Start the Series

Every legend has a beginning.This is theirs.

       A town in trouble. A witch with a plan. For the god who can save them all, the price of salvation is her heart.  Welcome to Wright’s Holler.

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Sheriff Jessica Attwood is determined to find out what is happening to her town.

McAllen has a morgue full of bodies and a file of missing persons dating back decades. Her investigation leads her to the half-breed mountain man, Misignwa, and her reality is thrown into chaos.

The Misignwa’s job is to protect the forests of his ancestors. The problems of the white men aren’t his concern…until they come into his woods and duty brings him face to face with the local sheriff, a woman he’s watched from the shadows for years.

Jessica’s investigation pulls her into a world of lost magic and small town legends–legends that tell of spirits roaming the woods, of lost witches and a battle between good and evil that has raged for centuries. As her fascination with Misignwa grows, something is calling her into the forest, into his arms and onto the front lines.

As the line between the worlds starts to blur, the superstitious townsfolk offer an answer from a time when magic wasn’t just for fairy tales.

Something’s stalking the witches of the holler.

And it wants Jessica.

Back to Basics

Back to Basics

I've been thinking very seriously about quitting writing. There, I said it out loud. No self motivation was working and I'd retired myself without ever actually saying the words. I haven't published anything since October of 2017 and that weighs on me, but not as much...

A Writer Looks at 40

A Writer Looks at 40

I think I know just how Jimmy Buffet felt when he wrote that song. I came onto the indie publishing world long after it had already reached its peak, when the pioneers were now the role models for success and the market was flooded daily with new authors seeking to...

Changing with the Seasons

Changing with the Seasons

It's been a long time, Dear Reader, and I see you shiver in antici... ...pation. So do I. Or maybe it's trepidation. Or frustration. Some kind of -ation, certainly. Time always passes, the seasons running through their cycle, and the speed at which it marches by is...

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