you’d like to apply, you can do so at the link below.

https://forms.gle/iNTKo9yxYcRFwhuj6

More updates coming soon!

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So… I might have cried a little. Happy tears! You pour your heart and soul into a book, and it feels like your baby. To know that others get it, just makes my heart so happy. I’m going to remember these when I start getting those bad reviews. 😂

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He’s the quiet type you’d barely notice, reserved, almost invisible. But behind his calm facade lies a chilling obsession. He’s engineered a perfect method using Yellowstone’s boiling geysers, leaving behind no bodies, no clues... just eerie silence.

Spillin’ the Book Tea:

This was a suspense blast from start to finish. Below the Surface zips along at a relentless pace. The plot, women disappearing around Yellowstone, is chilling and unpredictable. I was hooked immediately, waiting breathlessly for each twist. And that ending? It hit me right in the feels. What really impressed me was how much emotional depth the author packed into such a short book. It’s not just tension for tension’s sake; there’s weight behind the fear. Every page had me side-eyeing national parks and reconsidering solo hikes forever.

The Vibes It Brings:

🌋 Thriller set in Yellowstone
⏱ Fast‑paced suspense
🕵️ Mysterious disappearances
🔥 Obsessive killer
💔 Emotional, gut‑punch finale

Narration:

Ladon Reid’s smooth, velvety voice hooked me in moments. I expected it would soften the edge. Instead it added a hypnotic depth. I even searched for more narrated by him but found none. When people hear Reid’s narration, demand is going to skyrocket. I may have even referred to him as daddy. 🥵

Final Thoughts:

Below the Surface is a short but intense thriller that packs serious punch. The plot moves fast, tension stays high, and the emotional payoff lands hard. Yellowstone setting gives it a unique edge. Perfect for listeners craving pulse‑racing suspense.

TL;DR:

A fast-paced Yellowstone thriller with chilling disappearances, killer obsession, and narration that makes it unforgettable.

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Aberdeen Manor has always been cloaked in dark whispers. When siblings Maeve and Ethan Adams inherit the estate, its shadowed history turns personal... tied to their biological serial-killer father. As hidden secrets surface, their once-safe home becomes a gauntlet of creeping terrors. Cameras meant to protect now catch movement among the walls. Now they must untangle decades of horror and face a present-day stalker before the shadows swallow them.

Spillin’ the Book Tea:

This one hits all the eerie notes: suspenseful, twisted, mysterious, and delightfully creepy in exactly the right way. I spent way too much time double-checking that the doors were actually locked. The tension builds chapter by chapter, and I genuinely worried for these kids. The legacy angle adds real emotional stakes. And that big reveal? Hit me like a cold draft down the spine.

The Vibes It Brings:

👻 Classic haunted house atmosphere
🧠 Psychological horror with twisted edges
👫 Sibling bond tested under extreme stress
🎥 Surveillance-camera chills
🧩 Legacy of a serial killer haunts the present

Narration:

Carol Pawlak delivers a phenomenal performance. Her voice pulls you further in, layering on the suspense and unnerving atmosphere. When she shifts tone, the tension doesn’t just rise, it tightens like a noose. She really made the book feel alive, or dead, depending on the scene.

Final Thoughts:

The Haunting of Aberdeen Manor is a full-on in-your-face thrill ride. It’s eerie from page one and keeps you on edge through every creaking floorboard and flicker of movement. The sibling dynamics grounded all the horror in something relatable. If you’ve been craving a haunted-house saga with teeth, this one bites hard.

TL;DR:

A sibling-led horror saga with surveillance scares, relentless tension, and a narrator who brings the fear.

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1998: Katie Reed vanishes on her boyfriend’s birthday, and that morning unsettles everyone she left behind.

2022: Tom Beatty is on transplant waitlist duty until his blood test unlocks a decades-old disappearance. As he chases Katie’s trail, secrets surface, and whoever buried them doesn’t want them uncovered. Time’s running out.

Spillin’ the Book Tea:

What an amazing book. It's twisty, peeling back secrets one breadcrumb at a time. The dual timeline between 1998 and 2022 never confused me. The switches were smooth and purposeful. Gulliford’s characters feel real and layered, not cardboard cutouts. Her writing drew me right into each scene. I could picture whatever dark corner or surreal setting she described. Massive thanks to Carol Gulliford for the audiobook of Behind the Lies and the opportunity to provide this candid review!

