Some Updates on Writing, Publishing … Life

I’m sorry for the lame post today. Honestly, I’ve been so busy as a Municipal Liaison (ML) for NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. Writing has kept me busy since the last post. I’m 60,000 words into my latest manuscript, which is book #4 of The Sound Series: The Kylie Bell Chronicles. I’m actually quite pleased with how the first draft is turning out (despite my meticulous planning and plotting for this book). I am in need of alpha readers for the second book in the series, titled The Sound of Color and Light, and if you’d be interested in alpha reading for me, please shoot me an email at or message me on Twitter (username @AllisonWwrites). I’ve already written a third book in the series, but as of right now, it’s just a first draft and needs major editing.

I’m toying with the idea of rereleasing The Days Without You under my real name, since it’s still published under my old pseudonym, Skylar Wilson. But this time, I want to rework it for Kindle Vella, which is for serials. Not quite 100% sold on the idea, though. So … yeah.

Thanksgiving is this coming week. My sister usually hosts it, mainly because she’s the one with kids and has a house big enough to seat everyone. There are ten of us total, including my parents, my husband and myself, and my sister’s in-laws. This year we’re doing a sort-of potluck. Sister is making most of the main dishes; I’m bringing homemade mashed potatoes; Mom’s bringing her homemade sweet potatoes with a brown sugar glaze, and sister’s in-laws are bringing a pie.

I’m picking back up with The Lithium Writer podcast. Just recorded a new episode this morning with my rendition of the prologue from The Sound of Snap Dragons. Trust me; I’m not a voice over artist. I hate my own voice. I do have another author interview that I’ll be recording tomorrow with author Christina Vourcos.

As far as my editing services go, they are on hold right now. I’m taking some classes in the editing field, as I’d like to step up my game, so to speak.

I finally had to find a primary care doctor. I went well over a year with never having to use my albuterol inhaler, and now, suddenly, I’m using it almost everyday, which is really annoying and sucky.

Well, that’s it for me! Sorry for the lack of posts lately; writing has consumed my time.

The Hyphen, The En Dash, and The Em Dash

I have had a lot of people tell me they don’t know the difference between a hyphen, an en dash, and an em dash, so here’s my first post in a while. (And I apologize for not posting lately. I’ve been so focused on writing my books and freelancing that I’ve barely had time to tend to my blog and my podcast.) And yes, there are distinct differences in the usage of these three dashes, and they are not to be used interchangeably. After telling me I singlehandedly taught him how to use an em dash, I told someone at the company I freelance for, “I have a love for the em dash the way some writers swoon over the Oxford comma.” And don’t get me wrong—I’m a sucker for the Oxford comma—but I love my em dashes.

In short, a hyphen (-) is used to join words or parts of a word. For example: father-in-law. The hyphen is the shortest of the dashes.

The en dash (–) is the second shortest dash, and it is used to show ranges of numbers or as a “super” hyphen in words that are not easily hyphenated. To type an en dash on a Mac, hold down the Option button and hit the hyphen button. If you’re on a PC, hold down the Alt button and type 0150 on your numeric keypad.

The em dash (—) is used to connect thoughts or show a pause in thought. It’s a highly versatile dash, and you’ll see it a lot in fiction. Think of it as stronger than a comma, but not as strong as a period or semicolon. (“She was wearing a blouse—the blue one that I loved on her—and she tugged at the hem while inspecting her reflection in the mirror.”) To type an em dash on a Mac, hold down Option, Shift, and press the hyphen key. If you’re on a PC, hold down Alt while typing 0151 on a numeric keypad.

The hyphen and the en dash are fairly straightforward, but there tends to be some confusion over how to properly utilize the em dash in fiction.

In Chicago Manual of Style, the em dash has no spaces around it. There is, however, some confusion over how to properly use em dashes around dialogue. Here are a couple of examples to show you how it’s done:

Example 1 (Showing someone’s speech as being interrupted by another speaker)

“No, you don’t understand. I—”
“I understand perfectly,” she snapped, her face flushed. “You just want to sleep with other women.”

Example 2 (Showing action within dialogue)

“It’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s perfectly”—he wiped a hand over his face, which was damp with sweat—”fine. All fine.”

In Example 2, notice that the action in between the dialogue is not capitalized or punctuated in any way other than the em dashes. Note that if you have a straight dialogue tag in between your dialogue, it’s fine to use commas. Example:

“That’s not,” she said, “what we agreed on.”

I apologize for the short post, but I’m gearing up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), so if anyone wants to be buddies on, feel free to add me (AlliWill). Also, just a reminder that my latest release, The Sound of Snap Dragons (Book 1 in The Sound Series: The Kylie Bell Chronicles), is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble!

The Sound of Snap Dragons: Chapter 1: Snap Dragon

The Sound of Snap Dragons, Book 1 in The Kylie Bell Chronicles, is now available for pre-order on Amazon! It is also available for pre-order at Barnes & Noble for Nook, and Apple Books for only $4.99. The Sound of Snap Dragons will be released on October 6th.

For a little teaser again, here is Chapter One: Snap Dragon!

