How to Know When a Writer Should be Writing

If you’ve been following along, you know that I had grand plans to write a new, dark, witchy, Ireland inspired book. And you also know that a natural disaster kind of derailed those plans for a while. Well, we’re finally, finally getting back to normal around here. Schedules are familiar, husband’s clients are getting back on track, things still feel a little like Bambi learning to walk, but we’re getting there.


And I’ve had enough time away from writing to feel refreshed and like I should be ready to get back at it. My editor has Blackbird, which I’ll have back soon, but going over edits and writing something new can be done; I’ve done it. It’s nice to have two totally different projects like that to work on so you can take a break from one to the other and not overload yourself.

So naturally I got to work. Cleaning. First I dug out every towel and sheet and blanket that we had in our linen closet, refolded (because they definitely went into that closet folded but then obviously gremlins came along and had a party in there) and organized each category into new stacks and put it together like a perfect puzzle.

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Oh how I wish I’d taken a before picture so you could know what an amazing accomplishment this truly is.

We live in a little 1920’s cottage, so the storage options here are almost null. See this? This is a high cabinet that counts as a linen closet, but you can see it only has two shelves. But somehow being three feet deep makes up for the lack of shelves? I dunno. But look! I can see and reach everything!

Okay. So that was pretty therapeutic, but now it was time to get back to that new idea.

So I closed the cabinet door and and turned away from it and the former mess (after taking a photo to brag for posterity), and walked the three feet to the other cabinet.

One thing you don’t know about me, unless you follow along on the Twitter, is that I have this strange, almost hoarder obsession with boxes and bags. Oh, how I love a good box or gift bag. If something is delivered in a small to medium box, I will save said box. If someone gives me something in a gift bag, I keep that bag. And the smaller, more varying size of box, the better. Because in my mind, I might need it. Certainly come the holidays I will. And why throw it away if I might need it? Because then I’ll just have to buy a box or bag to wrap it in and that’s just wasteful. Maybe it’s the poor kid in me. I dunno.

But because of this, our other cabinet, which we use for miscellany storage, had become my gift box and bag storage, along with the other random things you need to keep but have  no where to keep them. This cabinet had become insane. You couldn’t find anything in there. You couldn’t even use the gift bags because they were becoming bent and creased.

Obviously, this couldn’t wait. How could I focus on writing with this behemoth sitting so close to me, weighing on me, looming over me?

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I couldn’t. So I attacked it too. I pulled every box and bag out and realized I’d kept boxes of things in case I needed to put them back in their original packaging for… I don’t know. To return them five years later? In case we moved and these things needed their own special boxes? I’d also discovered this had become the place for bad gifts, like, we couldn’t throw them out, but where else to put them? BAH!

Everything came out. My hallway was full. And by the time I separated the good, the keeps, from the bad our recycling trash can (which is bigger than our regular trash can) was full and it was empty when I started. I’d gone full scorched earth in my determination to throw it all out and only keep a very select few boxes and only the gift bags that weren’t creased. Now, I can see and reach everything in here. Again, you don’t get what a difference this is from where it started. That Jenga game? Totally forgot we had that because you couldn’t find it in there before.

Phew. Okay. Now I could write, surely.

Of course, how anyone could be expected to write when their office is a shambles, I have no idea! I mean, what even happened here?

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Of course I know what happened. Christmas decorations haven’t made it out to the shed yet. Taxes had to be prepped. This is where the bills are paid. This is where accounting is done. This is where every damn piece of paper and receipt gets brought no matter what!

Eep. Sorry about that. Anyway. Obviously, I had to fix this before I could start working.

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Ahhhhh… that’s better. I can breathe now. Can’t you? Doesn’t that feel amazing and freeing? Thank goodness.


But first I do have to go the tax lady. So I need to get dressed and head out. But where the hell are the boots I wanted to wear? Why can’t I find anything in this house! Bah! I need to organize my closet!

Sounds like a trip to the Container Store is in order! And of course we have to get rid of the clutter that we don’t want or need anymore, which means a trip to good will.

Okay, great. Now that’s done and I don’t have to kill myself digging around anymore and I don’t have to worry about this anymore. I can focus on other things.

And, now that taxes are done, I don’t have to think about those anymore either, right? Fantastic!