The Vibes It Brings:

🎭 Psychological suspense

🕰️ Dual‑timeline mystery

😶 Quiet thrills in everyday settings

🧩 Family ties and medical drama

🌒 Secrets hidden in plain sight

Narration:

Narrator Sarah Kempton adds real tension and unease. Her voice shifts undercover, sharp when needed, soft when revealing. She makes every reveal lean and tense. I loved everything about her voice. It boosted the immersive feel.

Final Thoughts:

Behind the Lies grabs you and doesn’t let go until the end. Twist after twist keeps you guessing but never confused. It goes beyond your typical mystery thanks to its dual timelines, emotional undercurrents, and grounded, believable characters. Highly recommended if you like suspense with emotional stakes.

TL;DR:

A pulse‑racing mystery with dual timelines, deep characters, and a narrator who nails the tension.

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This post may contain affiliate links. I may earn from qualifying purchases at no additional cost to you.

Synopsis:

The war is over and darkness has claimed victory. Briony Rosewood’s kingdom has collapsed and the hero who was meant to save them is gone. Stripped of her magic and freedom, she’s sold in a slave auction and becomes the prize of Toven Hearst, heir to a ruthless dynasty. What starts as chains and coercion might just spark something neither expects.

Spillin’ the Book Tea:

This story swings between past and present, teasing out the relationship between Briony and Toven in a slow burn that doesn’t shy away from heavy, immersive world‑ending stakes. One moment will gut you, the next will soften your heart with unexpected tenderness. I was hooked by the layered characters, main and secondary, and the tight bond forming between these two damaged souls. Fun fact: it spun out of Soto’s Harry Potter fanfic The Auction, which imagines Hermione and Draco in this slow‑burn enemies‑to‑lovers dance. I’ve got that original fanfic, unread until now, but after experiencing Rose in Chains, I’ll be diving into it immediately. Special thanks to NetGalley and Hachette Audio | Forever for the audiobook.

The Vibes It Brings:

🌑 dark enemies‑to‑lovers
⏳ slow burn emotional tension
⚔️ dual timeline, world‑ending stakes
💔 heartbreak meets hope
🤝 complex characters all around
🔮 underground magic, political intrigue

Narration:

Ella Lynch nails Briony’s arc with a pitch‑perfect British accent that lends the heroine a spoiled‑princess but resilient edge. She shifts into the darker, tenser moments beautifully and even puts emotion into Toven’s male voice. Lynch's narration pushed me through the complex plot.

TL;DR:

A dark, slow‑burn romantasy with high stakes, complex characters, and narratively rich tension. Ella Lynch’s narration elevates every scene... emotional, fiery, and impossible to forget. Rose in Chains delivers depth without apology. It’s a brutal yet tender journey into captured souls and unexpected love. The pacing demands patience but rewards it with intensity, character development, and chemistry. If you can handle some darkness, this one hits hard.

Release Date: July 8, 2025

Preorder on Libro.fm

Preorder on Amazon

Preorder on Bookshop.org

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Synopsis:

Ari’s thoughts never rest. Nightmares bleed into daylight as she and Odie continue their crusade against traffickers. When a ghost from their past rises, Ari must confront her rawest enemy: the chaos inside her own head. The mission turns personal and survival rests on her ability to outfight both the real threat and the one in the mirror.

Spillin’ the Book Tea:

If you haven't read books one and two, start there. While this review doesn't contain spoilers for this book, it might for the previous two. This third installment hands the mic to Ari and she screams into it. From page one the action kicks. Ari grapples with fractured sanity while still slicing through villains. The tension never lifts. New allies arrive, familiar faces return, and someone presumed dead might breathe again. I simultaneously never wanted it to end and couldn't finish quick enough because I needed to know what happens.

Though there is less spicy scenes in this one, what is there is *chef's kiss*. It just hits with precision. Every scene crackles with tension, and you might just get a new book boyfriend by the end. I tore through chapters because I had to know who’d still be standing. If this is the end of the road, I’m not ready and yes, I’d absolutely beg for a book four.

The Vibes It Brings:

🧠 mind versus memory
⚔️ nonstop mission mode
🌪️ trauma fueled fury
👻 back from the grave twist
💔 loyalty under fire
🍷 low spice high stakes

TL;DR:

Ari owns the spotlight with raw emotion and ruthless drive. Thrilling, gritty, and impossible to set aside, this book dares you to breathe.

I was a beta reader for You Should’ve Stayed Dead. Release date is coming soon.

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