Lingering thoughts were no strangers to Kylie. Sometimes, there were so many things on her mind, she couldn’t put a name to them all. It was all sometimes just a scrambled mess. And it didn’t matter where she was—out and about, at home, or at her job as a so-called journalist. Work was a joke. It was just a shitty gossip magazine, where she was assigned shit stories about celebrities and gossip. It was kind of ironic, really, considering her boyfriend was a celebrity.

But at home, at least she was comfortable. Home was located on the Upper West Side, in a sweet little loft that she had spruced up with some furnishings, some paint on the walls, and some small knickknacks here and there. When it had been just Adam living here, he had left it looking plain as could be.

No matter, she thought. Now that it was getting to be early October again, she had even more on her mind, and there was only one thing she could think about. Especially this year. It was a quiet Monday evening. Maybe it was a Monday to celebrate. She was home from the job she loathed, but she was happy, as she had been offered a position at The New York Star, a major national paper, and she had given her shit job a week notice. She knew, normally, it should be two weeks, but the Star wanted her to start as soon as possible, and she compromised.

Adam’s hand warmed her knee as they settled into the squashy sofa, watching the evening news.

“You sure you don’t want to celebrate your birthday this year?” he asked.

If Kylie had to describe him and his overall looks in one word, it would be youthful. His face was slightly rounded, and a modest boyishness softened the hard lines of his jaw. There existed a certain playfulness in the way his dark eyes brightened, a light twinkle as if he were always up to something. That playfulness was one of the reasons she fell in love with him, back when they both lived down south, in Charleston, South Carolina.

Back to his question. Chewing her lip, she avoided his gaze. “Yes, I’m absolutely certain I don’t want to celebrate my birthday, especially this year,” she said.

“Why?” He frowned, his entire forehead wrinkling.

“Just…” She heaved a sigh and swiped a long lock of sandy blond hair behind her ear as she turned her gaze to her knees. “Because I don’t really want to get into it.”

His eyes were intent. She dared a glance at him, and there was a hint of irritation in the way his eyes narrowed.

“Please, Kylie, when you came to live with me here, you promised you’d be more open with me. But you’re not. At all. You can tell me.” His hand rubbed her thigh.

“I don’t know, Adam. I really just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Kylie, please. I’m begging you to please open up to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She rose to her feet and stepped around the cherry coffee table to stand beneath the rounded archway that led into the kitchen. “It’s just not something I can explain to you right now. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know why she hated her birthdays. She just couldn’t voice it out loud. Every year since she was sixteen, the same slew of emotions attacked her. Where was her father? Why hadn’t they been able to retrieve his body?

“Fine,” Adam conceded. “Will you at least come out with me this weekend? Max is throwing that party—well, the record label, really—at that hotel you like. Lacey will be there with Benny, and Shawn’s new girlfriend will probably be there, too—I think her name is Amanda.”

“Amelia,” she corrected.

“All right, so correct me when I’m wrong.”

“Sorry.” Her lips puckered. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

He offered the tiniest of smiles, and that bright twinkle lit up his eyes. “I’m joking.”


“It’s fine.” He stood and navigated his way around the table, reaching for her hands and tugging them from the pockets of her slacks. “So, I take that as a yes, you will come out to the party with me on Saturday? You never come to these things, and I hate going without you.” His fingers released her hands, instead finding the belt loops at the hem of her pants, pulling her against him.

“All right, fine. I’ll go with you, but we’re not mentioning my birthday, deal? We can celebrate my new job, though.” She grinned at just the thought of finally writing stories that weren’t about who slept with who.

He smiled a genuine smile now, his entire face lighting up. Dimples appeared in his cheeks before he leaned down to kiss her. “Deal. Now, about this job.”

“What about it?” Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his.

“I’m just a little worried.” One hand swiped away a lock of sandy hair that was attempting to escape her ponytail, brushing it behind her ear with a feathery touch. His fingers were warm on her arms as they gently kneaded the muscle. “I’m worried you’ll get into nasty stuff with this job, reporting on crimes and stuff like that. Like, what if you have to get involved with murderers and people like that?”

“That’s part of the job,” she said gently.

“I know.”

“Then, why are you so worried?” A small laugh escaped her lips.

He leaned down to kiss her swiftly. “Fuck it, I don’t really know. Just be careful, okay?”


She wanted to groan under her breath as her eyes darted about the open room. It was packed with people bustling about, women in dresses of a rainbow of colors, men in pristinely pressed suits. Jazzy music played from the grand piano in the far corner, the pianist’s fingers flowing expertly across the keys. Sometimes, she thought, it was fun, getting to dress up go to posh parties with Adam. The frequency of these things came in waves, though, in time with his need to be away with the band, whether it was for a tour or just doing promotional events. Again, sometimes it was fun, when she didn’t feel like shit, at least. Her heart was in her stomach at the moment, as she couldn’t stop thinking about her father, but she pushed aside the wish that she could just fade into nothingness. Standing resolute at Adam’s side, she reached for his hand, her other holding up a mojito to her lips.

“Seems like the album is going to be great,” she said in an overly loud tone, mostly to show that she had been paying attention to whatever it was that Max had been saying. Her drink bubbled on her tongue as she took a long sip.

Adam smiled and squeezed her fingers in an affectionate way.