Okay, so it’s time to write. Time to sit down with this new world and figure out the point of the story and plot it out so I’ll have a map to follow and finally get this thing going because I am ready and there’s nothing stopping me now.

No excuses. No distractions.


Hey, look! An Elfquest avatar maker!

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Kinda looks like me right?!

Right. Sounds like write.

Right. I’m supposed to be writing.



On Women, Strength and Competition

Last week on International Women’s Day, I was exposed to the most wonderful poet: Fleassy Malay from Melbourne, Australia, and her incredible poem, “Witches.” It’s actually not about witchcraft, but strong women. Please take a moment to watch it.

If you liked it, you can buy a print of the text on Etsy. Until March 18, 50% of the proceeds will be donated to The Global Women’s Project.

I seriously have a girl crush on Fleassy now and immediately followed her on Facebook. The other night she posted a Facebook Live to explain why she wrote the poem, which isn’t necessarily why you might think. Among other things, she said something like “we’re really good as women at calling each other out on our shit, but we don’t really have a system for celebrating one another.”

That really stuck with me. I’m a highly competitive person, so I naturally want to compare myself with others, and I’ll admit to getting pretty jealous when others achieve the things I dream about before I do. Oddly enough, my Twitter friend Summer posted something similar the other day:

I know we all do that to some extent, but I have a problem with it. I’ve always thought it was just a flaw in my personality, something I need to work on – which it is – but now I wonder how much is societal. From what age are we taught to compete with one another, especially with other females? Does it start when we are old enough to watch television or even to consume fairy tales where women (sometimes even mothers and step-sisters) compete over the same man? How and why does this bleed over into other parts of our life? From where does this mindset of scarcity come? It’s not like there is a limited number of men/success/book contracts/what-have-you for which we have to compete Hunger Games-style. Yet we do it. Every single day.

I see memes like this one all the time and I want to say, “Hell yes!” because they are true. But in my heart, I can’t. As a feminist, I’ve long been ashamed of myself for viewing other women first as my competition and second as my sisters. It’s weird, but when the topic is something I’m not competitive about, I’m ALL ABOUT the sisterhood and the congratulations. But throw in something I think I lack and it gets ugly, at least on the inside.

Getting back to Fleassy’s question, how do we create a system to help build up one another? Social media seems to both help and hinder this idea. It helps because we can signal boost each other, offer our well-wishes, etc. And that is a great start. But social media also allows us to see what is happening with others on a much more regular basis than we otherwise would. It shows us the external, polished veneers of other women’s lives, and when we compare ourselves to them, we feel bad, which takes us away from celebrating their triumph. Many people call it the Instagram effect. What we don’t see is the hard work and tears that go into that success or the other issues that the person might be dealing with. This accolade over which we are green with envy might be the only thing keeping that person from despair.

As evidenced by my personal reactions, these platitudes are so much easier to say than to live. I don’t have any easy answers to these questions. It is a change that needs to happen at the societal level, but like everything else, likely needs to begin at the personal level. Hopefully, if each time someone we know/love succeeds at something, we try our best to be genuinely happy for her, we will slowly change the world. Share her posts, lift a toast, and dance for joy with her. Even if our hearts hurt, we can transform that pain into determination to do more/better in our own lives, and that can only make us stronger. And as each one of us glows brighter, we will collectively burn until we’ve changed this mindset of scarcity and competition into one of collective appreciation and abundance. Or so I dream.

I know I’m going to try. And like the rest of my fellow “witches,” I won’t come quietly.

PS – Does anyone else think Fleassy looks like Cosima from Orphan Black?


Ode to ElfQuest

For those of you who follow me on Twitter (or anywhere, really) you’ve probably heard me gush about ElfQuest at some point or another. While I’m not quite a super-fan, Wendy and Richard Pini’s cult graphic novel series ElfQuest was my first fandom, and in some ways has been my most enduring. So when I realized that 2018 marked the 40th anniversary of the long-running series (just last week, in fact!) I knew I had to write a post about the impact it’s had on my life, and all the love I still carry for Cutter Kinseeker’s epic journey.

