• Demons of Oblivion
    • Bloodlines
    • Hunter
    • Lineage
    • Exhumed
    • Oblivion
    • Novellas, Shorts, & Collections
  • River Wolfe
    • River
    • Rebellion
    • How the Werewolf Stole Christmas
    • Wolfe
  • Livi Talbot
    • Solomon’s Seal
    • Odin’s Spear
    • Ashford’s Ghost
    • Emperor’s Tomb
    • Shiva’s Bow
    • Yampellec’s Idol
    • Charon’s Gold
  • Elis O’Connor
    • Season of the Bitch
    • Blood Ties
    • Witch Hunt
    • Soul Spell
  • Waverly Jones Mysteries
    • The Killing Beach
    • A Wild Kind of Darkness
    • Alone at Night
  • Standalone
    • Soulless
    • The Silent Places
    • Dweller on the Threshold
    • Watcher of the Woods
  • Boxsets
    • Hauntings: Two Tales of the Paranormal

Skyla Dawn Cameron

My characters kill people so I don't have to.

  • Books
    • Demons of Oblivion
    • River Wolfe
    • Livi Talbot
    • Soulless
    • Elis O’Connor
    • The Silent Places
    • Dweller on the Threshold
    • Watcher of the Woods
    • Waverly Jones
    • Boxsets & Bundles
    • Content Warnings
  • Skyla
    • Newsletter
    • FAQs
    • Skyla’s Home for Wayward Strays
  • Blog
    • Soundtrack Sunday Overview
    • Comment Policy
    • Evil Writer Blog Posts
    • Evil Writer Blog Posts – Old Site
  • Patronage
  • Shop Books
    • eBooks Direct
    • Signed Paperbacks
  • Upcoming
  • Hire Skyla
You are here: Home / Blog

December 24, 2013 By Skyla Dawn Cameron

What You Can Get Your Favourite Writer for Christmas

These damn things are always popping up, especially around holidays: helpful guides so YOU, gentle reader, can help your favourite writer! Because, apparently, just buying our books aren’t enough–now you have to “like” our pages, follow our pins, review everything we’ve written (ALWAYS with five stars), blog, digg, tweet, stumble, and foist our books upon your family and friends.

Well…now, to be honest, I did send out a note of thanks the other day to peeps who have reviewed my books because that DOES totally help–I’ve heard from people who didn’t think they’d dig another vampire book and bought it because of y’all talking it up. Those new fans are because of you. So thank you!

If you do that stuff, it’s great. Really.

But that’s not what I want for Christmas.

No, my lovely readers. Here are some things you can get your favourite writers–like, say, me–for Christmas.

 

1. Booze.

SKYY_Vodka__26601_zoomLet’s face it: the Hemingway stereotype exists because it’s true. Your favourite writer is probably a drunk.

So we like booze. A wide variety of it. Some are pickier than others, but a lot of writers will drink nail polish remover if that’s all they have, so don’t stress about it. You can go classy with wine, but whiskey is often a good choice. Vodka’s a safe bet as well.

Besides numbing the cold, ugly pain of being a working writer, you might also increase your favourite author’s output if they like drinking while writing. It might also lead to an increased number of car chases and sex scenes, at least in my case. Er, fictional ones. Because drinking and driving is not cool, you guys.

2. Kittens

Not all writers are cat people, but a fair number of them are, because cats are evil and so are your favourite authors.

The reason why that book made you cry that one time? That was because of a cat, probably. A cat made the author write that stuff. They enjoy the death and suffering of humans and use their otherworldly powers to make us write those heart-wrenching scenes you love.

If your favourite writer isn’t a cat person, kittens still work because everyone likes them.

3. Firemen

Usually the only time firemen come to my place is when I accidentally set something on fire in the oven or that time my neighbour fell down the stairs and I called All The Emergency Services to come and help him.

I’m just saying, it would be nice to have one around without something burning or bleeding, you know?

If your author doesn’t want a fireman–and, I mean, they SHOULD since it’s useful to have one around the house–you can send him to me and I’ll find a spot for him among all my cats.