“I’m glad you got to hear it,” he said. “I think it’s a good one. Better than our last one, definitely.” His hand moved to her lower back. A waiter carrying a large silver tray of hors d’oeuvres passed by, and Adam reached for one, popping it into his mouth. His jaw worked slowly, and he seemed to be thinking deeply—his forehead creased, his lips tightened into a slight pucker, and his eyes narrowed. “You still sure you want to take this journalist job?” he asked through a mouthful.

“Yes.” There was a certain note of defiance in the single word. They had already discussed this! Nor was she interested in talking about it in public. “I’m absolutely positive. This is what I want to do,” she snipped. “Crime journalism. It’s what I went to school for.” She took another long sip. Perhaps alcohol was her only consolation.

“I know it is, and I support you.” There was a glint of annoyance in the dark brown of his eyes that plainly said, We’ve been together long enough that you don’t have to remind me. Leaning toward her, he murmured, “Why really didn’t you want to come out tonight?”

Just as Kylie opened her mouth to reply, Oliver, the band’s bassist, stepped up to them, followed by Benny and Shawn, guitarist and drummer respectively. Oliver stumbled slightly and clapped Kylie on the shoulder, holding up his bottle of beer from the bar. His words slurred as he spoke, “Hey, just wanted to say happy birthday! Big two-six, eh?” He turned to Max, the band’s manager, trading hands with his bottle, and roughly slapped him on the back. “And, Max! If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be where we are today.” He grinned and slugged his beer, taking a long drink.

“Where’s, uh, Michelle? I thought you were bringing her tonight,” offered Adam casually, glancing at Kylie with a knowing look. She grimaced.

There proceeded an uncomfortable silence. Shawn chugged his glass of water, while Benny cleared his throat and glanced at his wife, smiling awkwardly. Kylie looked down at the black flats on her feet.

“Welp, turns out that bitch was only in it for the money,” spat Oliver, tipping back his bottle. “So, fuck her,” he muttered.

At that, he stumbled away.

“Well, then,” said Max, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

His hand still on her back, Adam glanced at Kylie. “So, why—”

“Do we have to discuss it right now?” she begged in a low tone. “I never agreed to celebrate my birthday tonight. I’ll tell you when we’re home.”

“All right, fine.”

A server in black and white uniform approached her, holding a tray that balanced a reddish drink garnished with pink snap dragons—she recognized them immediately—and handed it to her. “From someone at the bar,” he said in a cordial way before turning on his heel and walking away.

“Who’s sending you drinks?” asked Adam, rubbing his chin full of dark stubble.

Kylie held up the highball glass to study the blossoms, then gently sniffed the rim. “Smells like … apple schnapps and something cherry?”

“And? Aren’t you curious about who sent you a drink?”

She shook her head in confusion. “My dad used to give me these flowers every year for my birthday before he died. He knew they were my favorite. Always.” She dared a small sip. She had been right about the cherry syrup. Max eyed her with a concerned gaze, his brows furrowed, his lowball glass of vodka tonic at his lips. She was curious, though, about who sent her a drink garnished with snap dragons. Who could possibly know that these were her favorite?

“I’m going up to the bar,” she announced, downing the drink and placing both of her glasses on a passing waitress’ tray. 

Adam grabbed her arm, stopping her mid-turn.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t know; I just don’t have a good feeling. Who randomly sends you a drink with your favorite flower?” He studied her with wide eyes, his lips unsmiling.

“That’s why I’m going to see who sent it. I’ll be right back.” She yanked her arm from his fingers, not casting a glare, and navigated her way through the clusters of partygoers.

The oak bar was backed by a wall of liquors and syrups, lined with a flickering blue rope light along the bottom. A few stools were occupied, but no faces seemed familiar. She climbed onto an empty seat, leaning her elbows against the stained surface that was filled with divots and knots.

“What can I get you?” asked the bartender, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Someone sent me a drink garnished with snap dragons—apple schnapps and cherry syrup or something like that—from here at the bar. Do you know who sent it? I’ve been across the room.”

“Couldn’t tell ya. That’s a specialty drink, a Snap Dragon, so we make a lot of ‘em.” He shrugged.

“But did anyone send one to a Kylie Lewis? I’m here with Adam Bell.”


“Well, thanks.” For nothing, she thought, muttering irritably as she slid down from the stool.

Then, she saw him.

Standing by the exit door was a man with sandy hair peppered with gray. Slightly crooked nose. Small glasses were perched on his nose, slipping down as he looked at his phone in his hand.

Could it be? Could it really be her father? She thought desperately. Her breath hitched in her chest, her body electrified all the way to her fingertips. Then, doubt began to creep in. Of course, it couldn’t be him. He died ten years ago.

Still, she called out, “Dad?”

Taking a step towards the man, she was suddenly cut off by a waitress carrying a large tray of drinks, and they crashed into one another. Cold wetness suddenly filled her cleavage, soaking into her dress, running down her legs and leaking into her shoes as the aluminum tray clattered onto the floor. Kylie stumbled back, her lips parted, and all she could manage to do was stand there with her hands in the air.

“Oh, gosh! I’m so sorry!” cried the waitress. “Let me get a towel for you!”