Created by Wendy and Richard Pini in the late ’70’s, the basic story goes like this:

Image belongs to the Pinis

Scattered across the primitive World of Two Moons, a race of telepathic elves struggle to survive and coexist. When the Wolfriders–a tribe of hunter-gatherer elves sharing a unique bond with wolves and led by a young chieftain named Cutter–are driven from their forest Holt by hostile humans, they set off to find a new home. But instead, they stumble upon a village of elves known as the Sun Folk, a peaceful, agrarian tribe who tell of the mythical High Ones, the powerful ancestors of all elves. Determined to reunite all the scattered elf tribes, Cutter sets off across the World of Two Moons in search of the legendary Palace of the High Ones.

I came across the series when I was very young–6 years old, maybe 7. My mom got the first volume out of the library for my teenaged brother, who took one look at the lush illustrations and fantastical setting and pronounced it “girly stuff.” Even though I couldn’t read or comprehend much of the dialogue, I spent hours looking at the art and piecing together the story. Later, I obsessively read and reread the graphic novels. My paperback copies of the Original Quest became tattered from over-use, the bindings breaking and the pages falling out. And when I wasn’t reading ElfQuest, I was playing ElfQuest. My younger siblings and I used to stick butter knives in our belts and spend hours climbing trees, pretending to be Wolfriders.

So what makes the series so great? I’m so glad you asked! *clears throat* *pats seat*

Image belongs to the Pinis

First of all, the artwork is incredible. Sometimes delicate and fey, other times brutal and blood-soaked, Wendy Pini’s art is always entrancing. It’s not perfect, of course–the first volume starts out a little rocky art-wise (hey, that’s what first books are for!) and in the latter volumes it took on some questionable ’80’s aesthetic flair, but that just means it’s never static. Fluid but not fickle, the artwork evolves with the elves’ epic journey and reflects the changes the characters themselves undergo.

Moreover, ElfQuest was diverse before it was cool. The series features an incredibly racially varied cast of male, female and arguably non-binary characters, and even though the graphic novels nominally follow Cutter, a male elf chieftain, there is an undeniable thread of feminism threading through the story. Although each of the elf tribes has different social mores, for the most part the female elves are free to be whomever they choose and do whatever they choose. Some are fierce warriors, like Go-Back chief Kahvi, or agile hunters, like Nightfall. Others are peaceful spiritualists, like ancient Savah, or gentle healers, like powerful and beautiful Leetah. They are both vivacious lovers and dedicated mothers; female sexuality is considered a natural and beautiful part of elfin life, never something to be ashamed of.

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Image belongs to the Pinis

And finally, ElfQuest explores perhaps its most powerful theme, and one that is so very important in this day and age: racial prejudice and the arbitrary boundaries separating otherwise similar groups. When the elves first arrive on the World of Two Moons, they are labeled as demons by the native humans and savagely persecuted. Due to this treatment, elves deeply mistrust and hate humans. Similarly, a race of earth-dwelling trolls resent the elves for what they see as elitist and arrogant attitudes. But throughout the series the Pinis show us that the things that bind these disparate races as well as the divisions within the races are greater than the things separating them. And ultimately, the greatest evil and threat to the elves arises from within their own ranks, in the form of the corrupting influence of the wicked Winnowill.

The final volume of the Final Quest comes out this year to mark the end of an incredible 40 year journey! Will you be reading the end to Cutter’s quest? I know I will.

Where is the line, exactly?

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So there’s a storm brewing in the world of [redacted] romance. One of the biggest authors in the genre {name withheld because drama} has been accused of catfishing – of creating an on-line persona that is substantially different than who they really are. While the last thing I need to do is throw myself into the middle of that pigpile, I think there are higher-level issues that are worth considering.

Issues around trust, and faith, and how much authors owe their readers.

I write under a pen name, because in real life, I’m a nurse practitioner (just like it says in my bio) and I don’t want anyone googling Amy D-C NNP to have to wade through a bunch of hits about vampire romance. I have two kids, a husband, and three ferrets, just like it says in my bio. (Well, the ferrets are technically my daughter’s, but…)

All that aside, I’m conscious of where I’m posting what. There are private Facebook pages where I’m comfortable identifying my kids by name, and others where I’m not. If we’re friends on Facebook, you’ve likely seen me tag my kids or husband in posts, or share stuff that names them, but I try to limit that kind of thing. I feel like people who are Facebook friends with Liv Rancourt get the real me, but that’s by my choice, and it’s within my comfort zone.

