At the end of Deception, Soul Seer Chronicles, Book 2 I left Sophie and the Coveners reeling from personal tragedy. In Division, Book 3, they’re scrambling for safety and at odds on how to accomplish it.


We scrounged up handfuls of protection spells scribbled onto lined pieces of loose paper, including herbal fusions, charmed amulets, and lists of ancient talismans, if only we could get our hands on them. None of it mattered. Not one was specific to our circumstances and I wasn’t up for hiding dragon’s blood or devil’s dung in my bra forever. Especially since devil’s dung’s smell was described as ‘revolting’ and ‘akin to sulphur’.

“You’re doing whatever it takes, that’s what you’re doing,” Donovan said when I told him as much. “Don’t chick out on me now. I don’t care if it’s stinky, sticky, or slimy. If it works, it’s worth it to smell like you’re dead than to actually be dead.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” I challenged. “You could be the one dying and taking me down with you. I should be worried you’re gonna wreck your car or piss off a redneck in some ditch-pig watering hole. We’re assuming I’m the instigator here, when you’re more of a liability than I am.”

Donovan blinked. “Ditch-pig watering hole?”

“My theory is solid, and you know it. At every turn, I’m in as much danger because of you, as you are because of me, so whatever stinky herb or protection spell you’re gonna Guinea pig me with, double it, ‘cuz you’re doing it too.”

“Guinea pig you with?”

“Stop that!” I was beyond irritated. Clearly, since I made the watering hole comment, Donovan was too.

“Fine. You’re right. So, what’s your solution?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of us doing all this?” Kim said with her own flare of annoyance.

“You’re looking for protection from death.” He looked to Kim with a sharp glare and then back at me with the same attitude. “Since you don’t trust me to ensure your safety, then I’m going to have to seriously crimp my watering hole lifestyle.”

“’Bout time,” Kim said and earned a smile from me.


A hint of excitement danced across the connection and leaked into his eyes when he said, “Camp out?”

Caine tossed the book in his hand down. “You’re such an insect.”

I wasn’t even sure I heard right.

Kim attempted to stifle her laugh and lost. “Who calls someone an insect?” I shot her a ‘please don’t add to this’ glare, but Donovan joined in and Kim couldn’t contain herself.

“I knew you were an opportunist,” Caine said with a laugh that held no humour, “but this is weak.”

“She needs a safety net, which means I need to be safe. And since she,” Donovan pointed to me then drew out his next words, “thinks I live some wild and crazy lifestyle, apparently, I need to be leashed before I kill her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“Well, it goes both ways,” Donovan said. “You work around a bunch of drunk assholes hyped up on college pride and eight-balls. Not to mention my psychopath of a sister. So, there’s no way you’re going to work. And the only way you can confirm I’m being safe without strapping a baby monitor to my ass, and vice versa, is to be around each other. What better place then here, where we’re protected?”

Read DISCOVERY & DECEPTION if you need to catch up on what they’re trying to protect themselves from.

Back in the summer, I travelled with a fellow author to Arkansas for the third annual writer’s retreat with our publisher Oghma Creative Media, the first for both of us. While I was thankful not to be travelling alone, my brain was on overdrive about “homework” given to all the writers a couple of days before the retreat.

Cue my groaning. LOUD groaning.

Groaning turned into epic overthinking freak-out status as I couldn’t wrap my head around the assignment itself AND why we needed to do it at all. Knowing myself as I do, I knew this was because I was dreading talking in front of a group of near strangers – I knew their online personas but not their real life squishiness – and the pressure had me procrastinating until 30 minutes before we were to present it.

The Assignment: Write a short introduction of yourself in the style of the genre you write in.

Ummmm… Fuck.What the fizz does that mean??

My current series is paranormal romance and contains modern concepts of witchcraft and the occult with a healthy sampling of profanity and struggling relationships. I love the dark, the creepy, and the materials of the craft I write about, but my life is mostly sitting in my PJ’s staring at my laptop while trying to wrestle entertaining words, binging shows on Netflix or Crave, and hanging out with the hubs and pugs. Not paranormal romance-y at all. No further instructions were given so it could be as long or as short as you wanted and contain whatever personal information you cared to share.

After considerable complaining and fleeting justifications surrounding flaking on the assignment completely , I landed on the following in a spew of words in less than ten minutes.

Retreat Intro

A flicker of imagination and a fuck-tonne of boredom came together to create a hobby alongside a mind-melt of a career in social work.