The liquid was beginning to seep into Kylie’s underwear as the waitress buzzed to the bar and returned several seconds later with several dishrags.

“Thanks,” Kylie muttered, wiping herself off the best she could. Her skin was still sticky, and she grunted in frustration, tossing the towels onto the bar. When she looked back for the man who resembled her father, she found only an empty exit door. The man was gone. With a quick shake of her head, she wove her way back to Adam, who was deep in discussion about the band’s new album with some big-name executive whose name she couldn’t remember. 

“Excuse me,” Adam said to the executive, turning to Kylie. His eyes roved her dress and its obvious wetness. “What happened to you?”

“Waitress spilled her tray on me,” she muttered. “Bartender had no clue who sent the drink.”

“Still seems weird.” Yet he shrugged and returned to talking music production with big-name.

Kylie zoned out, her mind on the man at the exit door. For a second, for one whole second, she was sure it had been her dad, yet she lost him all over again. A certain heat burned in her eyes, that familiar lump rising in her throat. No, no, nonot here, she thought, swallowing hard. It couldn’t be her father. There was no way. Eli Parker, his old partner, had seen him get shot, watched his body fall over the railing and into the harbor. Why would Parker lie about something like that? Besides, she scolded herself, it was more likely that some weirdo fanatic of the band had sent her a drink. One Night Young had grown in popularity in the last two years, thanks to their first tour. Diehard fans even recognized Kylie when she was out and about with Adam, all courtesy of those stupid gossip magazines.

She shifted from foot to foot, her wet dress stuck to her skin, her shoes squishing under her weight. She leaned towards Adam and whispered, “Can we go?”

“What’s wrong?”

Giving an exasperated sigh, she said, “Is it not obvious? My dress is soaked, and I seriously need to take a shower.”

He sighed also and closed his eyes. “All right. Let me just let the guys know we’re leaving.”


The taxi ride back to the Upper West Side seemed to take forever, as they kept getting stuck in traffic. (Not to mention they were on the polar opposite end of Manhattan.) But even with the aggravation of the taxi, Kylie felt relief from being out of the crowds of people. Her heart let up, just a bit, and the numbness in her chest wasn’t so overpowering. Adam continually glanced at her with an expectant gaze, yet she still didn’t have the heart to explain.

Inside the front door to the loft, she slipped off her jacket—the only dry piece of clothing on her body—and hung it on a hook by the door. Her feet warmed up the moment she kicked off her wet flats and padded wetly to the bedroom. Adam followed her, ready to bombard her with questions.

“Okay, you gotta give me some answers. What’s wrong with you lately? Why don’t you want to celebrate your birthday? It seems like you don’t like celebrating it any year, for that matter. I’ve always accepted it in the past, but you seem even more against it this year—”

“My dad.” She paused, peeling off her dress from her damp skin, letting it fall to the floor. Even her bra squished in a damp sort of way as she reached behind her back to unclasp it. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

His eyes remained intense for a moment before softening. “Okay. That I can understand. And how about the way you’ve been acting lately? It’s like you’ve been different the past couple of weeks.”

He slumped onto the edge of the bed, the pale quilt wrinkling around him, yet his eyes never left her.

She shook her head, reaching up to pull the pins out from the tight bun her hair had been tied up in, and looked down at the floor. Footprints were worn into the beige carpet, leaving beaten-down trails around the bed.

“I don’t really know,” she answered. “It’s like I’ve been feeling off inside my head. More depressed and numb, kind of, I guess. Kind of like high school all over again, when my dad died and I got really depressed. When I stopped talking to Cat and just shut everyone out.”

Adam’s lips parted, his jaw slackened, and his eyes grew wide in a gentle way. Standing, he reached for her hands, as she stood there in just her drink-soaked underwear, yet he didn’t seem to notice.

“Kylie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were feeling this way. Maybe you should wait on the new job.”

“No, I want to start my new job on Monday.”

He studied her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why do you think you’ve been feeling this way?

She shrugged one shoulder. “Probably because this is the tenth anniversary of my dad’s death. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Maybe you should see a therapist.”

“No. No therapists. I’ll be fine.”

Looking up at him, she squeezed his fingers before pulling away. She closed her eyes before looking down at the carpet. Why did she feel so ashamed to say her thoughts out loud? “When I went up to the bar—well, I know I said the bartender didn’t have any clue who sent me that drink—but I saw someone…”


“I saw a man who looked like my father. I know it’s crazy, and I know it wasn’t him, but it just looked so much like him.”

“But your dad is—”

“Dead, I know,” she interrupted quickly. “But seeing that guy just brought back so many memories. It was like losing him all over again.”

Adam reached for her hands again, and his voice was soft yet somehow reprimanding. “It’s that time of year, Kylie. I think you saw your dad because you wanted to see him.”

“Do you know how many times I went down to the Battery in Charleston after he disappeared? His partner said he saw him get shot, and supposedly he fell over the railing and into the harbor. I went down there at least three times a week, searching for answers, hoping to find … anything, really. I was so lost without my dad. He was the one I always went to when I had problems; he used to take me surfing at The Washout from the time I was six. So, just for a split second, I hoped. For one millisecond, I hoped I had my dad back, that he had magically reappeared in my life. Do you realize how paralyzing hope can be?”