But what if, say, I was writing in a subgenre where it could make a financial difference if readers thought I was a man? Or anything besides a cis-het, married, middle-aged, woman?

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And what if there were other authors supporting me, vouching for me on social media, and telling readers I really was a [insert imaginary persona here]?

That would totally suck, and if I was found out, it could quite possibly ruin my writing career. (And I’d probably deserve for it to be ruined.)

Needless to say, the ongoing potential-catfishing situation has generated a whole lot of conversation. In the midst of a fairly heated enthusiastic thread, my friend Sadie framed the issue this way…

I find it interesting how much of this thread is actually about the generalities of trusting people to be who they say they are and internet negotiations of identity, not just about whether ________ is _______ or not. I think that’s part of why this situation seems to be such an inferno. Partly because there is someone willing to dig and put ‘facts’ out there for others to consider, partly because a lot of people seem willing to put a lot of emotion into it. But also partly because it hits at an insecurity in a lot of us. We all know we take chances when we trust someone to be who they say they are and scenarios like this one force us to consider where we’d fall if we found we were being duped.

Back in the day – like five years ago – most authors didn’t spend a lot of time on-line. (Okay, maybe ten years ago. Or fifteen. Something.) Regardless of the time-frame, there didn’t use to be the same demand to have a social media presence. If an author met readers at cons or book signings, it was a bonus. They exchanged names, and shook hands, and the author signed their book and everyone went home happy.

If an author was really a middle-aged, cis-het, married, woman she could tell everyone she was a twenty-something, single, ex-Marine and no one would be wiser. She might be found out – if, say, she got big enough that her agent demanded she make public appearances – but the unveiling of her real identity wouldn’t be as personally devastating to her readers.

Unless, you know, she let those readers raise money for her to treat her imaginary war injuries that she never sustained while fighting a fictitious war.

Or she played the James Frey card and faked her memoir and got called out by Oprah on national television.

There’s a line somewhere between the names on an author’s credit cards or birth certificates and the person they present in their pen names and on Facebook fan pages and Livejournals and Twitter and whatever other social media platform you’re into. Sometimes fans lose sight of that line, but sometimes authors do, too. Like Sadie said above, it’s an issue of trust.

Good writers open themselves wide, recording frank emotion on the page, but their honesty doesn’t give their readers to right to know how they think and feel 24/7. On the other hand, creating a safety net for their “real life” doesn’t give authors the right to fake the whole caboodle. I have no idea how this current kerfufle is going to shake out, but I recognize that the conversation is a necessary part of defining where that line is.

Regarding what’s expected of authors, the rules may have changed, but you know, the rules we learned in kindergarten will likely still apply.

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Cover and Title Reveal!

When I went to check the schedule to see who was about to drop the  ball and miss their posting date I realized, as you can probably guess, it was me. Yup. Go team leader!


But that’s okay. I had no idea what to post for a second and thought I was going to continue my series of “I’ve run out of creative juices, but I’m still trying!” posts, which I know, by post three, are just riveting.


And then I remembered! This is the week I’m revealing the title and cover of my forthcoming YA apocalyptic novel! Huzzah! I have something to post! Go team leader!


If you’re familiar with my Ash & Ruin Trilogy, this book is a spin off of that world. Well, it’s a spin off of a spin off. My first spin off (say spin off again), was Dandelions, a novel about Gwen, a young teen orphaned by the plague, waiting for her sister, Maggie, to make it home at the end of the world. While I was writing that book the character Maggie became more and more interesting to me. Gwen barely recognizes the person her sister has become, so I wondered what happened to her to change her so drastically.

And thus, Maggie’s first book was born. This first book in Maggie’s tale gives us a glimpse into the horror and panic she’s facing trying to get home as the world is falling apart around her. I had thought this story would be a duet, but there’s a chance it might be a trilogy too. I’m not sure yet. Yay adventure!

But I do have the title and cover ready. Pre-order date to be announced soon. Anyway, I hope you guys dig it!


Some Good News in a Dark Time

I had been thinking of a few other topics for this blog post but when I got home last night and learned about the latest school shooting, everything else went out of my brain. (Sidenote: I am so glad I finished school before all of this started happening and that I’m not having children. I don’t know how parents and kids today deal with all of this.) I couldn’t think of a thing that seemed to matter in light of the state of our country right now.