Bonus: Combine all of the above.

‘Nuff said.

4. Shovel Our Driveways

I know it’s not glamorous and doesn’t fit under a tree, but for your favourite writers up north, this would make a great gift. Right now there’s a foot of snow in front of my apartment and I don’t even own a shovel.

It looks exactly like this outside right now, I swear.

photo credit: Nanagyei via photopin cc
photo credit: Nanagyei via photopin cc

So please, dear readers, feel free to come to my house and deal with snow for me.

5. Patronage

Writing actually does pay the bills. Some of them. Small bills. Rarely rent. Most of us work at least one or two other jobs to support ourselves while writing.

Don’t discount giving us large sums of money for Christmas.

I can write a solid draft of a 100K novel in 6-8 weeks if that’s all I’m doing. So…you know, dropping a wad of cash our way, like a grant? That’d make us happy. We like money. We will write you books for money. Become our patron.

6. A Game Console

A lot of writers are gamers. Sometimes when we’ve spent the whole day killing the characters you love, we end up exhausted and we need to unwind by…killing other people’s characters.

Left_4_deadxj37

I am very behind the times–I don’t even know what’s out anymore–but a good ol’ fashioned zombie-killing game (combined with the fireman above for a gaming partner plus some booze) might be just what your favourite author needs.

 7. Ice Cream

Some days we get a bunch of rejections, bad reviews, Word crashes and we lose our manuscripts, and then the landlord drops by unexpectedly without realizing we work from home and sees us not wearing pants sitting in a bathrobe stained with our own tears.

Ice cream doesn’t fix it but when we spill it on our robes, it disguises the tears. This is the one thing that makes it superior to cupcakes (a difficult task)

8. Yarn

If your favourite writer is a knitter, s/he will appreciate more yarn. If not, their cats will. Plus I can tie up my fireman with it. EVERYONE WINS.

9. Coffee

Not all writers are coffee-drinkers; some are bizarre creatures who subsist entirely on tea. I suppose I understand as long as the tea is caffeinated.

The truth is, most writers are fueled by caffeine. It’s a magical substance that flows through our veins and makes us forget that carpal tunnel syndrome has kicked in and the discs in our spines have fused from sitting for long hours. So give us coffee. Lots of coffee.

Bonus:

Chocolate covered coffee beans.

download

THEY’RE HEALTHY. THE BAG EVEN SAYS SO.

So there you have it: what you can get your favourite writer for Christmas, or any holiday, really.

If you REALLY want to give us positive reviews and tweet the fuck out of our books and hypnotize people into buying them, that’s GREAT.

But a bottle of vodka will do just as well.

63169_10150343021780287_2151109_n

Share. I'll be your best friend.

  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: fun, gifts, holidays, writers and readers

December 23, 2013 By Skyla Dawn Cameron Leave a Comment

On Self-Harm and Narcissism

I did it the other day.

I accidentally read the comment section on a news article.

ku-mediumlll

For those of us who strive to provide–and interact in–a safe space all the time, it can be easy to forget just how bad it is out there sometimes. Oh, I got a reminder, though.

But it pissed me off, not only reading it but recalling how many other times I’ve heard others say it, and thinking about how many other people probably believe it without saying it.

It’s the notion that depressed people who commit suicide are narcissists, focused on their own problems to the point that they forget about those around them. It’s repeating, again, the bullshit myth of suicide being “selfish.”

So come with me, my friends. Take a little walk into the brain of me and other people who have seriously contemplated suicide at one time.

Narcissism means one is preoccupied with oneself and one’s greatness. Suicidal people do not believe they are great; to the contrary, they feel either entirely inconsequential or that they exist to the detriment of others.

Do you suppose we aren’t thinking about our loved ones when we’re having these thoughts? That we’re not considering those we’d be leaving behind–that we aren’t aware of our responsibilities? Let me tell you a secret: we are. We are very aware of these things.

And the truth is that we honestly believe those we love will be better off without us.

