Perfect characters are boring. Complex characters are unforgettable.

Think about your favorite fictional characters. Chances are, you don’t love them because they’re consistently brave, kind, intelligent, or morally upright. You love them because they’re complicated.

The courageous hero who is terrified of being abandoned. The fiercely independent woman who desperately wants someone to take care of her. The sarcastic teenager who can make everyone laugh but has no idea how to tell someone he’s hurting.

Those contradictions make characters feel human.

And if you’re trying to figure out how to write complex characters, contradictions are one of the most useful tools in your writing arsenal.

What Makes a Character Complex?

A complex character isn’t necessarily mysterious, morally gray, or emotionally damaged. I’ve explored this idea in more detail in The Contradiction Principle: Why Realistic Characters Shouldn’t Always Make Sense, where I explain how seemingly incompatible personality traits can make fictional characters feel more authentic.

Complexity comes from having multiple motivations, beliefs, desires, and fears that don’t always cooperate. Consider a character who values honesty but lies to protect someone they love. Is that character dishonest? Protective? Hypocritical?

Possibly all three.

The interesting question isn’t which label applies. It’s why the character believes that particular lie is justified.That’s where characterization becomes storytelling.

1. Give Your Character Conflicting Traits

Start with two qualities that seem incompatible.

• Brave but insecure.
• Generous but jealous.
• Loyal but secretive.
• Independent but desperate for approval.
• Compassionate but quick to judge.

The trick is making both qualities believable.

A character who is protective of her younger brother might also be controlling. Both behaviors could come from the same fear: losing someone she loves.

Now you have more than two personality traits. You have a source of conflict.

2. Separate What They Want From What They Need

Your character’s goal gives the story direction. Their emotional need gives the story depth.Imagine a teenager who wants to prove he doesn’t need anyone. He works harder than everyone else, refuses assistance, and prides himself on solving problems alone. But what he actually needs is to understand that accepting help doesn’t make him weak. His greatest strength has become one of his greatest obstacles. That tension can influence his relationships, decisions, and eventual character arc.

3. Discover the Lie Your Character Believes

Many characters operate according to a deeply held belief that isn’t entirely true.Maybe they believe love always comes with conditions. Maybe they think showing weakness invites betrayal. Maybe they’ve  convinced themselves that being needed is the same as being loved. These beliefs don’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes the most damaging lie is something as ordinary as, “If I disappoint someone, they’ll stop caring about me.” Give your character a reason to believe that lie. Then create circumstances that challenge it.

Those deeply held beliefs often become the foundation of a character’s flaws.
If you’re looking for more ways to turn those imperfections into compelling fiction,
check out my article on how to write flawed characters readers will root for.

4. Put Your Character Through the Hypocrisy Test

This is one of my favorite character-development exercises.

What behavior does your character condemn in other people but excuse in themselves?

Perhaps your character despises dishonesty but routinely withholds important information. Maybe they criticize people who avoid difficult conversations while dodging every uncomfortable discussion in their own life. The goal isn’t to make your character unlikeable. It’s to reveal the complicated logic people use to justify their own behavior. And if another character notices the contradiction? Even better. Now you’ve got conflict.

5. Let Relationships Reveal Different Sides

We don’t behave exactly the same way with everyone we know. Neither should our characters. Your protagonist might be fearless around friends, cautious around a parent, and unexpectedly vulnerable with someone they barely know. Ask yourself which relationships encourage your character’s best qualities and which expose their worst. Then look for opportunities to put those versions of the character in conflict. What happens when the person who knows your protagonist’s secrets meets the person they’re trying to impress? There’s a scene waiting to happen.

6. Make Contradictions Matter to the Plot

Here’s where character development becomes more than filling out a worksheet. Your character’s contradictions should influence what they do. A loyal character who fears abandonment might betray a friend to avoid being rejected first. A compassionate character who values justice might struggle when someone they love deserves punishment. The strongest moments often force characters to choose between two values they genuinely believe in. Those choices reveal character more effectively than pages of description. Don’t just tell readers your protagonist is complicated. Give them a reason to see it.

For another perspective on this technique, Angela Ackerman explores how to write compelling inner conflict on Jane Friedman’s website, including how conflicting beliefs and emotions
can make fictional characters more relatable.

Final Thoughts

Your characters don’t have to be perfect. They don’t even have to be particularly nice. But their choices should make sense in the context of who they are, what they’ve experienced, and what they believe. Give them competing desires. Let them make mistakes. Allow them to justify decisions they would criticize in someone else. Then put them in situations where they have to confront those contradictions. Because the most memorable characters aren’t the ones who always know exactly who they are. They’re the ones who have to find out.

Happy writing!

Tracie Joy | Majik Press

The post How to Write Complex Characters: Why Contradictions Make Fiction Better first appeared on Tracie Joy.

When did publishing a book mean surrendering the right to have an opinion about someone else’s?

I’ve been reviewing books online for a couple of years. Long before I published my debut novel, Consanguinity, I was reading books, writing about them, and sharing my opinions with anyone interested enough to listen. Okay, most people probably weren’t interested enough to listen, but that didn’t shut me up.

I’ve reviewed books I adored. Books I enjoyed but didn’t love. Books that kept me awake far past any reasonable bedtime. And yes, books that disappointed me.

Because that’s what readers do.

We read. We think. We form opinions. Sometimes we even have the audacity to share them. It’s me, I’m the one with the audacity.

Then, in August 2026, I published my first novel.

Apparently, I missed the fine print.

Somewhere between uploading my manuscript, approving my cover, and clicking that magical little Publish button, I evidently surrendered my right to review other people’s books.

At least, that’s what someone recently declared during an online discussion.

Authors shouldn’t review books. Period.

Not merely that authors should avoid malicious reviews. Not that authors should disclose conflicts of interest. Not even that authors should think carefully before publicly criticizing their professional peers.

Nope. Authors shouldn’t review books. At all.

I’m sorry. What?

Excuse Me While I Retrieve My Eyeballs From the Back of My Head

Let’s examine the breathtaking absurdity of this proposition.

Before I published a novel, my opinions about books were apparently perfectly acceptable. I could discuss character development, pacing, world-building, dialogue, and plot construction without anyone questioning whether I had the right to do so.

But now that I’ve written and published a book of my own, those same opinions are somehow inappropriate? Did publishing Consanguinity alter my reading comprehension? Did my ability to recognize compelling characterization spontaneously evaporate? Did Amazon send a secret notification informing me that my reader privileges had been permanently suspended? Because I certainly didn’t receive that email. And believe me, I’ve received plenty of emails from Amazon. For their sake, I hope not because I spend a lot of money on books!

The idea that becoming an author somehow disqualifies a person from reviewing books is not merely unreasonable. It fundamentally misunderstands the relationship between reading and writing.

Authors don’t stop being readers when they become writers. Most of us became writers precisely because we loved reading in the first place.

Writers Have Been Criticizing Other Writers for Centuries

Perhaps someone should inform literary history that authors aren’t supposed to review books.

Edgar Allan Poe was both a fiction writer and a literary critic. Virginia Woolf wrote novels and essays examining literature. George Orwell produced fiction alongside some of the twentieth century’s most influential literary criticism.

And somehow, civilization survived.

Imagine telling Virginia Woolf that because she’d published Mrs. Dalloway, she was no longer qualified to express an opinion about anyone else’s writing. I suspect the resulting essay would have been magnificent.

Literary criticism has never been the exclusive territory of people who have never written a book. Writers have spent centuries studying, discussing, praising, challenging, and occasionally eviscerating one another’s work.

Of course, writing a formal literary essay isn’t identical to posting a review on Goodreads, Amazon, or a personal blog. Different platforms have different purposes and rules. But the underlying principle remains: writing books does not automatically invalidate someone’s ability to evaluate them.

If anything, writing a novel has given me a greater appreciation for the work involved. I know how difficult it can be to build a believable character, untangle a stubborn plot, or revise a chapter for the seventeenth time because something still isn’t quite right.

That experience doesn’t make me incapable of evaluating a book. It makes me more aware of the craft behind it.

Should Authors Review Books? Ethics vs. Gatekeeping

Now, before someone enthusiastically misinterprets everything I’ve just written, let’s establish something important. There are legitimate ethical concerns surrounding authors reviewing other authors.

If an author deliberately posts a dishonest negative review to damage a competitor’s reputation, that’s unethical. If two authors arrange to exchange glowing reviews regardless of what they actually think, that’s unethical. If someone conceals a relationship that materially affects their recommendation, that can undermine the credibility of the review.

And if a platform prohibits certain reviews because of conflicts of interest, those rules matter.