Ten years later, the social works career continues to pay the bills. I bet if you peeked through my ears at the perfect angle, you could probably see the build-up of reality clogging the creative workings of what’s now an obsession to break up the daily grind with something that sparkles, growls, and maybe even tingles.

I may not live in a gingerbread house, ride a Hellhound to the grocery store, or sing lovely enough to drown sex-starved sailors, but I have a home with bat-wing wreath on the door, a pug side-kick in my Kia’s passenger seat, and a husband I managed to trap near 18 years ago.

I’m Sami-Jo, author S.J. Cairns, and I write paranormal romance.


Not too bad, yeah? Nothing extreme, not too long or too short considering how many people we needed to get through. I completed my task and survived. Not to mention, I learned a few things about my fellow authors.

View from the Sky-Vue Lodge Bed & Breakfast in Winslow, Arkansas

Do you journal? WAIT?! Don’t leave yet.

I know, I know. People blather on about journalling and why you should do it. I’ve even done it in an old blog from almost 4 years ago. And I stand by it.


Bad me. I’ve been a shitty journaller and there’s been huge swaths of time between my entries. I took a look this morning and realized I hadn’t journalled since February 3, 2018.

Soooo much has happened in my life since February, good and bad. From negatives such as the death of my beloved pug and snuggle partner, Bosco, and my formidable Nanny who was 90 years old, to the Hubs getting knee surgery and being off work for 3 months, to finding out I was pregnant and then miscarrying in the span of a handful of days, to more positive events such as having 2 books published by Oghma Creative Media and getting to travel to Arkansas for a writers retreat and another trip to Hawaii with the Hubs and long-time friends.

Bosco boy. Forever missed.

8 months of my life fit into a tidy 6 pages. That was it. I could have broke it all down to the details and emotions that filtered through each event, but it’s been some time and those feelings have already faded. As a writer I would need to delve deep into them to express them properly and crying isn’t really my bag. Not today. So I settled for an update as if catching up with a friend I hadn’t talked to in some time.

There’s no wrong way to do it and people do it for various reasons in varying ways. Some scribble about their day. Some take the pen in their fist and angrily vent their greatest annoyances to get it out on the page and out of their heads. All ways are meant to be cathartic or purposeful. For me, today, it was a chance to look at the last 8 months of my life and see all that happened. Time speeds on. No doubt I forget important details I could have included, but these were the events that found me.

I always hope I’ll get back to journallying the way I used to, but life has changed since then. Work is busy and stressful – expected at a homeless shelter – and when I’m not working shift work, I’m working at my writing and getting book 3, 4, and 5 ready for publishing, so essentially, I’m always working.

If nothing else, my entries proved I haven’t spent much time living life or having fun. It’s now Autumn, my favourite season. So I also took a few snaps this morning of the backyard in full Autumn colours. Someone PLEASE learn how to freeze the season so I can have it all year.

Where’s a true Magic when you need one?


“Wow. It’s quiet today,” someone says at work.

“Noooo! Don’t say that!” *I feverishly look for REAL wood, not that pressed wood crap, to knock on*

When you work in a shelter, you never, ever, comment on a quiet shift or you risk immediate karmic backlash. No. Instead, you ignore the quiet and when someone mentions it, you knock wood, flex, and stare the bad luck down like an alpha wolf about to go rabid if it dares to mess with you.

Then, twenty minutes pass and it gets busy anyway because that’s the nature of social work.


Superstitions amaze me. No proof they work exists, but still, we insist on engaging in weird and embarrassing behaviour to prevent whatever bad thing we assume will happen if we don’t.

We insist on trying to override common sense and basic science by crossing our fingers for good juju. You don’t rely on absurd tactics to keep the strip from turning pink when birth control would’ve been the smarter option.

So where do these desperate attempts originate from? Our parents? They’re easy to blame, but they learned it from somewhere.

Some common ones in my world come to mind, so I started Googling.

The favoured ‘knock on wood’ to ward away the evil that is the busy work day, is said to derive from pagan times when spirits and deities lived in the trees. Touching or knocking on wood acknowledged and called upon them to bring about good fortune. I’ll never knock on wood again without thinking of little spirits living in the chair rails.

Food isn’t free from superstitions either. Say you get hand-talking about an episode of Wynonna Earp and how sexy Tim Rozon looks with a ‘stache as Doc Holliday and the salt shaker goes flying. Everyone knows spilling salt is a no-no, right? But why?

