The Oddity of the Inner Life of the Author: Dark and Cozy
My fantasy writing not only allows me to bring the two sides of myself together, but it also allows me to bring men and women back together, united, dependent, and helping each other. I write dark fantasy. I will always write dark fantasy. I have read and studied too many dark things for darkness not to come out. If you let me have my head, people are going to die, be tortured, and suffer. But I will always root my characters in a home, and I will always have a woman at the heart of that home calmly healing, tending, and making things cozy. Always. I will never do one without the other because, from Tolkien to Firefly to Stargate: Atlantis, the stories I love never have adventures without having a rooted hearth and a good hearth-keeper to tend it. The home at their back makes them stronger.
The Oddity of the Inner Life of the Author: Post-Publishing Discoveries
See, my muse is like a rather messy apothecary with my current WIPs simmering in cauldrons clustered together in the corner. The Woven Throne (possible title) is the front and center cauldron, merrily bubbling away and hopefully getting closer for my co-author to start taste-testing. Nearby is my HearthKeeper cauldron, filled with the studies of home and homemaking. I dip regularly into this cauldron. Hanging from rafters, stuffed in mislabeled drawers, filling shelves of glass jars, going cold in forgotten mugs, poking out of vases, and collected in bowls are all the things I love: military history, family, nature, Tolkien, Lewis, theology, coffee, trees, chickens, children, warriors, fairy tales, Vikings, cowboys, home, and more. Because this inner apothecary is so unorganized, things tumble into my cauldrons that I didn’t necessarily intend or even notice. My homemaking boils over into The Woven Throne, making a cottage a cozy respite. A bit of military history drops into my HearthKeeping cauldron and changes the flavor of my group. (Sorry, ladies! Yes, I’m talking about Navy SEALS again.) Something I don’t even remember knowing I know gets stirred in until it’s perfectly blended. The soups and tonics that pour forth from this delightful chaos are impossible to explain or repeat.