In 2019, I began work on my novel Her. Like most of my ideas, it started as an image: a mother holding her young daughter, looking out over a crumbling road as a weary sun set on a sickened, dying world. I didn’t know then—how could anyone?
When Jesus walked into the nuthouse, I knew things would get interesting. Our savior wore a muddy gray t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans my mother would never allow past her seasonal welcome mat, and a pair of really rad, orange converse.
Published on Reflex Press: Eyes snap open, stirred by a silent alarm. She peels stiff covers from her frigid skin, chilled by a thermostat set to 64 degrees, even in winter. Gray-socked feet hit the stained carpet, and she wiggles her toes. They’re painted a forbidden red.
Most summers, I don’t post my reading list. That’s because it’s unabashedly romance novels and sexy crime thrillers. You know, the ones where the detective isn’t wearing a shirt and there’s a woman in a long red dress fleeing from a menacing shadow?
Published on Medium: Long-term love is the non-judgmental caring and support that lingers until you are healed. After our short attention spans have moved on, long-term love steps up without a timeline for grief and says, “I am here for you until you don’t need my help anymore.”
Published on Medium: Yesterday, I read a news update from my state’s governor. He’s making changes: changes to how we address the pandemic, changes to how we train our police, changes to how we respond to protests. I think these are needed changes because the status quo isn’t working.
It feels like rain. It looks like rain. But the free weather app on my phone says it isn’t going to rain. Too bad. I could have used some raindrop inspiration.
This week I’m doing my first ever reprint submission. One of my earliest (and favorite) short stories is For I Have Sinned.
Good morning book dragons! I slept like shit. Weird aliens kept invading my dreams and turning my house all upside down and purple. I gotta stop eating chocolate right before bed.
Published on Medium: After a rough day, a meltdown, or a tantrum over a splattered scoop of strawberry ice cream, I take my daughter’s hands and remind her that she has an amazing superpower: at any moment, she can choose to change.
There’s no way around this: you’re a bad writer, but that’s okay because I’m a bad writer too. A bad writer is not the same as an untalented writer. Below are five tips I gave a friend of mine the other night at 2 am (it’s always 2 am).
Mistress of suspense, Rachael Tamayo, is back with another hair-raising thriller. Carnal Knowledge a riveting, heart-pounding, double-check-your-locks-and-close-your-curtains novel about a killer with an unquenchable lust for blood.