She realized she was crying, with tears pouring down her face. They tasted salty on her lips. She hiccoughed.

Without a word, Adam pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much you were hurting because of your dad.”

“Every year, right around this time, it’s just hard. I feel like if they had found his body, I’d have some kind of closure.” Not to say that sometimes she secretly, deep down in the very bottom of her heart, hoped he was alive, living somewhere.

That was something she’d keep to herself.

The Sound of Snap Dragons

I’m thrilled to announce my upcoming novel, The Sound of Snap Dragons, will be released on October 6, 2022. I have worked quite hard this past year on this novel, and I think it’s finally ready. To celebrate, I will be posting the first three chapters (including the Prologue) for your enjoyment!

The cover:

Today’s sneak peek:


Could math class be any more boring? She didn’t think so. Not to mention it was near the end of her day when she was most looking forward to going home. Home meant she’d most likely get to see her father, assuming he wasn’t working late on a case, and they could plan another outing to Folly Beach, to the Washout, where they liked to surf. But, forcing herself to focus, she sat up straight. The teacher only droned on about whatever.

Her attention turned to the far window, where there was a pleasant view of the trees outside. Their leaves were already turning a crisp, burnt orange. Not fully orange and red, no, but just beginning to turn that beautiful color that she loved so much this time of year. It made her glad to have been born in October, and her sixteenth birthday was just two days ago. She and Cat, her best friend, had a great time celebrating her birthday; they went to Kaminsky’s on Market Street for a cappuccino and a slice of cheesecake each. 

Her book lay open on the edge of her desk, the pages open to a lesson on trigonometry—not that she understood any of it.

A small ball of crumpled paper smacked her cheek, startling her, and landed on her textbook. Cat was throwing her a sly grin from the next row over, and it was a grin Kylie knew well. Picking it up, she smoothed out the torn paper to read a scrawled line in Cat’s scribbled handwriting.

Party tonight at Tommy D’s house—you in? Pretty sure Chris will be there.

A crudely drawn face with its tongue poking out sat below the scribbled words. Looking back at Cat, she gave a shrug. Of course, she knew which Chris Cat meant—the guy she’d had a crush on for the last year. Not that she ever had the courage to approach him, but perhaps the atmosphere (and a little liquid courage) of a party would give her the nerve to speak to him.

“Kylie Lewis.”

Her head snapped up at the man’s voice. It was not Mr. Johnson speaking, their teacher. Instead, the principal of the school stood in the doorway of the classroom. He was a short man, standing at least a foot under the doorframe, and it was clear that his oversized suit hadn’t been tailored to his size.

Kylie’s stomach turned, and she glanced around to see that everyone’s eyes were on her, burning a hole through her shirt. Heat flashed across her cheeks. Cat, whose eyes were wide, nodded towards the front, urging her to get up already. What could she have possibly done to be summoned by the principal—in person? Everything she’d ever done wrong in her life, hell, in the last few months, flew through her brain at rapid-fire speed. Perhaps it was that time she and Cat skipped Spanish two weeks ago?

“For God’s sake, go,” Cat hissed at her.

Stumbling to her feet, she quickly gathered her textbook and things, shoving them into her backpack, and headed down the aisle of desks as hushed murmurs, giggles, and quiet oohs sounded around her. She couldn’t bear to look at anyone else, instead watching the floor with every step until she reached the principal. Mr. Peterson waved his hand, signaling for her to follow. Something somber about his face, a certain sadness and anxiety, made Kylie’s stomach churn. As far as she knew, Mr. Peterson had never been a particularly stern man, so she had that going in her favor, whatever she was in trouble for. Still, she swallowed down her fear, her throat tightening, and her nerves burst into flames as Mr. Peterson allowed her into his office.

There sat her mother in one of the hard, wooden chairs. Dried, smudged mascara left stains on her cheeks, traces of it wiped away amid the wetness shining in the lights.

“What’s going on?” The words came slow, rolling off her dry tongue, like a desert in her mouth.

Peterson gently closed the door and eased himself around the desk. Leaning his fists against the surface, his eyes darted to Kylie’s mother.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Lewis.”

Her mother’s hands trembled as much as her chin and her lips. “Um, sweet pea,” she began, finally meeting Kylie’s questioning gaze. “The reason I … the reason I’m here … is, well …”

Kylie’s heart pounded wildly in her chest, beating madly against her ribs, so hard it almost hurt. A million different reasons for her mother to be here bounced back and forth, and her brain vacillated between all the possibilities. Her parents were getting a divorce … No, she wouldn’t be here for that. The small room seemed utterly silent as she waited for her mother to speak.

Her words quavered as she continued, “Your father … he’s … he’s gone.”

“Gone? He left?” Kylie prompted, her mind dumb and slow.

A heaving sob escaped her mother’s mouth as her entire body crumpled into itself. “No,” she cried, “he’s dead. He was shot early this morning while on a case.”

