Stepping Out (FINALLY)

Sinfully Yours - A Writer's Life One

Oct 22, 2025

I’ve survived surgery, and now I can finally focus on my main passion: writing. The Sinfully Yours series is all about living my best life as a romantasy writer doing her thing. Nothing fancy, just little check-ins about what I’m writing, reading, or feeling at the moment, with a splash of everyday life and its adventures. Think of it like a cozy chat over coffee, with equal parts creativity, chaos, and a dash of naughtiness here and there (probably way more here, honestly). It’s how I plan to keep myself grounded, or maybe a little unhinged. Either way, it might just help sell some books. HAHA.

Saturday, October 18th, was the first time I went out after surgery. I mean, out out, not just rolling down to the hospital for a post op or anything like that. No, your girl was out in the streets for the first time in a month, just living her best life.

Best part? It didn’t hurt.

I mean, okay, I still have this little bubble on my butt that makes it feel like I’m sitting on something. It’s shrinking, though. Saturday, it felt like a horse pill; now it’s down to a hard pea. I’m not mad about it. Before, it felt like a fistful of needles back there constantly stabbing me, so yeah, progress.

Anyway, back to the meat of the whole thing.

To say I was excited is an understatement. A couple of weeks ago, I found out a quaint romance bookstore had opened up just a ten-minute walk from my house, maybe even less than that. Since I’ve been neck deep in romantasy, reading it and writing it, it sounded like exactly the place I wanted to be.

I made it a whole thing, honestly. I put on a cute sweater dress, did a little makeup, and decided to feel pretty and seen. Not that my husband doesn’t already make me feel that way, he does, but I wanted to doll up for me. I love playing dress up. If I had the budget, I’d probably be out here cosplaying.

Tangent rant: For serious, tho, I need more romantasy heroines who look like me. Where’s the plus sized, busty, brown skinned babe with wings and a crown? You know what I mean? That’s okay, I’ll write her myself. I might not ever be famous, but if I can get that kind of story into the world, I’ll absolutely use that as an excuse to dress as my own main character one day. Just wait and see. I have plans.

Even though the shop was just down the street, I was a little nervous to go. It felt like a milestone, something I needed to do to prove to myself I could. So, one of my sisters from another mister (and missus) rolled with me, and off we went.

The place is called Sweet Nothings, and it’s everything you’d want a romance bookstore to be. Warm, cozy, full of charm. The furniture is soft and inviting, the space feels like your dream private library, and it doubles as a hangout spot for like-minded readers. The shelves hold every flavor of romance, but I was there for the romantasy section, of course.

I was titterpated, yes that’s my new word, when I saw there’s an entire section for indie authors and signed copies. I picked up A Flame Under the Moon by Monica Amore. I know nothing about it or her, but the cover spoke to me, and I am a firm believer in judging a book by its vibes.

Someday, I hope my own work ends up on those shelves. I’ve got Tales Dripping in Crimson Vol. 1 out there already, but the one I really want to see in a store window is The Last Son of Danu. I’ve been editing it hard these past few days, trying to make it shine and finally call it done. I’d love to believe it’s good, but honestly, if even one person enjoys it, that’s enough for me.

My goal is to have the edited version finished by mid-November, or sooner, and then send it out to beta readers. Lord, when I think about it, I get nervous. But I’ve spent too long making myself small, and I’m not doing that anymore.

After we made our purchases (support local businesses, y’all) we went out for a fabulous lunch, then stopped by my second family’s house. Turns out they’d been holding onto some old artwork I made back in high school, stuff I’d completely forgotten about. I’m no painter, but they really weren’t half bad. I might even try to clean them up someday.

When I got home, I showed them to Nate, and I’ll admit, I teared up. It hit me that those paintings are over thirty years old, and the fact that my second family kept them safe all this time, that’s love. Real love.

Growing up, my things never mattered. My precious bits and pieces were treated like clutter, like they had no value. So to have someone hand me back a part of my past that would have been destroyed in my childhood home, it hit deep. It reminded me that I’m not just surviving anymore.

I’m living.

And I’m worth it.