Salt used to be an expensive commodity, so spilling would be wasteful, but the tasty mineral has been used in many ancient rituals as well as modern rituals to cleanse or ward away negative spirits.

There’s also a connection to lies and treachery as in DaVinci’s painting of the Last Supper as Judas has spilled the salt.


Regardless of the reason for it being bad luck, you bet you’re scooping up every grain and tossing it over you left shoulder to reverse the bad juju and/or blind the dirty devil on your left shoulder. (Blow it a kiss while you’re at it. I hear he likes that.)

Some superstitions have long-lasting negative consequences. In the middle ages, black cats were said to be familiars of witches and, if they crossed your path, they’d block your path to God or Heaven. Countless black cats have been maimed or killed since then for no other reason than moronic superstitions.

The number 13 is another. Paraskevidekatriaphobia (fear of number 13) is so puissant that buildings still refuse to label the 13th level as it is. The label assigned to the elevator button doesn’t change the fact that it’s still level 13. We know this, but we refuse to admit it. While the Chinese and Ancient Egyptians thought 13 was lucky, the rest of the world is deluded enough to pretend it doesn’t exist. Though there were those New Yorkers who started a trend of Thirteen Clubs in 1881 which consisted of facing every superstition related to the number. Guess what? Still alive. Well, now I’m sure they’re dead, but not because of their group.

In all parts of the world superstitions pop up for various reasons and make their way around the world.

  • Don’t sweep at night or you’ll sweep away your wealth. – West Africa
  • Pregnant women shouldn’t wear a lei or the umbilical cord will choke the unborn baby. – Hawaii
  • An itchy right hand mean unexpected money, but an itchy left hand means unexpected money loss. – Turkey
  • Throwing rice at the bride and groom encourages nearby jealous spirits to eat instead of bothering them. – China

Whatever the problem, we humans have a superstition to combat it. As glass half-empty as we try to be, we instinctually crave hope, and think that our problems can be solved by avoiding open umbrellas inside or, like myself, sleep with the open end of the pillow case to outside of the bed because having it on the inside leads to the potential of trapping in nightmares.

As long as they don’t hurt anyone or impede on rational functioning beyond minor embarrassment, I say let them stick around. I know I don’t plan on walking under any open ladders, so if someone wants to put snake skin in their wallet in hopes of becoming rich or wear the same unwashed lucky underwear all football season, then that’s their bees wax or…crotch rot as the case may be.

Do you practice any superstitions? Don’t worry, none are too odd to be repeated. Unless your superstition consists of repeating your superstition aloud, then send it via psychic messages. I’ll be waiting.





























(My original post was on The Fabulous Fictionistas website.)

Which “V” word? You ask.


No, but you may stumble over a few in the dark on the way to kitchen for more snacks.


Pfft. Even if we Fictionistas are taking one each on our writing journey and at times listening to it’s gut feeling instead of our tummies.


Sort of. Maybe. You’ll find many and we writers love to rack up the kill quotient and decimate the hearts of our readers for our own sick pleasure.

The “V” word I’m getting to is “VALIDATION”.

Boring after realizing vaginal intuition is a thing, I know, but stay with me.

As someone who works with an array of people, validation can be one of the strongest tools in my belt. We humans crave it. We like to pretend we don’t, but we do, and gaining such acceptance and understanding when it involves your passion? Lord love a duck, we crave this most.

You can close the shutters, ignore all forms of social interaction, and write yourself into early carpal tunnel, but then what?

We writers need validation for many things we don’t even realize. Here’s a fraction of the validation supportive writing communities can provide:
  • The fact everyone’s first draft is better toilet paper than publish worthy, yet you never get rid of even tiny nuggets of brilliance.
  • Staying up until the birds are singing to perfect a scene or finish revisions is worth the dark circles and week of walking like an octogenarian, because the result is more important than bathroom trips.
  • Rejection letters are received by everyone brave enough to put themselves out there. They are also considered a point of pride and a challenge, especially to some famous author who refused to take no for an answer.
  • Your browser history is a testament to hours of valuable research you’ll use 3% of and makes you look like a serial killer, arborist, and circus performer.
  • The mushy middle is a real thing on and off the page and many have tips on how to combat them both. We’re all wearing sweats anyway.
  • Sanity. With so many characters battling for attention in your brain, you’re not the only one to daydream and run your shopping cart into the kid in front of you. Chances are the wail and pissed of parents scowl proves an impressive character reference.
  • “We are all rubbish at this.” Validation from a writer friend. All of which validate our insecurities as a writer. We can’t be positive 24/7 and word brilliance tends to sprout from bouts of inner conflict. Sometimes we need other to kick your ass into gear, and this is okay.
  • That a shelfie ranks higher than a dick/tit pic. (I challenge you to send a shelfie in response to the next request seeking sauciness)


Mmmm. Now you’re talking. Show me more.