The National Book Critics Circle’s discussion of reviewing ethics shows that questions about professional relationships and conflicts of interest are worth examining carefully. The issue is how to review responsibly—not whether everyone who writes books must remain silent.

Unethical reviewing is the problem. Being an author is not.

We don’t prohibit teachers from discussing education because they work in schools. We don’t insist that chefs stop reviewing restaurants because they know how to cook. We don’t tell musicians they must never evaluate another musician’s performance.

We recognize that professional knowledge can provide valuable perspective while also acknowledging that conflicts of interest sometimes require disclosure or restraint. Why should authors be treated differently?

A published novelist who writes a thoughtful, honest review isn’t automatically engaging in professional sabotage. Sometimes she’s simply a woman who finished a book and has something to say about it.

Imagine that.

The Curious Contradiction of Supporting Indie Authors

Here’s where this argument becomes particularly irritating.

Independent authors are constantly encouraged to support one another. Read indie books! Promote fellow writers! Share recommendations! Help readers discover new voices! Leave reviews, because reviews matter! All perfectly reasonable advice. I’ve even written about supporting independent authors myself.

But apparently, once you’ve published your own book, you’re supposed to support fellow authors while carefully avoiding the act of publicly evaluating their work. How, exactly, is that supposed to function? Am I allowed to recommend a book if I enjoyed it? Can I write a blog post explaining why I loved the characters? What if I discuss the author’s world-building? At what point does an enthusiastic recommendation become a forbidden review?

Is there a committee that determines how many adjectives I’m permitted to use before I’ve crossed the line? Because if we’re going to invent arbitrary restrictions, I’d appreciate a handbook. Preferably one with footnotes. Though not too many footnotes please. I’m also working on an M.A. in History and I’m pretty much footnoted out!

The indie publishing community benefits when readers discover books through genuine enthusiasm, thoughtful commentary, and honest recommendations. And yes, some of those readers happen to be authors themselves.

Disqualifying their voices simply because they’ve published their own work would remove people who are often deeply invested in reading, discussing, and supporting books. That doesn’t strengthen the literary community. It makes the conversation smaller.

A Review Is an Opinion, Not a Declaration of War

Somewhere along the way, we’ve developed an unfortunate tendency to treat disagreement as hostility. A reader who doesn’t enjoy a book isn’t necessarily attacking its author. A reviewer who points out pacing problems isn’t automatically being cruel. And an author who expresses a critical opinion about another author’s work isn’t necessarily attempting to destroy someone’s career. Sometimes a book simply doesn’t work for a particular reader. That’s allowed.

I write young adult supernatural fantasy. I know perfectly well that Consanguinity isn’t going to appeal to everyone. Some readers will love my characters. Others won’t connect with them. Some will enjoy the mystery and mythology. Others may prefer a faster pace, a different narrative style, or an entirely different genre. Would I prefer everyone to love my book? Of course. I’m an author, not a saint. (Please love my book and review it – OFTEN.) But I don’t believe someone loses the right to express an honest opinion simply because that opinion might disappoint me.

There’s a difference between constructive criticism and cruelty. There’s a difference between an honest reaction and a personal attack. And there is certainly a difference between reviewing a book and attacking the human being who wrote it.

Those distinctions matter far more than whether the reviewer has an ISBN of her own.

Apparently, Experience Is Now a Disqualification

What bothers me most about this entire notion is the assumption lurking beneath it: that an author cannot be trusted to review another author’s work fairly simply because they’re also an author.

It presumes dishonesty without evidence. It treats professional experience as an inherent conflict. And it implies that once someone enters a creative field, their opinions about that field become automatically suspect.

That’s an extraordinary standard. By that reasoning, the people who understand the work most intimately should be the least welcome to discuss it.

Now, does being an author mean my reviews are automatically more insightful than those written by someone who has never published a book? Absolutely not. In fact, my reviews are more along the lines of I like it, here’s why. I’m pretty basic if the truth be told.

Readers bring different experiences, expectations, preferences, and perspectives to every story. A lifelong reader who has never written a sentence of fiction may offer observations that a bestselling novelist completely overlooks.

That’s one of the wonderful things about discussing books. We don’t all see the same things. We don’t all enjoy the same things. And we shouldn’t have to.

I Was a Reader Before I Was an Author

I’ve spent years reading books and sharing my thoughts about them. I didn’t start reviewing books as a marketing strategy for Consanguinity. I didn’t suddenly develop an interest in literature after publishing my novel. Reading was already part of my life. Reviewing was already something I enjoyed.

Publishing my own work didn’t change that. It added another dimension to my relationship with books, certainly. But I still experience stories as a reader.

I still get attached to characters. I still become frustrated with plot developments. I still celebrate a beautifully written passage, mourn the end of a wonderful series, and occasionally stare at a disappointing ending wondering what on earth just happened. And I still want to talk about those experiences.

My recent review of Dead to Rites is part of that same reading life. Publishing my own novel didn’t make me stop loving other people’s stories. Why shouldn’t I discuss them? Because someone has decided that authors ought to remain silent?

No, thank you.

Why Authors Should Still Be Allowed to Review Books

I’m perfectly willing to discuss ethical reviewing practices. I’m happy to acknowledge conflicts of interest, professional courtesy, and the responsibility that comes with publicly evaluating another person’s creative work.

Those are worthwhile conversations. The Goodreads author guidelines, for example, offer a useful reminder that authors participating in reading communities have responsibilities as well as voices.

But a blanket declaration that authors shouldn’t review books? Absolutely not. It’s an oversimplified solution to a problem that requires judgment, honesty, and common sense.

Being published doesn’t make someone incapable of fairness. Being unpublished doesn’t guarantee objectivity. And having written a novel certainly doesn’t mean a person must surrender the pleasure of discussing someone else’s.

I was a reader long before I became a published author. I intend to remain one for the rest of my life.

And if I finish a book tomorrow and have something thoughtful, enthusiastic, disappointed, or even mildly exasperated to say about it, I reserve the right to say it. Ethically. Honestly. And in my own voice. Because publishing a book didn’t revoke my reader card.

And anyone who thinks otherwise is welcome to explain exactly which chapter of the imaginary Author Rulebook says it did.

I’ll wait.

Preferably with a good book.

What do you think? Should publishing a book change whether someone can review other authors’ work? I’d genuinely love to hear your reasoning—even if you disagree.

The post Apparently, My Reader Card Has Been Revoked: Should Authors Review Books? first appeared on Tracie Joy.

Well, this was not how I expected my Sunday to go.

Like most indie authors, I have developed the rather unhealthy habit of checking my book sales, rankings, and reviews more frequently than any reasonable human being should. It’s practically an Olympic sport at this point.

So when I received an email from NetGalley informing me that someone had submitted feedback for Consanguinity, my debut young adult paranormal fantasy novel, I was excited. Finally! Another review!

And then I saw it. One star.

Ouch. Nobody enjoys a one-star review. I certainly don’t. But I also understand that publishing a book means putting something you’ve worked incredibly hard on into the world and allowing complete strangers to have opinions about it. Some people will love your characters. Others will hate them. Some will adore your plot twists, while others will see them coming from three chapters away. That’s how reading works, and I can live with that.

What I wasn’t prepared for was a one-star review that had absolutely nothing to say about my novel.

The Review That Wasn’t About the Book

Here is the entire explanation the reviewer provided:

Realized after the fact that the cover is AI generated, so I can’t rate this more than 1 star. I don’t support AI art covers!

That’s it. No discussion of the plot. No mention of the characters. No critique of the writing, pacing, dialogue, or worldbuilding. Just the cover.

The reviewer also marked the book as did not finish on Goodreads. Now, I have no idea how much of the novel this person actually read. Maybe it was five pages. Maybe it was fifty. Maybe it was almost the entire book. I don’t know, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

But I do know what the reviewer said: the one-star rating was based on the cover. And that’s where I have a problem.

Here’s the Part That Really Gets Me

I hired a cover designer.

When I decided to publish Consanguinity, I knew I needed a cover that would capture the atmosphere of the story. Something mysterious. Something supernatural. Something that hinted at the world my characters were about to discover.

So I did what independent authors are routinely encouraged to do. I hired a professional.

I found a designer on Fiverr offering fantasy book cover design services. I commissioned a cover for both the ebook and paperback editions, paid for the work, and even left a generous tip because I appreciated the effort. I didn’t sit down with an AI image generator and create the cover myself. I hired someone to do the job.

Can I personally verify every tool or technique the designer used? No. And I’m not going to claim otherwise. But here’s the thing: neither can a reviewer determine the entire creative process simply by looking at the finished cover. At least not with the certainty this review expressed.

