Spotlight: The Heartbeats of Aloha by Brooke Gilbert

(Under the Hawaiian Stars)

Publication date: July 1st 2025

Genres: Action, Comedy, Romance

Separated by tragedy, reunited by fate. Will these childhood sweethearts risk their hearts again?

Reef has been in love with Luna since they were kids. As a secret romance novelist, he pours his unrequited feelings into his books, reliving their love on the page. But when Luna’s uncle proposes a fake relationship to thwart a stunt her PR wants to pull, Reef’s wildest dreams and worst fears are about to collide.

Luna never stopped loving Reef, even when she broke his heart to protect him. Music became her refuge, but fame brought unexpected complications. Now, fate has brought them back together, but the demons of their past threaten to consume them both.

As Reef and Luna navigate their rekindled feelings amidst a whirlwind of secrets, heartache, and desire, they’ll discover that sometimes reality is even more extraordinary than fiction. When their truths come to light, will their love survive, or will they wish they’d left the past buried in the sands of time?

The Heartbeats of Aloha is a poignant, swoon-worthy standalone in the International Soulmate series. Immerse yourself in:

  • A heart-melting second chance romance

  • The lush, tropical beauty of Hawaii

  • A fake relationship that feels all too real

  • Deep, nuanced portrayals of mental health and disability

  • Unforgettable characters, including an adorable canine companion

If you love emotional journeys filled with tender moments, sizzling chemistry, and the healing power of love, then Brooke Gilbert’s moving story is a must-read.

Let the rhythm of the islands guide you to your next great romance. Grab The Heartbeats of Aloha today and lose yourself in Reef and Luna’s unforgettable love story!

Content note: This book contains discussions of anxiety, depression, and panic attacks.

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About the Author

Brooke Gilbert is a Tennessee native, a microbiology graduate of the University of Tennessee, and a border collie mom. She is, as you may have already guessed, a hopeless romantic and a lover of Jane Austen. When she isn’t writing, she works as a jewelry designer, an audiobook narrator, and a graphic designer. Her writing features characters with autoimmune disorders, something she deals with herself. She believes it is important for these types of characters to be seen in modern literature and started writing so she could see someone like herself in literature. She is considered a medical mystery and has several rare autoimmune disorders. These disorders caused her to withdraw from Physician Assistant School, but she is happy to be pursuing her dreams of designing, creating, and writing. She thanks God for leading her heart on this new path and recites “perhaps this is the moment for which you were created” in times of doubt (Esther 4:14).

She loves watching classic films (thrillers and romantic comedies, too), reading, playing the ukulele, painting, dancing, Pilates, and spending time with her dog, family, and friends. One of her favorite quotes is from Flashdance: “When you give up on your dreams, you die.” She believes that if you’re waiting to pursue your dreams, stop waiting and start doing. Your time is now. And may you never stop being a hopeless romantic. Contrary to popular belief, it’s a very good quality. She’s still looking for her Mr. Darcy. Visit brookegilbertauthor.com to connect and stay updated on her latest projects.

Connect:

https://www.brookegilbertauthor.com/

https://www.tiktok.com/@brookegilbertauthor

https://www.facebook.com/enchantingbrookevoiceover

https://x.com/brookeGauthor

https://www.instagram.com/brookegilbertauthor/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/23026582.Brooke_Gilbert

Spotlight: Reports of His Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated by James Goodhand

Due to a case of mistaken identity, everyone believes Ray Thorns to be dead — while he is still very much alive. In the aftermath, he’s forced to reflect on the impact he’s had on the world and those closest to him in this heartbreakingly beautiful look at life and what we would all do if given a second chance, for fans of Dead Poets Society and It’s a Wonderful Life and readers of Fredrick Backman.

A lifetime ago, Ray “Spike” Thorns was a well-regarded caretaker on a boarding school's grounds. These days, he lives the life of a recluse in a house rammed with hoarded junk, alone and disconnected from family or anyone he might have at one time considered a friend.

When his next-door neighbor drops dead on Spike’s doorstep, a case of mistaken identity ensues: according to the police, the hospital, the doctors—everyone—Spike is dead. Spike wants to correct the mistake, really he does, but when confronted with those who knew him best, he hesitates, forced to face whatever impression he’s left on the world. It’s a discovery that brings him up close to ghosts from his past, and to the only woman he ever loved.