It felt as though a bucket of ice had dumped itself over her head. Cold trickled down the crown of her head, spreading through her core until all of her was frozen. She couldn’t move. This couldn’t be right; she just saw her father last night. He had returned home late from working on a case with his partner at the station. Two days ago, he had come home early with a bouquet of her favorite flowers to celebrate her birthday. Snap dragons.

When she was little, her mother kept snap dragons in their garden, and her father would squeeze the sides of their petals to make them talk, giving different colored snap dragons different voices. She would laugh and laugh, demanding that her father continue to make them talk.

But her father couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t. Her expression didn’t betray her, although her eyes widened. The rest of her, however, remained a cold statue.

“No,” she said. “Dad can’t be gone.”

“He’s gone, sweet pea.” Her mother placed a hand on her arm. Cold radiated from her mother’s palm, her fingertips icy and slightly sweaty. “Eli saw him get—”

But something inside her snapped. She snatched up her backpack and stood abruptly, causing the chair legs to scrape against the floor as she shoved it back, and the back smacked against the wall. Her face was now hot, her cheeks flushed, and she slammed open the door.

“He’s not gone! Eli is lying! I just saw Dad last night!” she shouted.

“Kylie, please,” begged her mother. 

Kylie threw her bag onto the vinyl tile, and something inside it made a sad crunching noise. Probably her cell phone. As she stared at her mother, a lump rose in her throat. Tears warmed at the corners of her wet eyes, but she blinked them away, fighting her urge to break down.

He just couldn’t be gone.

Overcoming Imposter Syndrome

You’ve written a book. Maybe your work is out there, or maybe you’re thinking of finding an agent or taking the self-publishing route. Either way, you’re beginning to doubt yourself, and that’s when imposter syndrome kicks in. You feel like a fraud, despite what anyone else tells you. You feel like you should just give up, because you’ll never be good enough. Everyone knows what they’re doing, except for you.

Don’t believe that pesky imposter syndrome. You are better than you believe. Your writing is worth taking a chance on.

Here are some tips for overcoming imposter syndrome:

  1. Choose to be confident in your abilities.
    Choosing to be confident takes practice. Try practicing a mantra every morning when you wake up. The more you practice being confident in your work, the more naturally it will come.
  2. Practice positive affirmations.
    Similar to choosing to be confident, you can practice saying positive things about your work.
  3. Make a list.
    Make a list of all the things you love about your work and all of your accomplishments. What are you strengths and talents? What milestones have you reached with your writing? Make a long list, and you may be surprised at what you find.
  4. Share your feelings with someone.
    Sometimes, just talking about how we feel can be a big help.
  5. Know that you’re not alone.
    Imposter syndrome is common among writers. Find comfort in the fact that you’re not alone.
  6. Find ways to improve your writing.
    Maybe I’m alone in this practice, but whenever I start to doubt myself, I look for ways to improve my writing. I ask myself: What are my weaknesses? Where in my writing can I improve?

Again, remember that you’re not alone in how you feel. Try to think of all the things you’ve done so far. Have a finished draft? That’s a big step in your writing journey. Are you querying or pursuing self-publishing? That’s another big step. Just because you’re not as advanced as some other authors doesn’t mean your experience is invalid.

Your road is unique. Remember that.

Descriptive Writing: Utilizing Your Senses

Before I dive into today’s post, I have a couple announcements. One, I have updated the pricing on my Services page. They are much lower and priced for up to 100,000 words, rather than pricing per word. I will soon be up on as well. Two, I have decided to start writing under my real name: Allison Williford. I hid behind my pseudonym (Skylar Wilson) for some time after receiving threatening messages for sharing my positive experience with ECT. (Seriously, I even had someone tell me to kill myself, saying I was promoting torture.) But I decided I won’t be intimidated by people who have no heart or compassion.

Now that I have made my announcements, let us move on to today’s post about description!

Description is important in a novel. It draws the reader in, and it can help with the suspension of disbelief. Suspension of disbelief happens when we are so drawn into a story, we will believe anything the author tells us. While description alone won’t do this, it certainly adds that wondrous element that enriches your story.

There are many ways to include description in your novel, from your characters, to the setting, to even the food they eat. It can greatly enrich the story itself. There’s nothing quite like those moments, when reading a novel, when you are so engrossed in a story that you can almost experience the story firsthand.

By utilizing the five senses to describe what’s going on in your story, you can really dig into another world. What does your character see? Smell? Hear? Taste? Feel? Think about how you experience the world. What colors do you see? What textures do you feel beneath your fingertips? Do you hear birds, or perhaps a storm brewing outside, with its rolling booms of thunder? Are you drinking tart, tangy lemonade? A cold soda, with its carbonation fizzing on your tongue?

You get the picture.