And yet, based on that conclusion, my novel received one star. Not my cover. My novel. The story I spent countless hours writing, revising, editing, and preparing for publication. That distinction matters.

Let’s Talk About AI Art for a Minute

Before anyone starts sharpening their pitchforks, I understand that AI-generated artwork is controversial. There are legitimate concerns about copyright, consent, compensation, and the ways generative AI may affect working artists. Those concerns deserve serious attention, and I completely respect a reader’s decision not to purchase or read books featuring AI-generated artwork.

But here’s where this gets particularly interesting. On September 30, I published a blog post called I Use AI. It Doesn’t Write My Books. In it, I talked about ethical AI use, the difference between using technology as a tool and allowing it to replace human creativity, and the increasingly troubling tendency to accuse writers and artists of using AI based on assumptions rather than evidence.

I even devoted an entire section to the AI witch hunts happening in creative communities. My argument was simple: suspicion is not evidence. Just because something looks AI-generated doesn’t mean we know how it was created, and using AI for one purpose doesn’t mean someone used it for everything.

And now, less than two weeks later, here I am. Writing another blog post because someone decided my professionally commissioned book cover was AI-generated and gave my novel one star because of it.

Apparently, I should have knocked on wood when I wrote that first article.

For the record, I do use AI in certain aspects of my work, and I’ve never hidden that fact. I use it to help with marketing, brainstorming, website management, and some of the approximately 4,782 other jobs that come with being an independent author. But I write my own books, and I hired a designer to create my cover. Those distinctions matter.

What happens when someone assumes artwork is AI-generated and makes a public judgment based on that assumption? What happens when an author hires a designer in good faith, only to find that the finished product has become the basis for a negative rating of an entirely separate creative work?

And perhaps most importantly, what happens when the rating tells potential readers nothing about the actual story?

Because that’s what happened here. And it’s precisely the kind of situation I was concerned about when I wrote that earlier article.

Those Little Stars Matter

Let me tell you something about being an indie author. We do a ridiculous amount of work.

First, we write the book. Then we rewrite the book. Then we edit the book. Then we edit it again because apparently we enjoy torturing ourselves. We format it, proofread it, create covers, write descriptions, research publishing platforms, upload files, fix formatting disasters, and inevitably discover a typo thirty seconds after publication.

Then comes the marketing. Oh, sweet merciful heavens, the marketing.

Social media posts. Reels. TikToks. Newsletters. Blog posts. Book promotions. Advertising campaigns. Website maintenance. And somewhere in the middle of all this, we’re supposed to find time to write the next book. Because sleep is apparently optional.

For most of us, reviews are incredibly important. They provide social proof. They help prospective readers decide whether to take a chance on an unfamiliar author. They give us feedback about what worked and what didn’t. And when you don’t have a major publishing house behind you, every review feels significant.

I’m not suggesting that readers owe indie authors five-star ratings. They absolutely do not. A thoughtful three-star review can be valuable. Even a one-star review can be useful when it explains why a reader didn’t enjoy a book.

Maybe the pacing was too slow. Maybe the characters weren’t believable. Maybe the plot was confusing or the ending disappointing. Those are things an author can consider.

But what am I supposed to learn from a one-star review based solely on the cover? That someone doesn’t like what they believe is AI artwork? Okay. I understand that.

But what did you think of my book? I still have no idea.

Is Everything About a Book Fair Game?

Now, here’s where I want to be fair. Some readers believe that everything associated with a book is part of the reading experience. The cover. The marketing. The publisher. The author’s public statements. The ethical decisions behind production. And I can understand that perspective.

Books don’t exist in a vacuum. If a reader strongly opposes a particular publishing practice, that may influence whether they want to support a book. Fair enough.

But I think there’s a difference between saying, “I chose not to finish this book because I object to its cover,” and assigning the lowest possible rating to a novel without offering any evaluation of the writing. One explains a personal decision. The other contributes to a public rating that readers may interpret as a judgment of the story.

Are readers allowed to do that? Of course. Am I allowed to question whether it’s fair? Absolutely. And that’s what I’m doing.

Why I Reported the Review

Yes, I reported the review to Goodreads. Not because I think negative reviews should be deleted. Not because I believe authors should be protected from criticism. And certainly not because I expect everyone to love Consanguinity.

I reported it because the reviewer explicitly stated that the rating was based on the cover rather than the content of the novel. I believe that’s a reasonable distinction to ask a review platform to consider.

Goodreads may disagree. Its policies may permit ratings based on a reader’s broader experience with a book, including its presentation. And if that’s the decision, so be it.

I’m not interested in starting a fight with the reviewer. I’m not naming the person, linking to the profile, or encouraging anyone to track them down. This isn’t about punishing someone for having an opinion. It’s about asking whether our review systems are actually helping readers evaluate books.

The Most Frustrating Part

I put Consanguinity on NetGalley because I wanted honest reader feedback. I wanted to know whether people connected with Aisling and her friends. Whether the mystery of the Veilshard intrigued them. Whether the supernatural elements worked. Whether they laughed at the right moments, worried about the characters, or finished the book wanting to know what happened next.

And yes, I wanted to know what didn’t work. Because despite what some people might think, authors can learn from criticism. We may not always enjoy it. We may occasionally need chocolate, caffeine, or a few choice swear words before processing it. But thoughtful criticism has value.

This review gave me none of that. Instead, I received a one-star rating based on an assertion about artwork I had commissioned from someone else. And that is incredibly disappointing.

And About That Cover…

Here’s something the reviewer probably doesn’t know. I’ve actually been working on a possible redesign of Consanguinity’s cover.

Not because of this review.

The process started before I ever received that one-star rating. I’ve always loved the overall concept of my cover, but there were certain details, particularly the way some of my characters were portrayed, that never quite matched the people I see in my head.

And when you’ve spent as much time with fictional characters as I have, you get a little particular about what they look like. Trust me, J.T. and Eric have opinions.

So I’ve been experimenting with a different approach, exploring ways to make the cover feel more realistic and better reflect the story I’ve written.

But if I do, it will be because I want a cover that better represents my vision, not because someone gave my novel one star.

And frankly, that’s how creative decisions should be made.

So, Can We Talk About This?

I’m genuinely curious what readers and fellow authors think. Should a book’s star rating reflect the story between its covers? Or should it encompass everything associated with the publication, including the cover, the production process, and the reader’s ethical objections?

And if we’re going to judge creative work based on how we believe it was made, shouldn’t we first establish whether that belief is accurate?

I don’t expect everyone to agree with me. That’s fine. I welcome thoughtful disagreement. What I don’t welcome is the idea that assumptions should automatically become facts, particularly when those assumptions affect someone else’s work.

I hired a designer because I wanted a professional cover for my novel. I trusted the service I purchased. And I spent a tremendous amount of time creating the story behind that cover.

I’m not asking anyone to compromise their principles. I’m not asking anyone to give my novel a rating it hasn’t earned. I’m asking for something much simpler.

If you’re going to judge my writing, please read my writing.

Because there’s an entire story behind that cover. And I worked pretty damn hard to write it.

What do you think? Should a book’s cover influence its star rating? Is an objection to a publishing practice a fair reason to give a novel one star? I’d love to hear from readers, reviewers, and fellow indie authors.

Let’s have a conversation. Respectfully, of course. We can disagree without bringing out the literary pitchforks.

And YES, I used AI to make the feature image for this blog post!

The post My Book Got One Star. The Reviewer Didn’t Even Review the Story. first appeared on Tracie Joy.

Christine Pope delivers a well-written paranormal cozy mystery filled with ghosts, family secrets, unexpected twists, and just a hint of romance. Dead to Rites, the first book in the Last Call series, introduces readers to an unconventional heroine, a haunted wine bar, and a murder mystery where even the dead don’t necessarily have all the answers.

A Fresh Start with a Supernatural Twist

Lorelei Cosgrove isn’t your typical cozy mystery heroine. A twenty-something gothabilly enthusiast who favors black clothing, Lorelei is still recovering from the sudden loss of her parents in a plane crash a year earlier. Although their deaths left her financially comfortable, the emotional toll has been significant. Her once-promising Etsy business, where she upcycles vintage clothing, has fallen by the wayside as she struggles to find her footing again.

Then her Great Aunt Hazel passes away, leaving Lorelei an unexpected inheritance: a beautiful Victorian home in Prescott, Arizona, vintage jewelry, a classic Cadillac, and ownership of Copper State Cellars, a local wine bar.

It’s an opportunity for a fresh start, but Aunt Hazel has left her something else, too.

