A Tiny Confession

Every few days, I go through my Google Docs and I search for a project to work on. Whatever calls to me in that moment, whatever muse is screaming loudest, that’s what I give in to.

Some days, I get to sink into a rich love story that makes me blush and kick my feet (you know the type). Other days, it’s something darker, something that pulls at me. Those are my favorite days, the ones that pull like a bruise you can’t help but press on. There’s a sweet ache in being a dark romance author, someone who explores the darkest shades of humanity. That rage that lives in all of us, especially during this volatile world we live in, gives us a sense of catharsis that nothing else does.

I wish I could tell you I have a system. That when I sit down to write, everything is perfectly outlined, my characters are cooperating, and I’m ready to create worlds in order at the drop of a pen. But that’s a lie. My writing process is chaotic. I have my quirks and need to have at least six drinks in reach at all times, but my love letters to my readers come so much easier when my brain is in the throes of self-sabotage. And maybe that’s the point— maybe every story I write is a sort of confession, one I’m not ready to face in a mirror but can face on a page.

So when I open that endless list of drafts, it’s not necessarily about which project I should be working on.

Sometimes, I’m just trying to sort out my secrets for the day, and how much of myself I’m ready to confront.

Dark romance is a powerful, vicious tool for self-work. In the dark, the lightest parts of us are clear. I use dark romance to explore traumas I have tucked into little boxes inside of me. I take them out when an FMC needs to react to an angry parent, or a violent partner. I take them out when an MMC needs to confront his fear of abandonment, or understand the rage that swallows him whole.

The mirror shows two creatures: my FMC and MMCs, Ouroboros and his tail, and me circling these confessions in red pen. We are one. And I hope, as my readers dive into my worlds, they see the pull of a person who is aching but spends so much of her time trying to see these characters inside of her as separate, but they aren’t. And I think, for many readers, that’s the case for you too.

My FMCs see you. My MMCs see you. They all love you. They witness your pain, your need, and your hunger the same way you witness theirs. And I feel the same.

So, from one feral, starving creature to another, thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. And thank you for letting me shine a light on your tiny confessions. We’ll keep your secrets if you keep ours.