Could it be that in coming face to face with his own demise, Spike is able to really live again? And will he be able to put things straight before the inevitable happens—his own funeral?

This is the best kind of feel-good fiction: it’s deeply affecting but full of clever mishaps and enough laughs along the way. It takes the message from Dead Poets Society and mixes it with the tragedy of It’s A Wonderful Life and tops it off with an ultimately loveable guy like in A Man Called Ove. The result is a heartbreakingly beautiful look at life and what we would all do if given a second chance.

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

About the Author

James Goodhand has written one adult novel, published by HarperCollins in the US, and two YA novels, published by PRH Children’s Books in the UK. His adult debut, The Day Tripper, was called "an essential, profound read" by The Washington Post. He lives in England.

Connect:

Twitter: @goodhand_james

Instagram: @james.goodhand

Spotlight: Grave Birds by Dana Elmendorf

Publication Date: July 1, 2025

Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / MIRA

Grave birds haunt the cemeteries of Hawthorne, South Carolina, where Spanish moss drips from the trees and Southern charm hides ugly lies. Hollis Sutherland never knew these unique birds existed, not until she died and was brought back to life. The ghostly birds are manifestations of the dead’s unfinished business, and they know Hollis and her uncanny gift can set them free.

When a mysterious bachelor wanders into the small town, bizarre events begin to plague its wealthiest citizens—blood drips from dogwood blossoms, flocks of birds crash into houses, fire tornadoes descend from the sky. Hollis knows these are the omens her grandfather warned about, announcing the devil’s return. But despite Cain Landry’s eerie presence and the plague that has followed him, his handsome face and wicked charm win over the townsfolk. Even Hollis falls under his spell as they grow closer.

That is, until lies about the town’s past start to surface. The grave birds begin to show Hollis the dead’s ugly deeds from some twenty-five years ago and the horrible things people did to gain their wealth. Hollis can’t decide if Cain is some immortal hand of God, there to expose their sins, or if he’s a devil there to ruin them all. Either way, she’s determined to save her town and the people in it, whatever it takes.

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Sometimes the dead have unfinished business. “You see it, don’t you, Hollis?” Mr. Royce Gentry’s deep, rumbling voice stamped the air with white puffs. He squatted

low next to my chair and nodded toward my grandaddy’s grave where his coffin was being lowered into the ground. The men, Grandaddy’s dearest friends, slowly filled in the dirt, one mournful shovelful at a time.

Cold frosted the morning dew into a thin white crust that covered the grass. There, off to the side, was a little bluebird, tethered to the earth by an invisible thread. It twittered a helpless, frantic sound as it desperately flapped, struggling to get loose. Delicate and transparent, it looked as if it was made of colored air. Muted, so the hues didn’t quite punch through. It was a pitiful sight, the poor thing trying so hard to get back up in the sky.

A ghost bird, I had first thought when I saw it. Until I looked around and found there were many, many more in the cemetery. 

It was a grave bird.

I swallowed hard and pretended I didn’t know what Mr. Gentry was talking about. “No, sir. I don’t see nothing,” I said as I continued to stare at the phantom.

He gave me a scrutinizing look. He saw the lie in my eyes. But he let it go, for the now anyways.

I was only eleven; I didn’t want to admit I was different. But I knew I was whether I liked it or not and would always be.

I had never so much as uttered a hello to Mr. Gentry until five days before. He’s the one who pulled me from the freezing river and brought me back to life. Not by means of magic or a miracle, but with science: medical resuscitation for thirty-two minutes.

But a miracle happened all the same.

The adults stood around my grandaddy’s grave, murmuring their condolences to my granny and my momma. It was that awkward moment after a funeral is finished where everyone seemed lost about what to do next, but we all knew we were going back to Granny’s house to a slew of casseroles and desserts that would barely get eaten. Two of my distant cousins, bored from the bother of my grandfather dying, kicked around a fallen pine cone over an even more distant relative’s nearby grave. Mrs. Yancey, our neighbor up the road, had just taken my twin brothers home since they were squalling something terrible, confused as to why we would trap Granddaddy in the ground. I watched as Mr. Gentry talked closely to Mrs. Belmont’s son, who was visiting from New York City, but his flirting, normally an immersed habit, was on autopilot as he watched me watching the grave bird. Could Mr. Gentry see it, too?