After a bee sting sends Lorelei into anaphylactic shock, she discovers that she’s inherited a rather unusual family ability: she can communicate with ghosts.

And apparently, Prescott has a few ghosts with stories to tell.

As Lorelei settles into her new life, she begins learning the ins and outs of Copper State Cellars from Roz, the longtime manager. She also gets to know some of the regular customers, including Father Frank, a beloved local priest who was a close friend of Aunt Hazel’s.

Then there’s Mack, a Prohibition-era federal agent who was killed on the property nearly a century earlier. Unlike the living customers, Mack isn’t going anywhere.

When Father Frank is murdered in the wine bar’s restroom, Lorelei suddenly finds herself investigating a crime with an unusual advantage: she can actually speak to the victim.

Unfortunately, Father Frank doesn’t know who killed him. And the secrets he learned in the confessional aren’t necessarily secrets he’s willing to share, even in death.

As Lorelei begins piecing together the clues, she also starts wondering whether her great-aunt’s death might be connected to the murder.

What Makes Dead to Rites Different?

One of the things that makes Dead to Rites stand out is Lorelei herself. She’s not your typical cozy mystery heroine, and that’s a refreshing change! With her all-black wardrobe, love of the gothabilly scene, and creative, independent spirit, Lorelei brings a wonderfully unconventional personality to the story.

She’s quirky without feeling like a caricature, and her alternative style is simply part of who she is rather than something that needs explaining or changing. I especially appreciate that Pope allows Lorelei to be unapologetically herself, proving that a cozy mystery heroine doesn’t have to fit the traditional mold to find herself at the center of a good mystery.

One of the details I particularly appreciated was Lorelei’s Etsy business, where she upcycles vintage clothing. It’s such a unique and interesting occupation for a protagonist, and I hope we get to see more of her creative side in future books.

There’s something appealing about a heroine who has an identity and interests outside of solving mysteries. Lorelei isn’t a detective by profession, and she certainly didn’t move to Prescott intending to become one. She’s a young woman trying to rebuild her life, figure out what to do with an unexpected inheritance, and perhaps rediscover the creative spark she lost after her parents’ deaths.

The fact that she happens to see ghosts just makes things a little more complicated.

Ghosts, Secrets, and a Murder Mystery

One of the interesting elements of Dead to Rites is how Pope incorporates the supernatural into the mystery. Lorelei’s ability to communicate with ghosts might seem like it would make solving a murder relatively easy. After all, wouldn’t it be convenient if the victim could simply identify the killer?

But Pope doesn’t make things quite that simple.

Father Frank may be dead, but he still has secrets. His position as a priest adds another layer of complication, particularly when information revealed during confession might help explain his murder.

Mack, meanwhile, brings a completely different perspective to Copper State Cellars. As a federal agent who met his end during Prohibition, he’s a reminder that the building has a history extending well beyond Lorelei’s arrival.

I like the idea that a place can hold onto its past, sometimes quite literally. The ghosts aren’t simply there to provide spooky atmosphere. They have histories, personalities, and connections to the mysteries unfolding around Lorelei.

Pope also does an excellent job of keeping readers guessing. Just when you think you’ve figured out who committed the murder, another twist comes along and sends your suspicions in an entirely different direction. The twists and turns kept me turning pages, and the eventual revelation challenged my assumptions about the mystery.

A Little Romance Along the Way

Of course, what’s a cozy paranormal mystery without a little romantic complication?

Following her allergic reaction, Lorelei meets Adam, the handsome emergency room doctor who treats her. He’s attractive, successful, and seemingly perfect on paper. When he asks her out, she agrees.

But sometimes perfect on paper doesn’t translate into butterflies in your stomach.

Enter Jude, a young man who has left the priesthood and is grieving the loss of Father Frank, someone who meant a great deal to him. His first encounter with Lorelei is anything but smooth, yet there’s an undeniable attraction between them.

What makes Jude particularly interesting is his backstory. The circumstances surrounding his decision to leave the priesthood give his character an additional layer of complexity, and his connection to Father Frank provides a natural reason for him and Lorelei to work together.

Their shared determination to uncover the truth creates an opportunity for their relationship to develop beyond that rocky first impression.

I’m particularly interested in seeing how Pope handles their relationship in future books. There’s clearly more to explore with Jude, and I’m curious to see where things go between him and Lorelei.

Final Thoughts on Dead to Rites

Dead to Rites combines an unusual heroine, an atmospheric Arizona setting, supernatural elements, family secrets, and a mystery filled with enough red herrings to keep readers questioning their theories until the end.

The combination of Lorelei’s unconventional personality, the history surrounding Copper State Cellars, and the ghosts who inhabit her new world gives the series plenty of possibilities for future stories.

I’m especially curious to see what comes next for Lorelei and Jude, whether she’ll find her way back to her creative pursuits, and what other secrets might be waiting in Prescott.

Looking for more Christine Pope?

If you enjoy paranormal cozy mysteries with quirky characters, ghostly encounters, and a little romance, check out my review of Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun, another Christine Pope mystery featuring a heroine with supernatural abilities, a haunted house, and a ghost who has a mystery of his own to solve.

Because apparently, I have a thing for ghosts who refuse to rest in peace.

The post Dead To Rites by Christine Pope – Book Review first appeared on Tracie Joy.

I use AI.

There. I said it. And apparently, in some corners of the writing community, those three words are enough to make people reach for the pitchforks. But here’s the thing: ethical AI use is not the same thing as handing your creative work over to a machine. AI doesn’t write my books. I do.

Every character, every relationship, every plot twist, every bit of dialogue, and every terrible thing I do to my readers in Chapter 37? That’s me. I dreamed up the world of The Veilshard Chronicles. I created Aisling, J.T., Eric, and Sabina. I decide what happens to them, what they say, whom they love, what they fear, and what waits for them on the other side of the veil.

Those stories are mine.

But writing the story is only one part of being an indie author.

Apparently, I Have 4,782 Other Jobs

When I decided to independently publish Consanguinity, I knew I’d have to do more than write a book. I’m not entirely sure I understood exactly how much more.

An indie author is also a publisher, marketer, social media manager, website administrator, SEO specialist, advertising department, event planner, publicist, newsletter writer, salesperson, and occasionally a person staring at WordPress at 10:30 at night wondering why something moved three pixels to the left for absolutely no reason. If you’ve ever wondered why supporting indie authors matters, I wrote more about that in Why You Should Support Indie Authors.

And today, apparently, I became a bookmark manufacturer.

I have neither the time nor the money to hire a professional for every single one of those jobs. So yes. I use AI.

I use it to brainstorm marketing ideas. I use it to help me understand SEO. I use it when WordPress decides to test the limits of my emotional stability. I use it to plan social media posts, organize projects, think through advertising options, work on promotional materials, and figure out what I need for author events. I’ve even used it while developing projects like my Traveling Consanguinity project, where copies of my book are being released into the wild for readers to find.

Sometimes I use AI to help create graphics for a blog post because, while I happily paid a professional artist to create my book cover, I cannot afford to commission an artist every time I want to post something on my website or Instagram.

Today I used AI to help figure out how to make bookmarks for an upcoming author signing. My original plan involved printing the designs on stickers, attaching those stickers to bookmark-shaped cardstock, laminating everything, cutting them out, punching holes in them, and adding tassels.

AI helped me realize that this was an absolutely ridiculous way to manufacture one hundred bookmarks. It did not write a novel. It potentially saved me from spending an entire weekend swearing at a laminator.

There is a difference.

I’m Also a Teacher Who Uses AI

I’m not only an author. I’m also a high school teacher. And yes, I use AI there, too.

I might use it to help refine a lesson plan. I might use it to create or revise a rubric. I can use it to help me think about how to modify an activity for students with different learning needs, brainstorm a new approach when a lesson isn’t working, or take something I’ve already created and make it clearer.

But AI isn’t teaching my students. I am.

AI doesn’t know the kids sitting in front of me. It doesn’t see the student whose face tells me I’ve lost them even though they haven’t raised their hand. It doesn’t know when my carefully planned lesson needs to be thrown out because this particular class needs something completely different today. It doesn’t build relationships with my students, challenge them, encourage them, redirect them, or celebrate with them when something finally clicks.

That’s my job.

More importantly, I’m teaching my students how to use AI, too. Because pretending AI doesn’t exist isn’t going to prepare them for the world they’re entering.

They need to learn that asking AI to do their assignment for them is not the same thing as using AI to help them understand something. They need to know the difference between asking for feedback and asking for an answer. They need to learn to question what AI gives them, verify information, recognize when it’s wrong, and understand that a confident answer isn’t necessarily a correct one. They also need to understand when using AI crosses the line from assistance into academic dishonesty.

