Crow and Flame

Today I published Feathers and Ash on Kindle.

My fantasy novel.

My name on the cover.

My words out in the world.

And I am in my feels.

Because I keep thinking about a nine-year-old girl sitting on her bedroom floor with a spiral notebook and a pen that kept running out of ink.

She wrote a 250-page book by hand.

Two hundred and fifty pages.

Based loosely (okay, heavily) on The Baby-Sitters Club.

She didn’t know about plot structure.

She didn’t know about publishing contracts.

She didn’t know about algorithms or royalties or imposter syndrome.

She just knew she had stories inside of her that would not leave her alone.

So she wrote them.

I remember stapling the pages together like it was a real book.

I remember letting people read it and feeling both proud and terrified.

I remember thinking, One day I’ll be a real author.

Somewhere along the way, that dream got quieter.

Life got louder.

Responsibilities.

Survival mode.

Mental health battles.

Being practical.

Being realistic.

Being the strong one.

And I started telling myself that publishing a novel was for other people.

For the lucky ones.

For the connected ones.

For the confident ones.

For the ones who didn’t feel like they were “too much.”

Not for me.

But here’s the thing about dreams:

They don’t die easily.

They wait.

They wait while you grow into the person strong enough to carry them.

Today, Feathers and Ash went live on Kindle.

A fantasy novel born from years of scribbled notes, late nights, doubt, edits, tears, and refusing to let the fire go out.

And that nine-year-old girl?

She didn’t care about rankings or reviews.

She cared that the story existed.

So this isn’t just a publishing day.

It’s a promise kept.

It’s proof that the dream wasn’t meant for “others.”

It was planted in me on purpose.

If you’ve been telling yourself your dream is for someone else —

this is your reminder:

Maybe it’s waiting for you to believe you’re allowed to have it.

Today I am letting myself have it.

🖤