  1. Writing with Sight
    This is probably the easier of the five senses when it comes to writing. Most of us experience the world through our sight. We see the colors of the rainbow. We see everything that’s in front of us. We see the faces of our loved ones. A great writing exercise is to try picking an ordinary object, anything you see in front of you, and describe it in great detail using only sight.
  2. Writing with Sound
    A common description I see in novels is that of people’s voices. Try describing something that isn’t someone’s voice. Is your character at a concert with screaming guitars and pounding drums? Are they in a forest, where the wind whispers through the trees and rustles the dead leaves on the ground? Are they inside, with the rain pelting the windows with every plink plink plink?
  3. Writing with Taste
    This can be a fun one, but I wouldn’t describe everything that touches your character’s tongue. Like the example above, is your character drinking a cold, fizzy soda? Do they bite their lip until it bleeds, that metallic tinge lingering on their tongue? Is their plate of chicken dry and chewy? Are they eating something hot and spicy?
  4. Writing with Smell
    Most of you probably realize that scent can be a powerful thing. Memories can be tied just to a single smell. Perfume is a common description, but you could describe the smells of other objects: a musty old book, someone’s rank body odor like overpowering wilting onions. Remember that with smell, a little bit goes a long way, so don’t overwhelm your readers with descriptions of scents.
  5. Writing with Touch
    I love writing about touch. What your character feels beneath their fingertips or on their skin can really draw a reader into their world. The scratchy, limp fabric of a hospital blanket. The roughness of an unshaven face, like sandpaper, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips. The way a single touch can raise gooseflesh along your character’s arm.

Like previously mentioned, a great exercise is to pick one thing and describe it in as much detail as possible using your senses.

Again, if you are in need of editing services, I invite you to check out my editing services! For a free, five-page sample edit, you can email your sample (Times New Roman, 12 pt.) to

Narrative Structure: The Hero’s Journey

Whenever I think of The Hero’s Journey, I think Star Wars: A New Hope. It encapsulates The Hero’s Journey quite nicely. This narrative structure can be split into three acts, similar to the Three-Act Structure, but with more subplots than just pinch points. In a way, one could even think of the plot points as pinch points within The Hero’s Journey.

Photo by Tiểu Linh

This narrative structure can be broken down into 12 plot points, each of which can be divided into those three acts, as aforementioned. You’ll find that some of the plot points coincide with basic plot structure.

  1. The Ordinary World
    This is your opening. We, as readers, are introduced to the characters, the setting, and what their ordinary lives are like. This is the status quo.
  2. The Call of Adventure
    In the Three-Act Structure, we would call this the inciting incident/event. This is when we hear Leia’s famous line: “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” The Galactic Empire has finally reached the Outer Rim, and has made an impact on Luke’s normal world.
  3. Refusal of the Call
    This is just as it sounds. Luke initially declines the call, instead looking for his new R2 unit just so he doesn’t get in trouble with Uncle Owen. Luke doubts his own abilities, anyway, and claims it’s too far from him for him to be of any help.
  4. Meeting the Mentor
    While stages three and four blend a bit, but Obi-Wan explains the force, Jedi, and a bit about Luke’s father. Luke initially refuses, but after returning home and finding his aunt and uncle murdered, he agrees to train with Obi-Wan.
  5. Crossing the Threshold
    The cantina scene makes up the “Crossing the Threshold” plot point. Someone picks a fight with Luke in the cantina, and he’s utterly out of his element.
  6. Tests, Allies, Enemies
    Luke gains more allies, Han Solo and Chewbacca, who agree to take them to Alderaan. The Stormtroopers try to stop them as they leave.
  7. Approach to the Inmost Cave
    Here, our hero nearly reaches their goal. This is when Luke and the gang come near the Death Star after discovering that Alderaan no longer exists. As the iconic line goes: “I have a bad feeling about this.”
  8. The Ordeal
    Rescuing Princess Leia represents “The Ordeal” for Luke. The Ordeal is a test our hero must overcome. However, Luke also loses something: We witness the death of Obi-Wan.
  9. Reward/Seize the Sword
    In most stories based on The Hero’s Journey, this is where our hero would be rewarded. Something important is obtained by our hero, and victory is in sight.
  10. The Road Back
    Luke joins the rebel fleet as a pilot, and his aim is to destroy the Death Star. Our hero realizes that their initial goal may not be the final hurdle.
  11. Resurrection
    Luke has changed. He learns to trust the force, and he uses it to destroy the Death Star (also thanks to a quick save by Han Solo). This is Luke’s first steps towards becoming a Jedi.
  12. Return with the Elixir
    Basking in their triumph, our hero returns to their ordinary world—or as ordinary as it can be. It doesn’t have to be a literal elixir; it can represent our hero’s success (such as in the form of Leia awarding Luke and Han medals. Also, I never understood why Chewbacca didn’t get one).

These are the 12 plot points in The Hero’s Journey. As we saw, the definitive lines of the different plot points can blur together.

For more information on narrative structure, see my post: The 7 Types of Narrative Structure!

Picking a Title for Your Novel

Titling your novel is probably something you’ve either thought a ton about or hardly given a thought to. The truth is, it may be a bigger deal than you think. I mean, come on! That story you’ve spent months on, maybe years, can’t just have any old title! You worked hard to craft this masterpiece of a tale; it doesn’t deserve to be titled just anything.

So, where exactly do you come up with a good, original title? I’m currently querying The Sound of Snap Dragons, but it wasn’t always called that. The original title I had was Forget Me Not. Why did I change it? I did my research. I googled books with the title Forget Me Not, and I was astounded to see how many books there were already with that title. I mean, there were tens of self-published books with “Forget Me Not” as their titles. Honestly? I was a little disappointed. No, I was more than a little disappointed. I was completely bummed. I had clung to my title like a beacon in the night, like a kid and her favorite stuffed toy.