Simply telling students, “AI is bad. Don’t use it,” doesn’t teach any of that.

This isn’t just my personal approach to the issue. UNESCO’s guidance on generative AI in education and research advocates a human-centered approach that protects human agency while exploring meaningful uses of AI in teaching and learning. The U.S. Department of Education has also examined AI’s role in the future of teaching and learning, including both its potential benefits and the risks educators need to consider.

The technology is already here. My students are going to encounter it in college, in the workplace, and in their everyday lives. I’d rather teach them how to use it critically, responsibly, and ethically than send them into that world believing there are only two choices: never touch AI or let it do their thinking for them.

There is an enormous amount of territory between those two extremes. That’s where education belongs.

“Uses AI” Doesn’t Tell You Very Much

That’s the part of this conversation I think we’re losing. When someone says an author “uses AI,” what does that actually mean?

Did they type a prompt into a chatbot and publish whatever came out as a novel? Did they ask it for ten ideas for an Instagram post? Did they use an AI-powered grammar checker? Did they ask for help understanding their Amazon advertising dashboard? Did they create a promotional image? Did they brainstorm newsletter subject lines? Did they use it to organize research? Did they ask why their website suddenly looks possessed?

Those are wildly different activities, but increasingly they’re being treated as though they’re interchangeable.

They’re not.

Even the U.S. Copyright Office’s work on copyright and artificial intelligence recognizes that distinction. Its report on AI and copyrightability specifically distinguishes using AI tools to assist human creativity from allowing AI to stand in for human creativity. Human authorship matters. So does what the technology is actually being used to do.

I have boundaries around how I use AI. Other authors will have different boundaries. Some won’t use it at all. That’s okay.

We should be talking about those boundaries. We should be talking about copyright. We should be talking about how AI models are trained. We should be talking about compensation for artists and writers. We should be talking about environmental impact, disclosure, job displacement, and what happens when marketplaces become flooded with machine-generated books.

Those are real conversations.

“AI is evil and anyone who touches it is evil” isn’t much of a conversation.

And Can We Please Stop the Witch Hunts?

This is the part that bothers me most. We need to stop doing this to each other.

If an author openly says they generated an entire novel with AI, then by all means, have a conversation about AI-generated books. If a publisher replaces paid artists with generated images, talk about it. If you don’t want to buy a book that contains AI-generated material, that’s your choice. If you don’t want to use AI in your own creative work—or anywhere else—that’s your choice too.

But suspicion is not evidence.

An image that “looks like AI” is not proof that an author’s novel was written by AI. Someone using ChatGPT to help write a Facebook caption doesn’t mean ChatGPT wrote Chapter Twelve. An author using an AI-generated image for a blog post doesn’t tell you anything about how that author created the book they’re selling.

And before we get out the pitchforks because someone may have used AI, maybe we should ask what they actually used it for.

Did they ask it to write their novel? Or did they ask it to brainstorm keywords, troubleshoot their website, organize a marketing plan, understand an advertising dashboard, create a checklist for an author event, or save them from an ill-conceived plan involving one hundred stickers, pieces of cardstock, and a laminator?

Context matters.

We Are Writers. Words Matter.

There is something particularly strange about watching writers make accusations based on assumptions. We’re supposed to understand the power of words. We know how easily a story can change depending on who is telling it. We know what happens when information is repeated without context. We know the difference between what we know, what we suspect, and what we can actually prove.

At least, we should.

Calling another author a fraud is not a small thing. Questioning whether someone actually wrote their own book is not a small thing. Sending a mob toward another writer because an image “looks AI-generated” is not protecting the writing community. It’s attacking someone based on an assumption.

And perhaps we should be especially careful about that now, because AI detection isn’t some magical superpower. Humans can make mistakes when deciding whether something was AI-generated, too. The more convinced we become that we can always “spot AI,” the easier it becomes to accuse innocent people.

Nobody should have to prove their humanity to an internet mob.

You Don’t Have to Like AI

You don’t have to like AI. You don’t have to use it. You don’t have to approve of the way I use it. You can decide that your personal boundary is no generative AI whatsoever. I can respect that.

What I would like in return is enough room for nuance.

Using AI doesn’t automatically mean someone used it to write a book. Creating an AI image doesn’t erase the hundreds or thousands of hours an author spent writing, revising, editing, formatting, publishing, and promoting their novel. And using a new tool to handle some of the enormous workload surrounding creative work doesn’t automatically make someone less creative.

For me, the boundary is pretty simple: AI can help me with the work surrounding my creative work. It doesn’t get to be the creative work.

My stories are mine. My characters are mine. My words are mine.

And the same principle applies in my classroom. AI can help me refine the lesson. It doesn’t teach the lesson. I do. My students can learn to use AI as a tool. It doesn’t get to do their thinking for them.

If we can understand those distinctions in education, perhaps we can make room for them in the writing community, too.

And if AI can help me understand Rank Math, troubleshoot WordPress, come up with a ridiculous eight-second marketing video, plan an author signing, or point out that I absolutely do not need to operate a small bookmark manufacturing facility out of my house? I’m going to use the tool.

We can talk about AI. We should talk about AI. We can question it, criticize it, establish boundaries around it, and keep having difficult conversations about where it belongs in creative spaces.

But we can do all of that without treating every author who may have touched AI like a witch who needs to be burned at the stake.

Put down the pitchforks. Let’s have the conversation instead.

Want to see what I’m creating when I’m not arguing with the internet about AI? Explore The Veilshard Chronicles and my other fiction, or read more about finding your way back into writing.

The post I Use AI. It Doesn’t Write My Books. first appeared on Tracie Joy.

If you want to support indie authors, I have some very good news: you don’t have to buy a single book.

Don’t get me wrong. We love it when you buy our books. We may even stare lovingly at the sales report when one appears. Not that I have ever done such a thing. (Quickly hides sales reports).

But buying a book isn’t the only way to help an independent author. In fact, some of the most valuable things you can do for an indie author cost absolutely nothing—and take only a few minutes.

Since publishing Consanguinity, the first book in my Veilshard Chronicles series, I’ve discovered just how much those little things matter. A review appears. Someone shares a post. A reader tells a friend about the book. A library expresses interest. Three mysterious copies wander off into the world through IngramSpark.

None of those things feels enormous on its own. Together? They start building something.

And if you’ve ever wondered how you can help your favorite indie authors build that something, here are a few very easy places to start.

Because Every Story Is a Piece of Someone

Here’s the biggest reason I think you should support indie authors: when an indie author puts a story out into the world, they’re putting a piece of themselves out there with it.

It’s something they’ve dreamed about. Something they’ve worked on, worried over, rewritten, deleted, rewritten again, and honestly poured themselves into. By the time that book lands in your hands, it isn’t just a collection of words and pages anymore. It’s a piece of them.

It’s a piece of us.

And a little bit of acknowledgment from the people who read those words can mean more than you probably realize.

Back when I wrote fanfiction, we used to ask readers to “please feed the feedback monster.” I loved looking at the comments people left on my stories. I wanted to know what made someone laugh, what surprised them, which character they loved, which moment made them want to yell at me, and whether something I’d written actually made them feel something.

That feeling doesn’t disappear when you become a published author.

We’ve given you this little piece of ourselves. We’ve sent it out into the world and hoped it finds someone on the other side.

So tell us.

Tell us you liked it. Tell us which character you fell in love with. Tell us which one drove you crazy. Tell us you stayed up too late because you needed one more chapter. Tell us a scene made you laugh or cry or want to throw the book across the room.

Tell us how our story made you feel.

Because yes, reviews help sell books. Likes and shares help with algorithms. Library requests help books reach new readers. All of those practical things matter.

But underneath all of that is a writer sitting somewhere wondering whether this thing they dreamed about and worked so hard to create meant something to somebody else.

Sometimes one little comment is enough to tell them that it did.

Leave a Review—even a Tiny One

Let’s start with the big one: reviews matter. They do and it’s one of the best ways to support an indie author.

They give potential readers something besides the author’s own enthusiastic insistence that, no really, the book is good. Reviews provide social proof. They tell someone browsing a book page that actual human beings have read this thing and had thoughts about it.

And here’s something I wish more readers knew: your review does not have to be long.

You don’t need to write a book report. You don’t need a clever opening paragraph, textual evidence, or a concluding statement. I am a teacher, and I promise I am not grading you. A few sentences about what you enjoyed are enough. Loved the characters? Say that. Couldn’t put it down? Perfect. Still thinking about one particular scene three days later? Tell people.

Even something as simple as, “I really enjoyed this book, and Eric needs adult supervision,” would frankly delight me.

