Month: November 2025

A Deep Dive into Liminal Spaces

Published on by Leigh

Truthfully, I wanted to blow something up, metaphorically speaking. I wanted a big, magical explosion, and then I wanted to see what my characters did with it. I could have chosen any location, but I picked one with the power to transport you anywhere: from the depths of the sea to the far reaches of space, and everywhere in between:  a library.

Okay, so a magical library where the possibilities for great adventures are increased a million-fold. But rather than destroying it, I wanted to trap people. People I care about. People I enjoy writing into existence. But I wanted to write them out of existence and send them NOWHERE.

That’s how Shattered Magic began. It was my opening scene from day one: a library. A catastrophe. Chaos. And poof! my trapped characters were lost.

And then… I was equally lost. The book stopped cold. It simmered in the back of my brain for months. I tried to dissuade myself, tried to pick a new opener, but it didn’t feel right. I loved it, my folded library too much to give up. So I let the story sit, as I usually do. And the answer to my literary dilemma came from a WhyFiles YouTube video on liminal spaces.

And we were off.

I didn’t invent the concept, but when I discovered it, it was like the universe was smacking me over the head, begging me to use it. So I did a deep dive into liminal spaces – airports, train stations, doorways, even elevators – and discovered that between here and there lies a place that’s both and neither. A place where you’re waiting to move on.  Where possibilities are everywhere. These spaces aren’t meant to be inhabited long-term; they’re transitional, designed for waiting until you move on to your next destination.

There’s a long history of lore about liminal spaces, too. In ancient times, people buried small protective figures beneath doorways to keep evil spirits from slipping through, because they believed all liminal spaces had the potential to let anything through, and it’s better to guard against trouble than try to get rid of it.

And yes, there’s a disorienting feeling to being in one of these places for too long. Time seems suspended because, rather than being present where you are, you’re anticipating moving on. Think of a snowed-in airport – nobody’s supposed to be sleeping on the floor, and I’m pretty sure nobody gets quality rest when they have to do that – but all of those people are trapped between where they came from and where they’re going. And airports, train stations, and other liminal spaces aren’t designed for long-term occupation.

Psychologists describe liminal spaces as places of transformation, uncertainty, and possibility. Perfect for fantasy, right?  So that library explosion turned into a journey through liminal spaces that forced my characters to grow. By trapping them in a place that’s neither here nor there, I could explore who they are when the world goes sideways. Chaos became possibility, fear became personal, and a simple “what/when” question – what happens to people when they’re trapped nowhere for too long? – turned into a story about choices, courage, and the quirks of the people I love to put on the page. 

Here’s another honest fact that didn’t occur to me until I was writing this post:  I was in my own liminal space while I finished that book.  Caught between the career I left and the one I was starting.  Sometimes, the in-between is exactly where you want to be, and sometimes serendipity sneaks up on you.

The Architect of the Jinn Realms

Published on by Leigh

I’ve spent this month knee-deep in the Jinn Realms and unexpectedly discovered why I almost never finish high-fantasy novels.

As you might know, I usually write contemporary fantasy (“low fantasy”), where the magical world is familiar and I don’t have to re-invent physics just to get Ari through a doorway. But the next Relic Hunter book takes us into Egypt, and that’s where Sidaffri can slip back home and orchestrate our first adventure in the Sand Fire series. 

And when Sidaffri’s sister kidnapped us, I had to start describing the Jinn Realm.

At first, I did what any history geek would do: I dove into ancient lore from the surrounding region, conveniently tucking the gateway to Na’har somewhere near Egypt. That research was fun, but as research generally does, it began multiplying. 

Place names. Magical systems. Cultural structures. Mythic hierarchies. Suddenly, I had a cheat sheet to help me remember my own notes.

Which is when I realized something important:

That’s EXACTLY why I rarely make it through a high-fantasy book.

So… I U-turned.

The second draft (which is technically still a first draft) is cleaner, lighter, and far more “me.” I’ve been listening to Brandon Sanderson’s brilliant lectures on worldbuilding, and while some writers have the patience to spend years constructing a universe, I absolutely do not. I admire that level of detail from a respectful distance – with a cup of coffee and no pressure to write that sort of book.

For me, the Jinn Realms need to stay familiar, with just enough magic to twist reality in fun ways without requiring a glossary.  And technology – because when the realms divided, the jinn certainly didn’t stay stuck in the dark-ages.  Think sunlit sandstone archways in Na’har with cool tech that makes life better in the desert.  

The goal is simple:

  • Names you can remember.
  • Magic that feels exciting, not exhausting.
  • A world that sweeps you in without ever making you feel lost.

It’s been more challenging than I expected. But challenge usually means growth, and this world has definitely made me a sharper writer. Everything I add has to serve double-duty: deepen the world and push the story forward. If it doesn’t, it gets cut.

(And yes, there’s been a lot of cutting.)

But all that trimming is so I can deliver a book you’ll disappear into without actually getting lost.

In my next post, I’ll bring you into Na’har and introduce you to the Court of the Enira – Balsara, Sidaffri’s sister and queen of the Jinn. There’s one reveal in particular that made me smile and think, “Oh. So that’s who she really is.”

And keep an eye on my sidebar and Instagram because I’ll be sharing some Jinn-Realm eye candy very soon.