So, what’s my point here? Learn to let go of your first title if it’s not original or catchy enough. Sure, use it as a placeholder until you think of something that really bites, something that really catches the eyes of your readers. Ask yourself: If you were to come across your own book in a store (without knowing it’s your own!), would the title grab you enough to make you pick it up?

A good book title should be:

  • Unique
  • Memorable
  • Insightful

Now, I don’t claim to be the be all and end all of experts when it comes to titling my work. Not by any means. Before I republished The Days Without You, it was called “Waiting for You”. Waiting for You was generic and just very…blah.

Now, how should you title your novel? Well, there are a lot of different considerations you can take into account:

  • The book’s key theme
  • Major characters (The Giver by Lois Lowry)
  • Flow of the title
  • Major events in the story (The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins)
  • Major motivations
  • Location or setting

You could also combine them, such as the Harry Potter books. But whatever you decide, have fun with it. Of course, make sure your book’s title doesn’t have any unwanted connotations to it. What I like to do is make a long list of possible titles, and that helps me come up with the right title. I sit down and have a brainstorming session. Whatever you do to come up with your title, make sure it’s intriguing!

How do you come up with the titles to your books?

Narrative Structure: Freytag’s Pyramid

Welcome to post #3 in my Narrative Structure Series! Today, we’ll be discussing Freytag’s Pyramid, which was devised by 19th-century German playwright Gustav Freytag (which, technically, he based on Aristotle’s idea of narrative structure as a triangle with exposition, climax, and resolution, mapped out in Poetics).

Photo by Andre Moura from Pexels

As a reminder, narrative structure is a literary element that functions as structural framework for a story. For a more detailed description of narrative structure, visit my blog post, The 7 Types of Narrative Structure.

As you probably already guessed, the main idea of Freytag’s Pyramid is that the story is a pyramid, with the climax at its highest point. We can break it down into six parts, including the exposition, inciting incident, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.

  1. Exposition
    In Freytag’s Pyramid, the story begins with Exposition, in which a reader is introduced to the setting, the characters, etc. Your sole focus during the Exposition is to build the world in which the story will be set — and where most of the major action happens. How long your exposition lasts depends on the complexity of your world building, as well as the complexity of the story’s conflict. For example, The Lord of the Rings is full of exposition. Lois Lowry’s The Giver has some exposition in which we get to know the “utopia” that is Jonas’ world.
  2. Inciting Incident
    The exposition should end with the Inciting Incident (sometimes called the Inciting Event). For a more thorough explanation of what the Inciting Incident/Event is, see my post, The Inciting Event. Basically, it is the moment in your character’s life that sets the story in motion, the moment which he cannot come back from.
  3. Rising Action
    The Rising Action will make up the biggest chunk of your story, and it is rife with conflict that builds up to the climax. You’ll often see things getting worse for our protagonist, and it’s all about moves and countermoves. If we were to compare it to the Three-Act Structure, the Rising Action would be Act II of your story. It should include key information about your character’s motives and history, and any themes that are being explored. Also, you can foreshadow the main event: the Climax.
  4. Climax
    The pièce de résistance of your story. Here is where the conflict can no longer hold onto the tension its been grasping, and everything comes crashing down on your protagonist’s head. It’s the major turning point in which the central conflict is addressed. Now, whether the climax lasts one scene or spans several chapters is up to you. It should culminate from the rising action you’ve created, and it should resonate with the story’s themes.
  5. Falling Action
    Here is where we can explore the aftermath of the Climax. How do your characters react to what happened in the Climax? Here, loose ends should be tied up. Think of it as your protagonist’s “new normal” compared to the exposition. Bear in mind that the Falling Action should still engage the reader in some way.
  6. Resolution
    Here is the end of your story, and figuring out where the narrative ends can be tricky. Falling Action and the Resolution tend to be fairly short. Here is where you’ll also decide what happens to your protagonist. Does he die? Does he learn from his mistakes? Does he accept his pain and loss and move on with his life? Perhaps he begins anew? Either way, everything should be tied up in a neat little package, even if you’re leaving the ending open for a sequel.

That’s it for Freytag’s Pyramid. Curious about other forms of narrative structure? Check out my posts, The 7 Types of Narrative Structure and Narrative Structure: The Three-Act Structure. And if you’re looking for an editor, don’t forget that I’m now offering editing services, including copy editing, proofreading, and manuscript critiques! Check out my Services page for pricing and more information.

Editing Services Now Available!

I’m excited to announce that I’m now offering freelance editing services, including copy editing, proofreading, and manuscript critiques. I have low rates compared to the average going rates for editing services (mainly because I’m fresh to the business), but I have experience with copywriting and editing in AP Style and Chicago Manual of Style. I graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. in English and Creative Writing with a concentration in Fiction.

Rates are non-negotiable, but I am offering an introductory 20% discount for first-time clients from May 1, 2022 through December 31, 2022.

I hope you’ll give me a chance to help you make your manuscript shine! Rates can be found on my Services page. If you have any questions or would like a free, five-page sample edit, please email me at