Behind the Books

Long before it became Storygate, the Fort Defiance Gate Way was part of my childhood playground. Decades later, a librarian named Solveig led me back to the place where stories first felt protected—and transformed the ending of Prose & Cons into a refuge for banned books and forgotten stories.

Prose & Cons is, at its heart, a tribute to the stewards of stories—the writers, librarians, readers, archivists, teachers, and everyone else who believes stories are worth protecting.

Lucy Sinclair, character from Prose & Cons by E. E. Lawson. Art by @bond.sash There is a particular kind of irony in writing a novel about an author being manipulated by algorithms, artificial intelligence, and the Devil–and then attempting to market that novel on the internet. I'm beginning to think Prose & Cons may be conducting its own publicity campaign. Let me explain. When I published my first novel, I discovered a very strange corner of the internet. Authors probably k

During Lent, many people look for meaningful books to read during this season of reflection, forgiveness, and spiritual renewal. Years ago, during the Lenten season, the first idea for my novel Absolution came to me while I was sitting in church.

Winter has a way of softening the world if we let it. Mornings arrive wrapped in gray light. The air feels hushed. Steam curls up from mugs of tea like a small ritual of comfort. Everything seems to move a little more slowly as the world itself is taking a breath and turning inward. We’re taught to resist this. We’re told to push harder. Stay loud. Stay visible. Stay productive. Keep proving that we are moving forward even when our bodies and hearts are quietly asking for r

Don’t get me wrong—I adore Christmas movies. I’ve watched them all. But as I curled up with yet another story about a big-city woman finding love in a small town (usually while saving a bakery, toy shop, or Christmas festival), I couldn’t help but crave something more. I wanted a Christmas story that sparkled differently—something with wit, history, and heart. That’s when Hurry Down the Chimney was born.

Every year, Christmas music sweeps across the radio waves, transforming our everyday shopping experiences and public outings into a sleigh-bell extravaganza, whether we like it or not.

Every story starts with a spark. Meet Hurry Down the Chimney characters Ira Silverman and Judy Jacobs on Nov. 5, 2025. Pre-Order now. For me, it came one December when I found a 2017 Los Angeles Times article about Philip Springer, the composer of Santa Baby. In it was a video of then 91-year-old Mr. Springer reflecting on writing the song. He laughed as he recalled how he and lyricist Joan Javits dashed it off in 1953—never imagining it would become a Christmas class

Holiday Rom-Com, Hurry Down the Chimney, coming November 5, 2025 to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. For the past several months, I’ve been tucked away in my writing corner with a bottomless coffee cup, working through revisions of my holiday rom-com, Hurry Down the Chimney. Every sentence has been polished, every character arc tightened, and now—finally—the finish line is in sight. Soon, I’ll be inviting early readers to join me as ARC reviewers. This story came to life in the

I’ve spent the last two years wearing every hat—writer, content editor, cover designer, formatter, and publicist—to bring Absolution to life. With launch just five days away, I’m inviting you behind the scenes (and into a giveaway of five signed paperbacks!)—enter via my mailing list, Facebook, or Instagram by June 30 for a chance to win.

What if the most haunting unsolved crime of the 1980s inspired a novel of guilt, silence, and redemption? In In 1982, seven people died after taking Tylenol laced with cyanide. The killer was never caught. That mystery stayed with me for years—and ultimately inspired the story behind Absolution. This is how fiction helped me imagine the closure we never got.

In 1982, cyanide-laced Tylenol claimed seven lives—and the killer was never found. That chilling reality stuck with me for 20 years. Absolution is my attempt to imagine what might happen if someone knew more than they let on.