Mr. Gentry was a Southern gentleman, who put a great deal of care into perfecting the standard. His suits were custom-made from a tailor in Charleston, who drove up just to measure him, then hand-delivered the pieces when they were finished. It didn’t matter your standing in society, Mr. Gentry treated the most common among us as his equal.

He lived a lush lifestyle, filled with grand parties attended by foreign dignitaries, congressmen and anyone powerful he could gain favor with. Several times a year he traveled across Europe, something his job as a foreign consultant required of him. His friends, just as colorful as him, lived life to the fullest. A dedicated husband once, until his wife found interest in someone half her age. His two grown daughters, who didn’t respect his choice in who to love, eventually wanted nothing to do with him. I think it left a big hole in his heart and what drew him to help our family out.

In the weeks after the funeral, Mr. Gentry began to fill the empty space in our lives where Grandaddy once stood. It started with an offer to cover the funeral costs, a gesture my granny refused at first, but it was money we didn’t have and desperately needed. Then it was the crooked porch he insisted on fixing. Rolled up his starched white sleeves and did it himself, like hard labor was something he was used to doing. The henhouse fence got mended next. A tire on the tractor that hadn’t run in a year was replaced. Then our bellies grew accustomed to feeling full on fine meals he swore were simply leftovers from his latest dinner party. They were going to be tossed, and we were doing him a favor by taking them off his hands. Beef Wellington, with its buttery crust and tender meat center, so savory I’d melt in my chair from the sheer bliss of a single bite. It felt sacrilegious to eat lobster bisque from Granny’s cracked crockery, but that didn’t stop me from slurping up every last creamy bite. And nothing yanked me out of the bed faster than the sweet buttermilk and vanilla scent of beignets. If a stomach could smile, I’m sure mine did. And often, whenever Mr. Gentry needed his fridge clear.

There’s a bond that comes with somebody saving your life. Our friendship became something built on the purest of love. Where he had stepped into my life and filled the important role my grandaddy had once represented, I helped him heal the ache from being denied the chance to be a loving father.

A few months after my grandfather was put in the ground, Uncle Royce—who he eventually became—took me back out to the church’s cemetery. He sat me down on the graveyard bench, a place you go when you want to sit a spell with the dead. The mound of dirt from my grandfather’s grave had rounded from the heavy rain, slowly melting back into the earth.

He told me what I already knew, that I would be different now after the accident. He knew because the same thing had happened to him.

“You and I share something special,” Uncle Royce started his story. We were two people who had been clinically dead then brought back to life. Lazarus syndrome he said they called it. Only months ago for me. Near forty years for him.

He had died for twelve minutes. Knocked plum out of his shoes when a car hit him at twenty-two years old. He says he stood over himself, barefoot, watching them work on his body. He thought he was going to ascend into the bright light but instead was sucked back into his body and woke up a few days later in the hospital.

A chill shivered up my spine: it was almost exactly what I had experienced.

I had felt myself float up and away from the river; I was no longer cold and wet. Sad or scared. An aura of peace enveloped me—or rather became me.

It had seemed like I hovered there forever in that state of infinite understanding. A warmth emanated from above, a light formed from all that came before me.

From the bright light my grandfather’s voice reached out. His gentle words, simply known and not heard, urged me to go back. It wasn’t my time yet. My place was still at home.

In a swooping rush, I was vacuumed back inside myself. I spat up a gush of water. My lungs burned. My body was freezing cold again. And Mr. Gentry was smiling down on me saying, “That a girl. Get it all out.” Far off down the road an ambulance cried that it was coming.

“You know what I think they are?” Uncle Royce said now, pointing to all the birds who were trapped, defeated, most of the color leached from their feathers. I didn’t say anything, still not wanting to confirm that he was right, that I could see them. I just listened. “I think they’re a kind of representation—a manifestation— of the dead’s unresolved issues.” I didn’t know what he meant by that, but it sounded heavy and important, and that felt about right.

I could see it, in a way. Granddaddy had been mad at me before we went off the bridge. I’d stolen a gold-colored haircomb, complete with rhinestones across its curved top, as pretty as a peacock’s feathers, from Roy’s Drugstore. When Granddaddy found out, he had yanked me up by the arm, angry that the preacher’s granddaughter would shame her family in such a manner.