If you’ve read Consanguinity and enjoyed it, leaving an honest review on Amazon—or wherever you track and review your books—is one of the loveliest things you can do for me.

Like, Comment, and Share an Indie Author’s Posts

Another great way to support indie authors, takes seconds and costs exactly zero dollars is to like, comment and share their posts on social media. When an indie author posts about a new release, shares a ridiculous character meme, celebrates a review, reveals a cover, or makes a video that took considerably longer to create than they would like to admit, interact with it.

Like it. Even better, leave a comment. And if you think someone else might enjoy it, share it.

Social platforms use engagement as one of the signals that helps determine whether content gets shown to more people. Your interaction can help a post travel beyond the author’s existing followers and reach someone who has never heard of that author—or their book—before.

You don’t even need to compose something profound. A heart works. An emoji works. “Eric is my favorite and I will not be taking questions” works.

Every little interaction tells the internet, Hey, people are interested in this. And for an indie author trying to be discovered in a very, very crowded online world, that matters.

Tell One Person About the Book

Word of mouth is powerful and a super simple way to support indie authors. Think about how many books you’ve read because someone you trusted said, “You HAVE to read this.”

You don’t need to become an author’s unpaid marketing department. Just think of the person in your life who would genuinely enjoy the book and tell them about it. Send them the link. Loan them your copy. Tag them in a post. Mention it the next time you’re talking about books. However if you want to support indie authors by becoming their unpaid marketing department, few if any will turn you down!

One recommendation can create another reader. That reader might recommend the book to somebody else. That’s how books begin traveling beyond the author’s immediate circle.

That’s actually the idea behind my Traveling Copies of Consanguinity experiment. I released copies of the book into the wild with one simple request: read it, log where you found it, and pass it along. I have no idea where they’ll eventually end up—and that’s half the fun.

Because sometimes supporting a book really is as simple as helping it find its next reader, and it’s a great way to support indie authors.

Request the Book at Your Library

This one is particularly close to my heart. Libraries are wonderful places for readers to discover authors they might never have taken a chance on otherwise. If your library doesn’t carry an indie book you’ve enjoyed, consider requesting it.

Libraries have their own purchasing policies and can’t acquire every title requested, of course. But reader requests can put a book on a librarian’s radar. And if the library does add it? One copy can potentially introduce that author to dozens of new readers.

You can also search WorldCat to see whether a book is already held by libraries near you.

As someone who has been reaching out to libraries about Consanguinity, I can tell you that seeing my book make its way into library collections feels pretty darn wonderful.

Add the Book to Your Reading Sites

Another super simple way to support indie authors if you use Goodreads, StoryGraph, or another book-tracking community, add the book to your shelves. Mark it as “Want to Read.” Rate it when you’ve finished. Review it there, too, if you’re feeling particularly generous.

Those little bits of activity make an indie book more visible in places where readers are specifically looking for their next read. Again: tiny action. Potentially much bigger ripple.

Follow the Author

If you enjoy someone’s work, follow them wherever you actually like spending time. You don’t have to hunt them down on seventeen different platforms. Nobody needs that kind of commitment.

But following an author on your favorite social platform means you’re more likely to see their next release, cover reveal, event, sale, or bit of character-related nonsense. And if they have a newsletter, consider joining it.

Social media algorithms are unpredictable. An email list gives authors a way to communicate directly with readers who actually want to hear from them, and again, it’s a great way to support indie authors.

Celebrate the Little Wins With Us

Here’s something I didn’t fully understand until I became an indie author myself: there are a lot of little milestones. The first sale. The first review. The first stranger who buys the book. The first library that says yes. The first bookstore that reaches out. The first time you discover that three copies sold somewhere through your distributor and you have absolutely no idea where they went.

None of those moments means you’ve suddenly become a bestselling author. But every one of them means the book traveled a little farther than it did yesterday.

When you like the celebratory post, leave a “Congratulations!” or get excited with us, you’re not just being nice. You’re reminding us that someone is paying attention. That matters more than you might think

Supporting Indie Authors Is About Helping Stories Travel

Of course, buying an indie author’s book is wonderful. But support isn’t measured only in dollars. It’s the review you took three minutes to write. It’s the post you shared. It’s the friend you told. It’s the library request you submitted. It’s the comment that gave a social post just a little more life.

Indie publishing is built on thousands of tiny connections between writers and readers. Most of those connections don’t look dramatic when they happen, but they accumulate. One reader becomes two. Two become five. Someone discovers Book One just as Book Two arrives. A person who found an author through a random shared post becomes the person waiting impatiently for the next release.

That’s how the snowball grows.

So if you’ve ever liked an indie author’s book and wondered what you could do to support indie authors, pick one tiny thing. It counts. I promise.

And if the indie book you happened to read was Consanguinity? Well…

If you haven’t left a review yet, consider this your very low-pressure nudge. Two sentences will do.

And I still maintain that “I liked it and Eric needs adult supervision” is a perfectly respectable literary critique.

The post How to Support Indie Authors Without Spending a Dime first appeared on Tracie Joy.

Not metaphorically. I actually left one behind.

Today I launched Traveling Copy #001 of Consanguinity, leaving it in a Little Free Library here in Londonderry, New Hampshire. The idea is simple: find the book, read it, log where you found it, and then pass it along for someone else to discover.

Hopefully, that person does the same.

And maybe—if I’m ridiculously lucky—someday I’ll get to watch this little purple book make its way far beyond New Hampshire.

Why a Traveling Copy?

I’ve talked a lot about the strange reality of becoming a published author. You spend months—or years—writing a book. Then you edit it, format it, design it, publish it, market it, talk about it incessantly on social media, and generally do everything short of standing on the side of the road waving copies at passing cars.

Although, give me time.

But books are meant to be read.

So I started wondering: What if I just gave a few copies permission to wander?

That’s how the Traveling Copies of Consanguinity were born.

Each traveling book is numbered and has information inside directing its finder back to my website. There’s a guestbook where readers can tell me where they found the book, what they thought of it, and—most importantly—where they’re sending it next.

You can follow the journey of the traveling copies of Consanguinity here.

Today, I made the very first entry myself.

Traveling Copy #001: Londonderry (Nutfield), New Hampshire.

And then I left it behind.

Which, incidentally, is much harder than you would think when you’ve spent the last year obsessing over this particular book.

But Today Was the Perfect Day

Here’s the part that makes me ridiculously happy.

It’s Mack Plaque Weekend in Londonderry and Derry.

If you’re from around here, you know exactly what that means. If you’re not, Mack Plaque is an annual competition between Londonderry High School and Pinkerton Academy, a local tradition dating back to 1983. The two schools compete across fall sports, with the winner earning possession of the plaque—and, perhaps more importantly, a year’s worth of bragging rights.

And if you’ve read Consanguinity, you might recognize it. Because Mack Plaque Weekend exists in Aisling’s world, too.

Consanguinity takes place in Nutfield, my fictionalized version of Londonderry. I borrowed pieces of the real town—its history, its landscape, its traditions—and then added portals, magic, strange dreams, supernatural powers, and four teenagers whose lives become considerably more complicated than they expected.

So naturally, Nutfield has its own Mack Plaque rivalry.

When Aisling encounters it, she’s the newcomer trying to figure out why everyone around her has suddenly lost their minds over a school rivalry that apparently requires decorations, temporary tattoos, signs, bragging rights, and an enormous amount of town pride.

Today, while the real Londonderry and Derry were doing exactly that, I put a copy of the book containing my fictional version of it into a Little Free Library in the real town that inspired Nutfield.

There was something wonderfully full-circle about that.

And Now…I Have to Leave It Alone

This may actually be the hardest part of the experiment. I took my pictures. I took some video. I made the first guestbook entry. Then I walked away. I am absolutely not going back to check whether someone has taken it.

For one thing, it’s Mack Plaque Weekend and getting anywhere around here is an adventure all by itself. For another, that would probably defeat the entire purpose of releasing a book into the wild. So Traveling Copy #001 is officially on its own.

Maybe someone will pick it up tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe it will sit there for a week before the right person notices the purple cover among all the other books.

I don’t know.

And that’s actually what makes this so much fun.

Somewhere out there, a person I don’t know may stumble across Aisling, J.T., Eric, and Sabina simply because they opened the door of a Little Free Library and thought, Huh. This looks interesting.

And if they take it home, I hope they enjoy it.

But even more than that?

I hope they pass it on.

Because Copy #001 has officially begun its journey.

Now let’s see where it goes.

If you’ve found one of my traveling copies, visit the Found Consanguinity page and add your stop to its journey. I can’t wait to see where these books end up.