  • Going without showering, a real meal, sleep, and physical interaction with another human is acceptable as long as you get your word count in.
  • There’s millions of writers out there recycling elements of the same stories, but there’s only one you. And yes, your vampire-fairy adventure mystery romance has an audience you’ll discover if you work hard enough to find it.

Get out there and find writers who you can share something with, even if it’s only how awesome your new notebook is and how your cat/dog/lizard is cock-blocking your writing time.

Everyone loves a nugget of what could have been, so I’m sharing a few small and unedited nugs from Soul Discovery. Made more difficult by the fact it’s a new release and I risk revealing too much.


Unfortunately the scene didn’t pertain to the forward motion of the story, so it was cut. I still envision the old man down in the park when I get to this part of the story.

Laundry tumbling, I lacked direction again. 5:30am was an okay good time to walk Bosco before he peed on the couch he was sniffing at and all she intended to do was hit up his favorite watering tree and scoot back to the apartment, but found the nagging urge to meander down the railway ties to where the dreams took place irresistible.

Maybe that was an unconscious plan all along. Regardless, he wouldn’t be down there, the dreams always took place in a rainstorm at night.. Now, the sky was alive beneath the rising sun painting variations of colour, the temperature change causing creek mist to hang like fog across the grass.

As I approached the right spot I she stopped and closed my eyes feeling my temples thrum with my heart. The morning air was crisp. The nights are still cool, enough I wished I’d worn a sweater. A shiver raced down my back causing a shudder and goose bumps to cover every inch of my body, only his face on the inside of my eyelids.

“Hey lady, gotta smoke?” called a gravel-thrashed voice.

I jumped and screeched like a little girl as the voice perforated my recall of the grey-eyed man. A homeless man in his fifties stood unshaven in clothing in desperate need of a good burning, the stink of cheap beer and urine wafted downwind.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.” His raised hands trembled.

“S’okay. Sorry, um…I don’t smoke.” Heading towards the stairs, cursing the dense idea to go down there at this time,  I scurried off as fast as I could.

“You don’t have to leave, sweetie!”

Ignoring him and sprinting up the staircase, I was embarrassed by how winded I was. I bolted so quick Bosco panted to keep up, no doubt confused at why we left without playing off the leash. He didn’t care about extra people no matter how bad they smelled.

Drained by foolishness, I retrieved my clothes from the dryer before they disappeared.


This one is confusing if you HAVE read the book because this depicts a time when Sophie worked at a women’s shelter as a counselor and Kim was a co-worker. In real life I work at a women’s shelter as a Women’s Advocate and was advised it would be a good idea to change Sophie’s profession to avoid any accidental correlations made with clients and/or coworkers. While this meant A LOT of changes including Sophie becoming a bartender while in school studying psychology, Kim being a neighbour and having a change in profession as well, and any and all scenes that occurred within the setting of the shelter. PAIN IN THE ASS but worth it.

Run ragged by the twenty or so clients and their children in the large old converted house, Kim had everything calmed down promising me a quiet night. Looking forward to seeing Kim relieve me at 7:30am, I gave Kim a tight hug, she looking like she wanted to stay and chat. Normally hugging was too personal for me, but over the month I got used to Kim’s touchy-feely personality and embraced her with ease.

Luckily, the night went by without crisis. Distributing medication, passing along sound advice, and everyone was in their rooms by midnight. Easy-peesy. Cleaning was the worst. Since nightshifts were a common Relief shift, I felt like the company’s personal Molly Maid. Unfortunately, when you’ve only been out of college for seven months, and hired before graduation, you suck it up and appreciate the experience.

After toilets, floors, and windows sparkled, all necessary paperwork complete, all client files updated, garbage cans dragged to the curb, and breakfast served, nightly tasks were behind me. The hour or so before Kim returned for the day shift was excruciating. As usual wasting the minutes reading made time zoom by, and when 7:30am came, I was so encased in the story I regretted putting it down.



We all seek answers to crazy dreams; ask a friend, your significant other, your mom, or in my case the internet. This is but a small scene of Sophie’s search for answers, removed since it was unfruitful anyway and didn’t lead the reader anywhere important.