He was scolding on the truck ride home when I started crying about not having pretty things like the other girls at school. He paused his lecture for a minute, and I could tell this bothered him; I could see the way it saddened his eyes. He was the preacher at a poor country church where shoes were often scuffed, clothes mended instead of replaced, and a good meal was something scarce. Family and Jesus were what was important. I found I felt small next to all the wealthy girls who attended the big, fancy church with their new shoes, their starched dresses, the silk ribbons in their hair. It made my poverty stand out, and I didn’t like it.

Then Granddaddy said envy was one of the seven deadly sins, and I was setting myself up for a lifetime of grief by wanting others to love me for what I had instead of who I was. Shame welled over me, whether he intended it to or not. 

I was crying something fierce, but I knew he was right.

But hard lessons aren’t easy to accept. Instead of apologizing or even letting him know I understood, I told him I hated him. Screamed it as loud as my young lungs could. Couldn’t say who it shocked more, him or me. I wished those words back into my mouth as soon as they were out.

But it was too late.

A construction truck crossed the road on our right, not waiting long enough for other cars or paying enough attention. It smashed into the side of our truck and pushed us over the railing and off the bridge, down into the Greenie River.

“You should tell him you forgive him,” Uncle Royce said, pointing to the mound of earth under which my grandaddy now lay.

“Forgive him?” Clearly, he didn’t understand. I was the one who’d stolen something, who’d made my own grandaddy so ashamed, so disappointed. I was the one who’d spewed words of hate in our last moments together.

I had survived, and my grandaddy was dead.

If I hadn’t have stolen that comb, he never would have come to town to fetch me. 

He never would have died.

“He doesn’t want you to think it’s your fault. He feels bad he scolded you so severely over stealing that haircomb.”

I turned my head slowly toward Uncle Royce. He couldn’t have known about the comb: no one did. “How do you know about that?” I said on whispered breath, almost too faint to hear.

He looked me straight in the eye. “Because his grave bird showed me.”

Excerpted from GRAVE BIRDS by Dana Elmendorf. Copyright © 2025 by Dana Elmendorf. Published by MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Dana Elmendorf was born and raised in small town in Tennessee. She now lives in Southern California with her husband, two boys and two dogs. When she isn’t exercising, she can be found geeking out with Mother Nature. After four years of college and an assortment of jobs, she wrote a contemporary YA novel and an adult fantasy.

Connect:

Author Website: https://www.danaelmendorf.com/p/home.html 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/danaelmendorf/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DanaElmendorfAuthor/ 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/danaelmendorf

Spotlight: Digital Soul by Vincent Valkier

Digital Soul is a collection of stories focusing on the hidden dangers of humanity's increasing reliance on technology, and the way it is changing our relationship with the world and with each other. The opening novella is set in the recent past, and the successive stories move forward in time and are set in the present, near future, far future, and very far future.

In Raven, the first novella, a high school senior has lost his faith and struggles to find his new spiritual identity. He becomes instantly drawn to a new classmate, only to discover that she may not actually exist. She leads him to an abandoned house, the site of a terrible tragedy, which may also serve as a key to another world. But is the higher power that world represents good or evil?

In Missing Links, a video from a college party spread without a girl’s consent has dire consequences for both the victim and the group of friends responsible.

In White Knight, two game developers explore their nearly completed virtual world. However, some of the game’s characters are behaving erratically and seem to have developed consciousness, leading to a schism between the two designers.

In The Broken Man, a game show in the future releases a murderer into the house of unwitting contestants, who must fight to survive. One contestant’s forced participation makes him unsure which is more important to him: his love for his spouse, or the fame and glory his victory will bring.

In Genesis, the final novella, a journalist interviews a scientist whose discovery unlocked untapped knowledge about the brain and mental illness. The interview reveals the unforeseen consequences and horrible costs when the initial discovery evolved into a key to immortality.

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Vincent graduated from the University of Vermont with a degree in Philosophy in 2009.  After working at an animal hospital, he was accepted to veterinary school at the University of Georgia and graduated in 2016.  He currently works as a small animal veterinarian.  He lives in Atlanta, Ga with his fiancee Tori and their cat Biscuit.  His stories are informed both by his love of fiction and his scientific background. 