The post Traveling Copy #001 of Consanguinity Begins Its Journey first appeared on Tracie Joy.

How do you get back into writing when you missed a day. Then maybe another one. Then somehow it’s been a week, or three weeks, or three months, and the thing you were absolutely, positively going to do consistently has quietly fallen off the calendar.

This is usually the point when we make everything worse. Instead of simply starting again, we start calculating everything we should have done. The blog posts we didn’t write. The words we didn’t add to the manuscript. The emails we didn’t send. The social media posts we didn’t create. The project we haven’t touched since sometime around the invention of indoor plumbing.

And before we know it, we’ve built an elaborate guilt shrine to our own inconsistency. Here’s a thought: Knock it down.

You Don’t Have to Catch Up

One of the biggest mistakes we make after a break is deciding that before we can move forward, we have to make up for everything we missed. You don’t. If you planned to write five blog posts and wrote two, you don’t owe the universe three blog posts. If your writing goal was 500 words a day and you haven’t written in a week, you don’t need to sit down and pound out 3,500 words as penance.

You don’t need to earn your way back into your creative life. You just need to come back. That’s the reset.

I’m Learning This One in Real Time

I have a blog posting schedule. Actually, I have a rather lovely blog posting schedule. There are topics. There are plans. There are series. There is organization.

And right now? It’s untenable.

I teach full time. I’m working on a master’s degree. I’m writing the second book in The Veilshard Chronicles. I’m marketing Consanguinity. I’m creating other things. I have a family. I have a house. I have approximately seventeen thousand ideas bouncing around in my head at any given moment.

And somewhere in there, I decided I should also publish a blog post every single day. Because apparently I occasionally forget that I am one human being.

The funny thing is that I’ve been writing this entire series about building a creative life that actually works. I’ve written about seasons of creativity, sustainable writing routines, gentle productivity, and protecting your creative energy. And now my own life is tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “Hey. You know all that stuff you’ve been telling everyone else?”

Yeah. That.

The World Will Continue Spinning

I’m starting to realize something that should probably have been obvious: the world isn’t going to end if I don’t publish a blog post every day. Google isn’t going to send someone to confiscate my website. My readers aren’t going to gather outside my house carrying tiny pitchforks. My entire writing career isn’t going to collapse because Tuesday came and went without a new post.

And, perhaps most importantly, missing a day doesn’t mean I’ve failed at blogging. It means I didn’t publish a blog post that day. That’s it.

We attach so much meaning to these little breaks. We turn I didn’t do the thing into I’m terrible at doing the thing. Those are not the same statement.

And there’s actually research behind the idea that beating ourselves up isn’t the motivational powerhouse we sometimes imagine it to be. Researcher Kristin Neff’s work on self-compassion and motivation suggests that responding to setbacks with encouragement rather than harsh self-criticism can help us learn, adapt, and keep trying. In other words, apparently science also thinks the guilt shrine is unnecessary.

Resetting Is Not Starting Over

This may be my favorite part of the reset ritual: you aren’t starting over. Everything you did before the break still counts. The words are still written. The blog posts still exist. The progress still happened. The habits you built aren’t erased because life interrupted them.

You’re simply beginning again from where you are now. That’s a very different thing.

Make the Next Step Ridiculously Small

When you’ve been away from something, don’t make your return enormous. Don’t announce that you’re going to write 2,000 words every morning, post to six social media platforms, publish five blog posts a week, start a newsletter, reorganize your website, launch a podcast, and finally figure out Pinterest before Thursday.

Pick one thing. Write 200 words. Open the manuscript and reread the last chapter. Draft one blog post. Send one email. Create one graphic. Spend fifteen minutes on the project you’ve been avoiding.

Small actions have a wonderful way of reminding us that we can still do this. That’s really the heart of gentle productivity: progress doesn’t have to be enormous to count.

Maybe the Old Plan Doesn’t Fit Anymore

This is the part I’m currently sitting with. Sometimes getting back on track doesn’t mean returning to the exact same track.

Maybe the schedule that worked three months ago doesn’t work now. Maybe the goal you created when life was quieter isn’t realistic during a busier season. Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe your priorities have changed. Maybe you’re simply tired.

Adjusting the plan isn’t quitting.

I’m looking at my own daily blogging schedule and realizing that perhaps the answer isn’t figuring out how to force myself to keep up with it. Maybe the answer is admitting that it doesn’t fit my life right now.

I can blog consistently without blogging daily. I can be serious about my writing without turning every available moment into a productivity opportunity. I can change the plan. So can you.

The Reset Ritual

So here’s my new ritual for the moments when everything has gone slightly sideways:

Notice where you are. Let go of where you think you should be. Decide what matters now. Choose one small next step. Begin again.

No punishment. No frantic catching up. No elaborate guilt shrine. Just a reset.

Because a sustainable creative life isn’t one where you never fall out of your routine. It’s one where you know how to find your way back.

And sometimes finding your way back means realizing you don’t actually want to return to exactly where you were. Maybe you need a different path. Maybe you need a slower pace. Maybe you need Tuesday off.

The important thing is that you’re still moving. And tomorrow—or whenever you’re ready—you can begin again.

Getting Back into Writing

Not quite sure how to get back into writing? That’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s okay to start small. Every journey begins with that first step.

If you want a gentle place to start, I put together a free Creative Mini Spark. It’s small, no-pressure, and designed to help you reset and make something again.

You can grab it here.

No spam. No guilt. Just a quiet nudge back toward yourself.

The post How to Get Back Into Writing After a Break: The Reset Ritual first appeared on Tracie Joy.

There are days when I sit down to write and the words are right there waiting for me. And then there are days when I finally have time to write, open my laptop, stare at the screen, and realize I have absolutely nothing left.

Not because I don’t have ideas. Not because I don’t want to write. I’m simply drained.

That’s something I’ve had to learn about building a sustainable writing life: having time to create and having the energy to create are two very different things. It’s also why I’ve been thinking so much lately about the seasons of creativity and learning to work with the energy I actually have instead of the energy I wish I had.

Creative energy is a resource. And if we want to keep writing, making, dreaming, and building things we care about, we have to learn how to protect it.

Pay Attention to What Drains You

Some drains are obvious: a stressful day at work, an argument, too little sleep, or a packed schedule.

Others are sneakier. Scrolling social media for twenty minutes and somehow emerging convinced that everyone else is more successful than you. Answering messages the second they arrive. Making dozens of tiny decisions all day long. Saying yes to something you didn’t really want to do because saying no felt uncomfortable. Spending an hour worrying about something you can’t actually control.

None of these things necessarily feels enormous on its own. But creative energy often disappears a teaspoon at a time. By the time you finally reach the part of the day you planned to spend writing, the cup is empty.

The first step isn’t fixing everything. It’s simply noticing. What consistently leaves you depleted? And just as importantly, what replenishes you?

Reduce the Decisions That Don’t Matter

Decision fatigue is real. What should I make for dinner? Should I answer this email now? What should I post today? Which project should I work on?

Should I write, edit, market, blog, make a graphic, update my website, or stare dramatically into the middle distance?

By the hundredth decision of the day, choosing between two fonts can feel like an existential crisis. And there’s actually research behind that feeling. The American Psychological Association has reported that repeatedly making choices can be mentally taxing, affecting our ability to stay focused on the tasks that come afterward.

Creating simple routines removes some of those decisions. Maybe Monday is your blog day. Maybe you write for twenty minutes before checking social media. Maybe you keep a running list of small creative tasks for days when you don’t have enough energy for deep work.

You don’t need to schedule every minute of your life. You just want to save some of your decision-making power for the things that actually deserve it.

Be Careful With Social Media

For writers and creators, social media is complicated. It can connect us with readers, other writers, opportunities, inspiration, and community. It can also chew through creative energy like a Labrador who found an unattended couch cushion.

You post something you’re proud of. Then you check the views. Then you check again. Then you wonder why someone else’s post has 20,000 views while yours has 213. Yes, I do wonder this. All. The. Time!

Suddenly you’re not thinking about your story anymore. You’re thinking about algorithms.

Use social media. Enjoy social media. Build community there. But recognize when you’re using it as a tool and when it’s using you. Sometimes protecting your creative energy means closing the app.

Stop Using Someone Else’s Timeline as Your Measuring Stick

Comparison is particularly dangerous because there will always be someone doing more. Someone writes 3,000 words before breakfast. Someone published six books this year. Someone’s debut went viral. Someone has 100,000 followers.

Someone apparently has a spotless house, a thriving career, twelve published novels, homemade sourdough, perfect children, and enough free time to document all of it beautifully on Instagram.

Good for them.