When you are not depressed, it is not a rational thought, I know. I have known people who attempted–and in some cases completed–suicide. Mothers who left behind small children. Husbands who left behind families. Teenagers who left behind parents. Friends who left behind a circle of people who loved them. When someone you love succumbs to the lies of depression, it is a natural reaction to wonder, “How could s/he do this? How could s/he leave me?”

On the other side of it, however, things look a little differently because depression lies. If you do not have a mood disorder/mental illness, that is the best description I can give you: your own brain starts distorting your thoughts and lying to you, and because the voice speaking in your head is your own, you believe it. 

I’m a burden on other people.

They will be better off without me.

I’m a terrible, weak person, and I don’t deserve to be here.

This feeling/numbness will never go away.

These are the thoughts that go through your head. This is one of the reasons why suicidal people often don’t reach out and tell someone what they’re going through. Every time I have been in a horrible, dark place and unable to get out of it, I honestly, truly, 100% believed that my mere broken, useless existence was a burden and everyone in my life would be so much happier without me. Everyone. My mum, my friends, my family. I think not being here anymore would be the best thing for everyone.

When I’m well, am I aware that’s not true? Of course I am. I know people love me and they are happy to have me in their lives. But when I’m in an episode, everything changes.

Depression is the little Iago whispering in your ear, exploiting your weaknesses, distorting your thoughts, and outright lying to you.

To fight against a depressive episode and thoughts of self-harm means to argue with something that feels true. Everything is flipped in your brain: the voice that tells you everyone would be better off without you feels true, and everything countering it, listing the reasons why people care about you, feels like the lie. Right now, right this very second, I want those of you who are not depressed to tell yourself that you’re worthless and a burden on your family and should die. Go ahead. Does it seem silly? Did your brain automatically say, WTF are you talking about?

Being suicidal while depressed is the complete opposite of that. Everything in you rebels at the idea that you deserve to be here.

This is why they call it a mental illness.

Now comes the important part: to those of you who find yourself spouting these insensitive misunderstandings, in particular in a public forum, I am curious about something. Are you truly sad when someone loses their life to depression? Do you truly want to put a stop to suicide?

Stop making suicidal people feel even worse.

Someone else’s suicidal thoughts and depression is not, actually, about you and how uncomfortable it makes you, and idly tossing around thoughts aloud about your opinion on this is actively causing harm because you don’t know who is listening to you. I guarantee someone in your life is, has been, or will be suicidal at some point, and they already live in a culture that tells them they should be ashamed of what they’re going through. When a person in pain is wondering if they should seek help, the last thing they’re going to do is open themselves up to someone who will cause them more pain.

If the voice in their head is already telling them they’re a burden, you will only reinforce that by telling them they’re a terrible person for even thinking it. If you want to save lives–if you want people to get help–you have to create a safe space for them to do it. If you want the people you love to come to you or seek professional help if they’re having thoughts of self-harm, you have to change the way you think about them and their disorder. If you parrot the myths of suicide being selfish, narcissistic, evil, or a moral failing of any kind, you are contributing to an environment that kills people. Stop it.

Shame and stigma do not save lives; they take them.

I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt: you don’t realize how you’re hurting people when you say these things. But this is why I’m talking openly and why I encourage others to do so as well: speaking from the point of view of someone who has been–and continues to be–at risk, I am hoping you’ll listen and alter how you see this issue, because I don’t want to see more lives lost. And if you want to help–which, I mean, y’know, you SHOULD, considering you’re such a wonderful thoughtful human being who cares about the lives of others, right?–start here with what to keep in mind, and here in case someone comes to you with suicidal thoughts.

If you come across this blog post as someone who suffers from depression, mood disorders, other mental illnesses, and thoughts of self harm: you are not alone, you are worth saving, and you are not a bad person for feeling this way. Read this before you take any actions if you’re in a dark place.

Share. I'll be your best friend.

  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: bipolar, depression, life, personal, rant

December 21, 2013 By Skyla Dawn Cameron 15 Comments

I’m Glad I’m Still Here

Note: This is a repost from my old blog. It was one of the ones I wanted to copy over eventually, however with recent events/discussions, it seemed appropriate to bring over here sooner rather than later.