His work has been published in Cirsova, Dark Horses magazine, The Dark Lane Anthology, the Lunaris Review, and Gemini Magazine.  Digital Soul was selected as a finalist for the 2023 Claymore Award from Killer Nashville.  

Spotlight: Bright Futures by Alex McGlothlin

David Hall has graduated college and decided to pursue a non-traditional route. Instead of going to business school he'll spend the summer at his girlfriend's lake house in Appalachia with an aim to write the Great American Novel. When the words don't flow as easily as David had hoped, and his girlfriend inexplicably begins spending increasing time away from David, David's world goes into a tailspin.

Excerpt

Bright Futures © By Alex McGlothlin

They were just outside of Roanoke when she asked if they might stop at the Valley View Mall. She needed a new bathing suit and if a top caught her eye, well . . .

He’d never been to Roanoke before and asked if they could drive downtown afterwards, so he could see the city nestled in the mountains he had heard about, but she didn’t think they’d have time if they were going to make the party later that night. This was the first mention he had heard of a party. 

The mall was bigger and busier than he’d anticipated, a large two-story monolith, the outside tagged with the illuminated signs of department stores and restaurants, the inside an air-conditioned hive of fashion and commerce. People streamed into the complex like ants on the hill, a pilgrimage to redeem their labor at the prize counter of capitalism. 

She took his hand and led him through the gaping fluorescent lit commercial caverns, and holding hands gave him a little thrill because she wasn’t always the most outwardly affectionate. She was pleased he had agreed to do this. She hadn’t been sure he would say yes. 

The bikini store, String, was a small closet of a store, but it was elegant. Rather than cramming the store with racks of thousands of variations, they only offered about a dozen styles that were displayed more like art hanging on a museum wall than merchandise in a store. They had just eaten, but he wondered if after this they might slide by the food court hibachi. 

String was managed by this woman who didn’t seem like she would be caught dead in any of her own merchandise, but who was he to judge? Kelly immediately gravitated towards a black-and-white bikini covered in a cool tribal pattern. 

“We’re sold out of that one.”

“Could I buy that one?” Kelly asked, meaning the one on display. 

“I’m sorry. We don’t sell display items. Store policy.”

Store policy. Notions like that killed him. Policies never accounted for special circumstances, and what else was life but a continuous stream of special circumstances? Kelly followed the manager into the back to try on a bathing suit, and while they were gone, David swiped the black-and-white bikini from the wall. He stuffed it down the seat of his pants and adjusted himself to make it look natural. And it did, he knew, because he was watching himself in the mirror. The only problem was that it was obvious. David moved a bikini from the corner of the wall to the center position, where the black and white bikini had been. Then he thought about hightailing it out of there, but on second thought, decided it would be less suspicious if he stayed. He readjusted the bikini into the front of his shorts, giving himself a generous bulge, and waited. 

When they returned from the back room, Kelly was fully dressed and met the saleswoman at the cash register.

“What?” David asked. “No preview?”

They both made these disgusted little noises and otherwise ignored him, which was all he could have hoped for. 

Kelly led them through the food court on their way out of the mall. 

“I’m surprised you don’t want to stop for Japanese,” Kelly said.

“I think I’d rather just get on the road,” David said. 

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice echoed down the hall. A chill ran down David’s spine. At first he couldn’t be sure, but he was sure. “Excuse me."

A hand reached out and grabbed Kelly by the arm, spinning her around. It was the saleswoman. 

“I think you forgot something,” the saleswoman said. That was that. He was caught. He’d remember this moment, scarred in his mind forever, the great sad turning point in his life when he’d lost his freedom—and all for a stupid prank. With one act, he’d wiped out what little reputation he had toiled a lifetime to accumulate. There would be police, negative press, a trial, jail and perhaps the worst—a lifetime of shame. He and Kelly were over. The summer was over. Life as he knew it was over.

“You forgot your credit card,” the saleswoman said. 

As she returned the Visa to Kelly, he was overcome with a wave of relief. Kelly thanked her and the woman hurried back to her post. He felt like he’d cheated death.

“Are you sure you don’t want hibachi?” Kelly asked. 

“You know what. Why not?”