Their life isn’t your life. Your creative life has to fit inside the life you actually have—not the imaginary one you think you’re supposed to have.

Progress still counts when it’s slow. Two hundred words count. One edited page counts. A fifteen-minute brainstorming session counts. Rest counts too. That’s really the whole idea behind my Gentle Productivity Method for Writers: small, sustainable actions are still progress.

That was me, yesterday. I sat down, opened the computer and was like NOPE. I played solitaire instead. Part of me felt bad, and another part of me felt really bad because I couldn’t seem to win a game, but that’s a blog post for another day!

Learn to Say No

This one is hard, especially if you’re accustomed to being the person who helps. But every yes costs something. Sometimes the cost is only an hour. Sometimes it’s the mental energy you needed for something that mattered more to you.

Protecting your creative energy occasionally means saying: Not tonight. I can’t take that on right now. Maybe another time. No.

You don’t need to justify every boundary with a twelve-paragraph explanation and three supporting documents. You are allowed to decide that you don’t have the capacity. Remember, “NO.” is a complete sentence.

Protect the Part of You That Makes Things

Creativity doesn’t require perfect conditions. I’ve written when I was tired. I’ve written when life was chaotic. I’ve written in tiny pockets of time between everything else I needed to do.

But sustainable creativity does require some protection. That might mean setting boundaries. It might mean putting your phone in another room. It might mean choosing one project instead of trying to advance six of them simultaneously. It might mean taking a night off without feeling guilty about it.

And sometimes it means recognizing that you’ve already given enough of yourself to the day.

Your creative energy isn’t something you have to squeeze every possible drop from. It’s something you want to replenish.

Because you’re not trying to create for one perfect productive week. You’re trying to build a creative life that lasts.

And sometimes the most productive thing you can do for tomorrow’s creativity is protect a little of yourself today.

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The post Protecting Your Creative Energy first appeared on Tracie Joy.

Every once in a while, I pick up a book expecting a fun, cozy read and end up becoming completely and utterly invested in people who do not exist.

Christine Pope’s Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun did exactly that.

It has an old house, a clairvoyant heroine, a teenage ghost who insists his accidental death wasn’t actually an accident, a charming local historian, a coffeehouse-owning new best friend, and a wellness guru who is entirely too fond of beige.

Really, what more could I ask for?

Meet Phoebe Finch

Phoebe Finch restores old and historic homes for a living, which is already enough to make me want to follow her around and look at houses with her. But Phoebe also happens to be clairvoyant.

For most of her life, those two parts of herself have managed to coexist fairly peacefully. Phoebe knows she can sense things other people can’t, but she also knows that telling people their expensive historic home comes with an unexpected supernatural tenant isn’t necessarily great for business.

Unfortunately, she makes exactly that mistake.

After telling a pair of well-to-do Southern California clients that their home has a presence, Phoebe is unceremoniously fired. Worse, word gets around, and suddenly her professional reputation is in tatters.

So she does what any perfectly rational person might do when her life implodes.

She buys an old house sight unseen on Whidbey Island and leaves Southern California behind.

Obviously.

And because this is a paranormal cozy mystery, we all know there’s absolutely no chance that old house is simply going to be an old house.

This House Comes With Lanny

Phoebe’s new home has its very own ghost: Lanny, a teenage boy who died there years earlier.

The official story is that eighteen-year-old Lanny had been drinking, fell, hit his head, and died in 1988.

Lanny has a slightly different version.

He is convinced someone whacked him over the head.

There’s just one teensy problem.

He can’t remember who did it—or much of what happened that night.

That immediately gives Phoebe a mystery to solve, but what I loved even more was the relationship that develops between Phoebe and Lanny. This isn’t a ghost who occasionally appears, delivers an ominous clue, and disappears through a wall.

Phoebe essentially has a roommate.

A roommate who is perpetually eighteen.

Living with a teenage boy who is never going to grow up leads to some genuinely funny interactions, and their relationship gives the story a warmth I wasn’t necessarily expecting when I started it. Lanny becomes much more than the mystery Phoebe needs to solve. I cared about him, and I wanted Phoebe to find out what happened to him because he deserved to know.

And Then There’s the Rest of Whidbey Island

One of the things Pope does particularly well here is surround Phoebe with characters who make her new home begin to feel like an actual community.

Talia, who owns the local coffeehouse, quickly becomes a friend, and I loved that Phoebe gets a genuine female friendship as she starts rebuilding her life.

Then there’s Theo, who runs the local Heritage Center.

Historic-home restorer meets guy who runs the Heritage Center?

Christine Pope knew exactly what she was doing.

Theo becomes both an important part of Phoebe’s investigation and her love interest, and their relationship develops alongside the mystery rather than swallowing it whole. The romance is sweet, believable, and decidedly low-spice, which fits the cozy tone of the story perfectly.

And then we have Amaranth Hawthorne.

Amaranth owns a wellness spa.

Amaranth has opinions.

Amaranth is also far, far too fond of beige.

I don’t know why that particular detail delighted me as much as it did, but it did.

Unfortunately for Phoebe, Amaranth also decides that the newcomer is bringing some sort of negative energy to the community and manages to convince a surprisingly large percentage of the town that Phoebe might be a problem.

Because nothing says positive energy quite like organizing the neighbors against the new woman in town.

There’s More Going On Here Than a Ghost Story

This was one of my favorite aspects of the book.

Phoebe arrives on Whidbey Island because her reputation was damaged when she told the truth about something other people couldn’t—or wouldn’t—believe.

Now she has Lanny, whose own story has essentially been decided for him.

He was drinking.

He was depressed.

He fell.

End of story.

Things become even more interesting when old journal pages supposedly written by Lanny surface and appear to confirm that he had been depressed before his death.

Except Lanny insists he wasn’t.

Suddenly, Phoebe isn’t simply investigating how a teenage boy died. She’s trying to figure out why the story everyone believes about him doesn’t match the person standing—or, technically, haunting—right in front of her.

I loved that parallel.

Both Phoebe and Lanny are dealing, in very different ways, with other people deciding who they are and what their stories should be.

And because revealing anything more would take us directly into Spoiler Land, I’m stopping right there.

This Is Exactly What I Want From a Cozy Paranormal Mystery

The story moves.

There wasn’t a point where I found myself wondering when we were going to get back to the mystery. I wanted to know what happened to Lanny, I wanted to know what Phoebe would uncover next, and I wanted to see what happened with Theo.

At the same time, Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun never loses that comfortable cozy feeling. There’s humor, friendship, a developing romance, a quirky community, an old house, and just enough paranormal weirdness to make the whole thing fun.

It isn’t scary.

It isn’t gruesome.

The romance doesn’t suddenly turn into an entirely different book.

It’s simply a fast-moving, funny, thoroughly enjoyable paranormal cozy mystery that kept me invested from beginning to end.

Which brings me to my one complaint.

Christine Pope, We Need to Talk

This is a standalone.

A standalone.

Christine, you cannot introduce me to Phoebe, give her a teenage ghost roommate, introduce Talia and the coffeehouse, put Theo in charge of the Heritage Center, let me become invested in Phoebe and Theo’s budding relationship, give me an entire island community—

—and then expect me to just leave.

I would happily read another book about these characters. I want to watch Phoebe and Theo’s relationship continue to develop. I want more of Phoebe and Lanny’s interactions. I want Talia. I want the Heritage Center. Hell, at this point I’ll even take more beige.

But apparently I must remain disappointed.

Rude.

Final Thoughts

Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun was exactly the kind of book I needed: clever without trying too hard to be clever, funny without turning its characters into caricatures, romantic without letting the romance overpower the mystery, and cozy while still giving me a mystery I genuinely wanted solved.

Most importantly, I cared about these people.

I cared about Phoebe finding a place where she could stop hiding part of herself. I cared about Lanny discovering what really happened to him. I cared about the friendships Phoebe was beginning to build, and I absolutely cared about where things were going with Theo.

That’s ultimately what turned this from a fun paranormal mystery into a five-star read for me.

I didn’t just want the mystery solved.

I wanted more time with the people solving it.

5 out of 5 stars

Recommended for: readers who love paranormal cozy mysteries, haunted houses, amateur sleuths, small-town communities, ghosts with personality, low-spice romance, historic homes, and heroines starting over.

And readers who can apparently handle the emotional hardship of discovering that the characters they’ve become attached to live in a standalone.

I’m still working on that last one. If like me you’re struggling, why not check out another one of Christine’s books like Killing Time. You can read my review here and quickly realize that The Witches of Mingus Mountain will be your next series on your TBR bile.

The post Book Review: Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun by Christine Pope first appeared on Tracie Joy.