I have not read any of Mr. Vizzini’s work, however hearing a man just a year older than me has lost his life to suicide is quite sad. Especially reading his words here which will ring true to anyone who has dealt with depression or other mental illnesses/mood disorders. And there’s been some chatter, again, about snap judgments and douchebaggy comments surrounding self-harm.

It is worth mentioning, again, that suicide is not selfish. It is not selfish to want the pain to stop. It does not make you a bad person. It is morally neutral. It is hard enough to seek help without people making you feel like shit for thoughts that are totally out of your control because your brain chemistry is fubar.

The holidays are a rough time and often triggering for people with mood disorders. The pressure of family or the reminder of being alone, remembering loved ones we’ve lost, being broke around a time you’re “supposed to” be spending money–all of these things can nudge us into depressive episodes. So I’m reposting this entry again here because whoever you are out there, I want you to remember you are not alone. You are not a bad person for having these thoughts. And I want you to know I got through it–I still have held on despite all the bumps in the road lately–and you can too.

I manually copied over the comments from the old entry as well because there were a lot of them, all those voices are valuable, and I think it’s worth seeing, again, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Countless people have been there and survived.

The battle is never over but you are worth fighting for.

 

August 8, 2013

Warning: This is long, and this is personal, and I will be very protective over the comments section so don’t be a douche. This speaks to my experience, which might be different from yours. Both are valid. It also might be triggering. I’ll try not to get blood on the carpet.

photo credit: Laenulfean via photopin cc
photo credit: Laenulfean via photopin cc

You ever see that movie Sliding Doors? One slight change and there are two diverging paths, taking the same woman on two very different journeys. I actually see, crystal clear, several such paths and swear I could feel the precise moment when I felt the tug of another path I didn’t take.

Relatively recently, in one of those timelines…I’m not here.

To back up a little…why am I blogging about this? I struggled for several days with even considering writing this. As open as I try to be, I also feel most things aren’t anyone’s business. If I am truly having an episode, I will disappear from online because I don’t like whining and have no desire to solicit pity. I’m an adult and my disorder/problems are not an excuse to act like a douchebag in public. I try to wear my big girl panties, else The Gothic Goddess will stab me with knitting needles.

But taking time to deal with an episode is different from looking back at one and gaining insight. I’m more removed from this situation now and hope it will be of some value to others. There is too much stigma, too much misinformation, and too much willingness to not talk about these things. Inspired lately by a few writers who have come out about their struggles, I thought I might have something to add.

The first thing you need to know about me is that I’m bipolar. Looking back at my childhood, I was often irritable, occasionally volatile, and had episodes of blackout rage. Though initially I passed a lot of this off as a result of witnessing the violence I did in when I was little, it was likely genetic and early onset bipolar (granted, the violence and trauma could’ve been a trigger). I had a breakdown when I was in middle school, saw a counselor, and it was as I was going through puberty that those earlier behaviors manifested into the common bipolar symptoms you see in teens and adults. Along with it came anxiety around a whole host of things.

Me, age 13.

I was thirteen when suicidal thoughts became part of my day-to-day life.

This has never seemed particularly traumatizing or scary to me. The thoughts were just…there. Like you would ponder what to have for dinner, when I was in an episode—not realizing, as a barely-formed teen, that it was an episode and not “normal”—the thought of stopping the constant soul-deep ache was just common occurrence. “I’m hungry; I should get a pizza” wasn’t all that different from “I can’t stop crying; I should die.”

Mine is a disorder with an 85% survival rate; that means a good chunk of people will kill themselves from it. So none of this should be surprising. My version of normal is a little off-kilter.

I’m now nearly thirty-one. Over the years, I’ve gone from the general thoughts to points where I have actively made plans, and on a couple of occasions procured means, and even set times. I can’t particularly explain what ever actually stopped me. Once, this saved my life, and if you suffer from depression, it is worth bookmarking or printing out.

