Being a muse in the twenty-first century is a lot harder than it was in Ancient Greece. Life was simple when Calliope Ardalides, first-born of the nine Muses, only had to concentrate on music and justice. But now she’s arbitrating between arguing gods, answering complaints from cantankerous humans irked by how their prayers are being… Continue reading A new series begins
As I've mentioned elsewhere, it's been a rough year when it comes to writing. It seems like people fall into two camps; there are those who used the weird ass year to inspire them, (or to hide within their writing), and those who fell all creativity drain away under their masks. I'm one of the… Continue reading Finally, some new words
When I was about eleven, my mom worked at an autobody shop in the desert. On summer break I didn’t want to stay home, but I couldn’t exactly go to work with her, either. Fortunately for me, there was a library only a few blocks away from her work. She’d drop me off, fortified with… Continue reading The smell of books and worn carpet
Hi there! It's been a while, hasn't it? In case you've forgotten, my name is Brey. I write the kind of stuff I like to read, which often falls into the specific category: sci-fi, fantasy, dystopian fiction. Stuff like that. And I'm super excited to say I've signed a contract for my next book! Song… Continue reading Muse with me
I had a stroke last week. I was trying to find a different way to start this blog, but writing my way in felt disingenuous. So there it is, today’s fun-filled topic. But I’m not talking about the stroke as such. I want to talk about stories. When the ambulance took me away, I didn’t… Continue reading The good news is that I’ll be okay…
On Saturday 12th I’m going to be the Queering the Supernatural panel at ClexaCon. And earlier I’ll be speaking on the publishing panel under my other name. It’s free—come by and hang out while we talk books and writing and who knows what else!
September. The year has gone by in a strange haze. I’ve been baffled and befuddled, oftentimes despairing and despondent. And now, we head toward autumn, and I’m thinking tonight about stories. For all that we’ve had to remain at home, isolated and imprisoned to some degree by fear, both for ourselves and others, there remain… Continue reading Your story matters too
Ah, writing. The cold mistress who beats you with a wet, muddy rag, who demands your words but refuses to help you find them. She of the thesaurus and writers guides and copy editing ilk. She’s really mean. And that’s who I’m blaming for not writing right now. I was writing, before I started on… Continue reading Slapped with a muddy word rag
You don’t really want to hope, do you? You tell yourself that someone else will win, that it’s nice just to be nominated (and it is), that you’re not fussed... But on the night you watch and wait and when your category comes up you can’t breathe...and then they call your name. And your wife… Continue reading It won. I believe it now.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this so bear with me...I just know I need to say something. I’ll start here: I’m not white. Willows is a pen name I use for a multitude of reasons. I’m actually Mexican, and I have always been proud to be Latina. But. The thing is, I look… Continue reading Can I just say…