An easy solution brought her a search engine result of over 100,000 hits claiming to interpret the unconscious. A promising website looked as hokey as one would assume a dream dictionary site could look. “Shadows” and “stranger” encompassed the premise surrounding this mysterious figure in the darkness. The result read, “The ‘shadow’ represented a part of the dreamer not yet recognized, a part that is hidden or repressed. The ‘stranger’ could be a helper trying to give the dreamer direction or advice.”

Until the next book comes out that’ll be all the peeks you get (maybe :-P). If you haven’t read it already here’s the link to find Sophie and see what really happened in the polished final version AVAILABLE NOW.



Sophie Saterlee has made it her mission to get her life together. Leaving behind an abusive relationship, she’s bartending her way through a psychology degree. Ultimate goal? A new, stronger sense of identity.

When a terrifying recurring nightmare begins to poison Sophie’s waking hours and threaten all her progress, once again she’s close to losing everything.
An invitation to a tea leaf reading party sounds like exactly the kind of distraction Sophie needs. But an innocent girls’ night out turns into a journey through a complex and treacherous world of magic.
To survive it, Sophie must forge uncomfortable alliances with arrogant Donovan and mysterious Caine. One of them is tied to her past, and the other fills her present. Both men might hold the key to her uncertain future.
There’s more going on in her little corner of the world than Sophie realizes, and the truth will change everything.

Heya creative people,

Sometimes inspiration hits at the craziest places, like the shower with no options to write things down. Ideally, your muse slides up to your shoulder and whispers sweet plot lines while you’re in front of the computer with swift fingers. (err…maybe not put quite like that). You know what I mean. A creative space is important and can welcome you into the proper head space to build captivating characters and worlds to better illustrate the story rolling around in your noggin.

I’ve been in my new home since December and this weekend I FINALLY got my office together. The basic elements were in place, but a constant mess with bare walls.

BEFORE - like I said...a mess.

BEFORE – like I said…a mess.


A few hours later, some art on the walls, and DVD rack turned book case, and a healthy dose of dusting and I’m left with:

AFTER! So much better.

AFTER! So much better.


It’s not a creative space without the creative works of Angelina Wrona and Sara Deck on my walls:


My computer was coming on to me.










And a gratuitous shelfie:




Bosco approved:



Do you have a space devoted to creativity? Let me see 🙂

I was tagged by @SpartaGus to reveal 20 facts about myself. You can find his here.

  1. When I was 13 I wanted to be an actress/model/singer, because you can’t choose just one. Duh!
  2. I hate hashbrowns. Potatoes in any other form is acceptable. Hashbrowns? May as well be cigarette ash.
  3. It’s possible I have an unhealthy obsession with journals.


Many have been added to the collection since this picture was taken


4. My first kiss was at 15 on a high school production balcony, Spiderman style, while I was unknowingly high on shrooms (Friend of a friend dosed our pizza). Pretty sure the guy doesn’t even know.

5. In college I worked at Marineland for 2 summers in the Beluga Whale photo booth and got to feed them often (No, I didn’t see any evidence of animal abuse. Yes, I get asked that all the time).

6. Nightmare Before Christmas is one of my favourite movies and I watch it twice a year. Halloween while carving pumpkins and Christmas while decorating the tree.

7. My first novel is being re-released today (June 1, 2016). A paranormal romance/urban fantasy ‘Soul Discovery, Soul Seer Chronicles, Book one‘. At least 5 more books to follow. 166_0.364980001452645463_sd_cv_hr

8. I’m allergic to exercise. Well, kind of. I have Food Dependent, Exercise Induced Anaphyalaxis. If I eat something on my Danger List and get my heart racing within 24 hours of eating the food, I go into anaphalaxis. I haven’t had an apple since ’99 and I crave them often. *sigh* Mmmm, apple pie.

9. I love hour glasses. They’re so pretty. One I have on a necklace is my favourite.

10. I married my high school sweetheart. (Not the shroom dude). It’s been almost 16 years and he continues to make me laugh everyday.














11. I worked at a pickle factory for about 2 seconds. The noise, smell, and motion sickness due to the conveyor belt, resulted in me fainting onto a cement floor. Not made for factory work.

12. I share my April 7th birthday with famous people like Russell Crowe, Jackie Chan, Billie Holiday, James Garner, and a handful of YouTube stars.