Last year, however, I very specifically felt that tug of two diverging paths. A handful of people know I hit a really rough patch last summer. I was mentally and emotionally a wreck, I had someone in my life who was not healthy for me to be around, and the pressure sent me right to my breaking point. I was at a lake, out in the water by myself, and it was my last day of a very brief vacation—I had to go home in a few hours.

And the most seemingly logical thought came to me: why didn’t I just try to swim to the middle of the lake?

Because I couldn’t do it, you see. I’m not that strong of a swimmer. I knew that if I tried to swim out there, I’d drown. Even if I turned back, I wouldn’t make it in time.

000_1495I treaded water, contemplating this for twenty to thirty minutes, little by little creeping farther in the water, my gaze locked on the shoreline well across the lake, which I knew I’d never reach.

I know how this sounds now, and if you’ve never had a depressive episode, consider yourself lucky. If you have had one, you probably understand why this seemed like a rational thought while I was IN the episode. All I can tell you is that it made the best possible SENSE. I’d stop hurting. I’d stop feeling hopeless. The pressure I was under would be gone. It would solve all my problems. BOOM. Solution!

I can tell you what saved me this time, and it was a tiny voice threading through my brain that said: “No. Stop.”

This voice exists because I planted it there, trained it, and cultivated it. I have spent years on cognitive therapy , training my brain to counter both depressive and manic thoughts; I can’t control when I get an episode, but I can affect how long I’m in one.

It was a war, of course, because depression lies. It distorts your thoughts, it blinds you, and it makes you not yourself.

But the voice kept repeating: “No. This is fucked up. You have been through this. It will pass. Get out of the water because you can’t trust yourself right now.”

It was that reminder that I knew these feelings, that I’d been there before, and that I’d gotten better—that got me out of the water. I gathered my things and stayed the hell away from the lake for the rest of my time there.

That was just over a year ago and this is my point today: I am FUCKING GLAD I am here.

I look at people I’ve met and gotten to know in the past year—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, doesn’t know those people. Because she’s dead.

I look at what I’ve written and the worlds I’ve gotten to create—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, didn’t get to write those things. Because she’s dead.

I look at my cats and my dog and even my rabbit, all healthy and happy—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, can’t care for them. Because she’s dead.

I look at the things I was able to do for charity so far this year, the money I was able to raise—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, didn’t get to do that. Because she’s dead.

I look at the bloodstain on the carpet downstairs where my neighbour fell, when I was the only one who didn’t panic and got him help—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, couldn’t help him. Because she’s dead.

I look at all of the plans I’ve been able to make, the way my life is moving toward important goals I have—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, has no excitement for the future. Because she’s dead.

I wake up feeling really good these days, fit and healthy, able to get out of bed—Other!Skyla, the one in the water, can’t feel relief or contentedness or joy.

Because she’s dead.

Those of you dealing with mood disorders and mental illness: you are not selfish for wanting the pain to be over and I will punch anyone who says otherwise to you. It’s not selfishness—if anything, it’s selfish of others to expect you to silently endure just for the sake of their feelings, for using your guilt when you’re already at a low point to stigmatize you. Further, YMMV but in my experience you cannot hang on for the sake of other people for long–you have to do it for you.

It’s also not weakness. Your pain exceeds your resources for coping with pain. There is nothing morally wrong with that. It is not a moral failing. Hey, yeah, you might have lots of other moral failings–I do–but these feelings and these thoughts are not among them.

The stigma other people place on depression and suicide is not a reason to forgo getting help. I don’t want to repeat the cliché of “it gets better” because when you’re in your black moment, that seems impossible. And for all I know, maybe it is. Maybe it won’t get better, maybe it will always suck. I don’t know you and I don’t know the future.

I know, however, the only chance of getting better lies in making it through.

It probably will get better, then it will get worse, then better again, because that’s how life goes. Being dead isn’t going to make it better: you’re dead, you can’t feel relief. You’re over. You will have no chance to meet new amazing people who will make you a better person; you will have no chance to make plans and eat ice cream and laugh and cuddle with your dog.

You will not have a chance to look back over your life and think, “Wow, I am so glad I’m still here and get to experience these things.” And I so, so sincerely want that for you.