About the Author

Alex was born and raised in Grundy, Virginia. He's a graduate of the University of Virginia, West Virginia University, and the Georgetown University Law Center. Alex currently lives in Richmond, Virginia, with his wife and two children where he writes and practices law. He is the author of The Forest of Smoke and Fog, The Medium of Desire, The Renunciation, The Piratization of Daniel Barnes, and his latest book Bright Futures. Readers can connect with Alex on Goodreads and Instagram.  To learn more, visit https://alexmcglothlin.com

Spotlight: Knot of Souls by Christine Amsden

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Two souls, one body …

When Joy wakes up in an alley, she knows three things: she was brutally murdered, she has somehow come back to life ... and she is not alone. She’s been possessed by an inhuman presence, a being that has taken over her dying body. That being is powerful, in pain, and on the run from entities more dangerous than he is.

Shade, a Fae prince on the run, didn’t mean to share the body he jumped into. Desperate and afraid, accused of a murder he didn’t commit, he only sought a place to hide—but if he leaves Joy now, he faces discovery and a fate worse than death.

Forced to work together to solve multiple murders, including her own, Joy and Shade discover hidden strengths and an unlikely friendship. Yet as their souls become increasingly intertwined, they realize their true danger might come from each other … and if they don't find a way to untangle the knot their souls have become, then even the truth won't set them free.

Knot of Souls is a stand-alone buddy love fantasy that forces two very different beings to work together … and come out stronger on the other side.

Excerpt

Joy

The first thing I realized, after I died, was that my body could walk and talk and no longer needed my help for any of it. I was in there, able to look through my eyes and hear through my ears, but even the simple task of aiming my gaze had slipped outside my control. I was a passenger inside my own mind, an observer along for the ride.

Kristen had been right, I thought numbly as I struggled to make sense of my new reality. Had it only been lunchtime today when she’d told me I’d never get ahead if I didn’t learn to assert myself? “Take control of your life,” she’d said, “or others will take it for you.”

She couldn’t have been thinking of anything quite so literal. Whatever was happening to me, it wasn’t because I’d failed to advocate for a promotion at work or refused to ask out a coworker.

Right?

My body reached my car and slid behind the wheel. A rattled thought—not my own—cursed as it tried to understand how the contraption worked. How much can cars have changed in only a century? Visions accompanied the thoughts, memories—again not my own—of a classic car, gleaming black and elegant, its top down, my bobbed hair whipping around my face as I laughed with glee, a white-faced young man at my side gripping the door, begging me to slow down. I did not.

Which brings me to the second thing I realized, after I died: I was no longer alone inside my own mind.

Whoever was in there didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. Fine. I slid into the smallest corner of my brain I could find, ignoring the intruder as they struggled to figure out how to work an automatic transmission. Maybe they’d get frustrated and give up and go find someone else’s body to possess.

Holy shit! I’ve been possessed by the ghost of someone who died in like 1930.

But why?

I tried to remember what had happened, but the images danced just out of reach. I recalled that the night had been unseasonably cold for October, the chill biting through my inadequate jacket as I hurried to my car, parked in a garage two blocks away from the shelter where I’d been volunteering. Hugging my arms around my torso for warmth, I took a shortcut through an alley and …

There was a noise. I’d startled, my heart pounding in my throat, already on edge because of the argument.

Wait. Back up. There’d been an argument. That seemed significant, but my scattered thoughts couldn’t piece it together as yet, not when a bodily intruder fumbled at the gearshift of my two-month-old Hyundai Accent with only fifty-eight “low monthly payments” left to go.

Low is such a relative word.

– Excerpted from Knot of Souls by Christine Amsden, Christine Amsden, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Christine Amsden is the author of nine award-winning fantasy and science fiction novels, including the Cassie Scot Series.

Speculative fiction is fun, magical, and imaginative but Christine believes great speculative fiction is about real people defining themselves through extraordinary situations. She writes primarily about people, and it is in this way that she strives to make science fiction and fantasy meaningful for everyone.

In addition to writing, Christine is a freelance editor and political activist. Disability advocacy is of particular interest to her; she has a rare genetic eye condition called Stargardt Macular Degeneration and has been legally blind since the age of eighteen. In her free time, she enjoys role playing, board games, and a good cup of tea. She lives in the Kansas City area with her husband and two kids.

Connect:

Website ➜ https://christineamsden.com/wordpress/ 

X ➜ http://www.x.com/christineamsden  

Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/pages/Christine-Amsden-Author-Page/127673027288664?ref=hl