Then this morning, I woke up and realized that what we need right now (besides action, rather than thoughts and prayers) is good news. So, I’m going to share my big news today. I’m in no way saying it is as important as these other issues, but it’s a bright spot at least.

My book, Daughter of Destiny, has won the North Street Book Prize!

It is one of only three winners: nonfiction/memoir, general fiction and YA. They put it in the YA category. It’s not a YA book, but given Guinevere’s age (11-15) and the fact that it is the “coming of age” part of her story, I can see why it landed there. But, I don’t care what you call it, as long as you like it, and the judges obviously did. Here are a few quotes from the official critique:

“Nicole Evelina’s Young Adult novel Daughter of Destiny is a lyrical, imagistic retelling of the Arthurian legend…The writer’s skill in creating a lushly imagistic fantasy world was a major reason for her first place award. Nicole Evelina has suceeded in creating a YA novel that is a pleasure for adults as well as teenagers to read. Although I am not normally a reader of fantasy fiction, I loved being immersed in the misty, magical land of Avalon.”

Here’s the whole critique, in case you are interested. And here’s the official press release.

This huge for me, as big of a deal as my two Book of Year designations. I can’t begin to tell you how thrilled I am that my debut novel continues to receive accolades more than two years after it was published.

In light of this win, I have point out one irony. The very first rejection Daughter of Destiny received was from an agent (who shall remain nameless) who said it “read like a bad YA novel.” I kid you not. And here it won in the YA category. 🙂 Just goes to show that you shouldn’t listen to the nay-sayers!

AMBER & DUSK Cover Reveal!

Gentle readers, the day has finally come! After nearly three years of plotting, drafting, rewriting, revising, rewriting, rewriting, oh and a little more rewriting, AMBER & DUSK is finally turning into a real book! With just about nine months to go until release, I wanted to share the official (and, if I may say, glorious) cover with the world! Scroll down to enjoy a short synopsis of the novel as well as an exclusive excerpt and, of course, the final cover!


Sylvie has always known she deserves more. Out in the permanent twilight of the Dusklands, her guardians called her power to create illusions a curse. But Sylvie knows it promises her a place in Coeur d’Or, the palais of the Amber Empress and her highborn legacies.

So Sylvie sets off toward the Amber City, a glittering jewel under a sun that never sets, to take what is hers.

But her hope for a better life is quickly dimmed. The empress invites her in only as part of a wicked wager among her powerful courtiers. Sylvie must assume a new name, Mirage, and begin to navigate secretive social circles and deadly games of intrigue in order to claim her spot. Soon it becomes apparent that nothing is as it appears and no one, including her cruel yet captivating sponsor, Sunder, will answer her questions. As Mirage strives to assume what should be her rightful place, she’ll have to consider whether it is worth the price she must pay.

A vivid, extraordinary YA debut.


I wasn’t highborn. Or if I was, whoever sired me disowned me, dumping me in the shadows at the edge of the world like I was worthless. The thought stoked the ember of rage burning always within me, a bright kernel hard and polished as a ruby.

When I opened my hands illusions spilled out, beautiful and terrible and impossible to control.

Trees of kembric, draped in garlands of jewels.

Bouquets of skyflowers.

Bracelets of stars.

I wasn’t worthless. I wasn’t an aberration, a freak, a monster. I was a legacy.

I ran away from the Temple of the Scion because I knew I deserved better than merely being tolerated. Much as I’d tried to follow in their footsteps when I was young, I had never belonged with the Sisters, and they had certainly never loved me. They had taught me many things: that to laugh too loudly in the presence of the Scion was a sin, and that the bruises and scrapes inflicted by the ignorant village kids were my own fault, and that dreaming of anything outside the dank walls of the temple was too dangerous to be allowed.

They had taught me that being alive was not the same thing as living.

They had tried to stop me from leaving, when I finally fled. They had burned the Imperial Insignia and tried to lock me in my room, panic churning their studied tranquility into chaos. But I’d escaped. Jagged satisfaction tinged with guilt burned through me when I remembered how I’d repaid a lifetime of their indifference.

But I deserved the chance to find where I belonged. To find a world where my gift — my legacy — did not frighten superstitious Sisters or enrage cruel children. To find a world forged in sunlight and honed on dreams, as perilous and intoxicating as the colors spilling jewel-bright from my fingertips.


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