And I’ll tell you something else: when you have been in pure darkness, coming out of it again the light is so fucking bright. If you can feel extreme pain, or hopelessness, or nothingness, coming out the other side of it can mean the most intense joy, palpable gratitude to be here and breathe and experience things.

I don’t care how you choose to help yourself; it’s none of my business. You need resources to cope with pain: find what works, stock your armory, and fight back. Therapy, meds, interpretative dance, diet, meditation, sacrificing virgins at midnight. Just remember, this doesn’t make you a bad person. Depression and suicidal thoughts are morally neutral things: it’s your body’s chemistry being all fucked up and messing up your thoughts and feelings. Is there still stigma? Yes.

And fuck that stigma. Fuck the judgment. Your life is more important than what other people think of you–your life is more important than what other people think of me; sharing this in case it helps someone is worth the risk, to me, of alienating others or making them uncomfortable. It’s one thing to hear that others get through it and survive–“other people” is vague, anonymous…which is why I’m telling you I got through it and survived.

Two roads diverged in a wood…

And I am really glad I’m on the path that’s still here.

(I opted for this song as it very much describes how I feel about my mood disorder–it’s uplifting to me, acknowledging one’s demons and living anyway. YMMV.)

Share. I'll be your best friend.

  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: bipolar, depression, life, personal

December 21, 2013 By Skyla Dawn Cameron

Caturday

Literate Cat Is Literate.

Share. I'll be your best friend.

  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: caturday

December 20, 2013 By Skyla Dawn Cameron

New Beginnings…

photo credit: Jelle Spanjaard via photopin cc
photo credit: Jelle Spanjaard via photopin cc

New site! Like, really new. Different CMS so everything’s currently gone. There may or may not have been Christmas money involved.

Transferring my old content onto the new site is possible and I’m still debating it, but I find this clean slate very alluring. There are some posts I’d like to move over here–the guest posts from friends, or popular ones that get a lot of traffic still–and they absolutely will be restored but a whole lot I am leaning toward…just leaving. This feels good and fresh and new, echoing that sense of discarding dead weight that I’ve had for some time now.

We shall see.

For now, hi! Poke around, forgive me for not having all the boxes put away and the lack of tea out in greeting. There will be new bells and whistles, including new ways to subscribe to the blog, and many other things forthcoming.

Share. I'll be your best friend.

  • Click to print (Opens in new window)
  • Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
  • Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: blog news

  • « Previous Page
  • 1
  • …
  • 65
  • 66
  • 67

In Memory of Gus

Become a Patron!

Buy My Books

Kobo | Kindle | Smashwords | Nook | iBooks | GooglePlay | Payhip | Signed Paperbacks

The Killing Beach Preorder Promotion

Get new blog posts in your inbox!

Join 130 other subscribers
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

What I’m Working On

14000 / 75000 words. 19% done!
Waverly 5

7000 / 50000 words. 14% done!
The Only Way Out

10000 / 50000 words. 20% done!
Hell Fire

4500 / 110000 words. 4% done!
Untitled

21000 / 70000 words. 30% done!
Sins of the Mother

Meta

  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.org

Recent Comments

  • Michael W Lucas on Skiptracing Books, or: Shenanigans with KDP Paperbacks
  • Skyla Dawn Cameron on Where is Yampellec’s Idol on Kindle US?
  • lenabrassard on Where is Yampellec’s Idol on Kindle US?
  • marie1355 on Decisions Were Made
  • Karen on Decisions Were Made
  • D.A Lascelles on Health Update & Sales
  • Skyla on Health Update & Sales
  • Anna Blake on Health Update & Sales
  • Skyla on Last One, I SWEAR
  • Steph Barry (@stephrbarry) on Last One, I SWEAR

MEET SKYLA DAWN

Writer of urban fantasy, thrillers/mysteries, and horror. Fifth-generation crazy cat lady. Bitchy feminist. So tired all the goddamn time.

My characters kill people so I don’t have to.

read more

  • Amazon
  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Reddit
  • Twitter
Become a Patron!

I'm not inclined to resign to maturity.