Meet the Muse…

Published on by Leigh

Interview With My Muse: The Woman Who Hijacks My YouTube History

Interviewer (Me): Thank you for agreeing to this interview. You’ve been lurking in my creative process for… what, several years now?

Muse: Decades, darling. I’ve been around longer than your browser history. You simply didn’t notice me until you started researching where that pesky sword could have gone to. Now, you’re looking for entire armies! You’ve certainly branched out.

Interviewer: Yes, about that. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the way you hijack my YouTube recommendations lately. Last week you sent me from “10-Minute Yoga for Tight Shoulders” to a three-hour documentary the lost army of Cambyses.

Muse: And you’re welcome. The shoulder tension was emotional. Your protagonist needed to get grounded in the myths. If you don’t know where they start, how can you possibly track them through all of those shifting dunes?

Interviewer: You also interrupted my grocery shopping to insist I watch that Egyptian Magic lecture in the parking lot.

Muse: You didn’t even remember to bring a grocery list, so you were just begging for an excuse. Besides, you only really need bananas and coffee, and you can’t expect inspiration to wait for wi-fi.

Interviewer: Since my readers haven’t met you yet, how would you describe yourself?

Muse: Oh, I do hate labels, but for you, darling, I’ll try. I’m the kind of person who always smells faintly of sandalwood and old books. I take my cues from the world at large, sampling all of the history and characters that have walked the timelines, never ruling out an interesting conversation with anyone who happens by. You never know when you’ll stumble on a bored coyote looking for a new partner and an adventure.

Interviewer: That… is scary accurate. How did you get assigned to me?

Muse: Assigned? Darling, I chose you. I saw someone who loves history, mythology, and pretending they’re “just going to skim one article.” You were ripe for a different path, and it worked – but you did take your time making the commitment, didn’t you?

Interviewer: I had obligations. What would you say is your main job?

Muse: To nudge you. To whisper. To drag you by the sleeve into the deep end of research when you thought you were just checking your email. To point out the archaeological footnote you almost ignored. To insist that you write stories with bones in them; stories rooted in real people who lived and dreamed long before you found their memories.

Interviewer: I’ve noticed you usually work at inconvenient hours.

Muse: Inspiration is a feral creature; it does not obey office hours – and you should be one to talk! The neighbors are talking darling, they see your lights on at four a.m..

Interviewer: Do you ever think about giving me a heads-up before you strike?

Muse: Absolutely not. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, your best ideas arrive when you’re trying to do something sensible and ordinary, like sleep.

Interviewer: One last question: any message for my readers?

Muse: Treat history like a mirror, mythology like a map, and your imagination like a half-wild garden – don’t weed it too soon because something interesting might bloom. And if your YouTube history suddenly develops an obsession with ancient irrigation systems…
(smiles)
…you’re welcome.

Snarky Markety

Published on by Leigh

I know I need to market. But marketing for indie authors like me is a life of keywords, spreadsheets, and acronyms like CTR and CCP – and that just makes my brain hurt. I try. Really.

But I spend a day analyzing, creating, posting – and PAYING – and then all I’ve done is create MORE work for myself because the following week, I get to “look at the data” and do it all over again. A day of marketing is not only unpleasant for me, but it sucks time out of my writing. Let me tell you about my marketing journey and why I’m choosing NOT to market at this point (much to the detriment of my bottom line).

When I started this full-time writing career, I had visions of working for myself, publishing on a regular basis – and once Shattered Magic was out in the world, I turned my attention to my biggest failure – marketing.

I’m terrible at it. I’ve tried TikTok and Pinterest, I run ads, and I’m pretty reliable at posting on Instagram – but all that time is a swing and a miss in terms of moving books. When I sit down to look at the data, I feel like a total failure—and that mindset affects my productivity as a writer.

So when I made the switch to authorhood, I found someone whose work in book marketing I respect and admire – someone I love to watch and whose advice I trust – and I signed up for a course. I worked that course to the best of my ability – but as much as I loved the creator, I just couldn’t get excited – so I plodded through lessons and homework and webinars for a full 30 days and guess what happened to my next book?

Nothing.

And by nothing I mean I didn’t write a single sentence in 30 days. I just couldn’t. I was so frazzled and beat down by the marketing stuff that I had zero left to give my books.

That 30 days cost me 90 days of writing because I was so discouraged and defeated I had zero joy left for my craft.

Zero, people!

But the stress-quotient was off the charts! My writing space became a place I actively avoided, rather than a place I ran to for refuge.

I could tell because my desk was obsessively clean. Things were filed. Things were labeled. My fancy gold binder clips sparkled while keeping my marketing plan, task lists, and keyword notes all neatly contained. And my computer folders were labeled with spreadsheets, comp authors, and data, data, data.

The clean desk was a sign I was in deep trouble.

It was not the course creator’s fault. That person is amazing. It is a matter of temperament – MY temperament.

A temperament that was cultivated over years of doing exactly that sort of data-driven, spreadsheet-based work in an entirely different profession. A profession I left to write books.

So, I dropped the course. Then I did 60 days of “marketing detox” and realized something: I can spend days writing ad copy and get ZERO joy, or I can spend days writing new adventures. If they sell – great – but I’m not going to sell anything if I can’t write – and if marketing kills writing then I need to banish marketing.

Maybe this will change, but for now, my goal is words on a page. Not ads in a folder – and my binder clips? Safely stored in my desk where they can’t trigger me.