13. To support my brother in rockstardom I traveled with him and a busload of others to Florida on a puke-strewn party bus to see him compete in a battle of the bands during Canadian Spring Break. During, I didn’t drink any alcohol. (American pop tasted funny – ruined my rum – and I don’t drink beer or straight liquor) So my brother told people I was allergic to alcohol so they would leave me alone.

14. Halloween is my favourite holiday, but I haven’t celebrated it (except carving pumpkins) since I was 17 while underage drinking and wearing a purple fuzzy top-hat while pounding on peoples doors and being turned away.

15. I love pugs. This is obvious if you follow me for more than 5 minutes.


My 2 loves. Bosco and his son Mortimer.

16. I’m 1of 6 women in The Fabulous Fictionistas who vlog, blog, and chat about reading, writing, publishing, and anything that tickles our entertainment fancy on our Youtube channel, website, Facebook, and Twitter.

17. Some of my favourite shows are Supernatural, Arrow, The Vampire Diaries, and The Originals – anything with supernatural/paranormal beasties in it. So many more I love are no longer around or were cancelled far too soon. I miss Haven and The fringe.

18. During my driving lessons I was in an accident. It wasn’t my fault, but my instructor was gone after that and I got a new one. The experience left me a nervous driver which is why I never get behind the wheel.

19. I’m a Senior Women’s Advocate at a women’s shelter and assist others facing struggles including habitual homelessness, addictions, mental health, abuse, and much more to help them move on to the next phase of their lives.

20. My ligaments are extra stretchy and my joints tend to partially dislocate under minimal pressure. As a kid they would pop out. As an adult it makes for a good party trick. 😉

There you go. I’m officially an open book. Don’t leave me hanging. Tell me a fact about you I don’t already know. Make it interesting 😀

Hey guys!

Huh? Well, that was easy. Arm in arm with the anonymity of a keyboard and editing options, saying hello to a bunch of strangers is simpler than blinking. Walking through the doors of McCormick Place in Chicago and seeing the thousands of people milling around ranging from readers, bloggers, authors, librarians, advertisers, publishers, and anything else you could possibly think of that’s related to the publishing world, PLUS the expectation to talk to them and make future contacts?

Cha’right bud.

Simple eye contact was a no-go. It granted permission for people to talk to you, to ask questions, to hand you something you might not want, and to seek something from you that you might not have to give.

Smiling was an invitation I couldn’t commit to so chances were my resting bitch face was securely in place.

Out of my comfort zone is, well, uncomfortable. Obviously. But I did push myself to make conversation when I had something to say and handed out a Fabulous Fictionistas bag with all the ladies info inside to at least 5 people. Okay, maybe 4. But they were a great marketing tool for someone comfortable reaching into the cavern of possible rejection.

Pointing out which Fabulous Fictionistas were the outgoing type was a cinch. They were the ones running around making contacts and finding old ones to reinforce plans. I’d like to think one day I’ll have the fortitude to do so as well, but this year – my first book conference and year as a published author – was not my year.

I did find ways to learn, even if observational rather than active.

I learned Disney had great breakfast foods and wearable swag.


Daphne and Sami-Jo enjoy the wonders of sustenance and wearable swag

Daphne and Sami-Jo enjoy the wonders of sustenance and wearable swag


I learned most companies had stacks of books to give to people and would rather have you take it than cart it back home. So I collected a crap ton of free ARCs (advanced reader copies).




And had a wonderfully painful time of lugging them around and then fitting them in my suitcase and carry-on while remaining under flight weight requirements.

One thing the venue could have used was a reading nook to get cozy with them while you rested your sore bodies, but the most you got was the cafeteria.

So while it seems the event may have been a waste of time since the whole purpose is to network, it wasn’t. Learning is different for all and, in this case, I like to think of my experience as laying the foundation for future years and experiences of whats expected of me. I went in blind and emerged aware of my current limitations and of those peaks I’d like to reach.

Worth every penny.

Also, I got to meet ALL of The Fabulous Fictionistas. They are as amazing as they promised and I had an hilarious time getting to know them in person and learning a plethora of knowledge to use for my future as an author while we all work as a team on the path to rule the world.

BEA17 is in New York and I can’t wait to meet up again. Maybe 2017 will be the year I talk to more than 5 people.

As an introvert these things are difficult. Have any fellow introverts out there found ways to use this as an advantage? Or to bypass the shyness and do more than chat about the overpriced water? (Because I failed in that mission as well).

If so, let me know. 😀