I have never seen visions in the fire, though the writing craft is sometimes like that.
I have never been accused of witchcraft, though I might have been if I’d been unlucky enough to be born in medieval times when anyone deemed “different” was suspect. I’ve never been forced to dress as a leper to run from a witch hunter
or stumbled into a mystical forest like Dragonswood where fey folk and dragons dwell the way Tess does in my novel.
But all stories are in some way about survival, about who we are, where we come from, where we truly belong. And, like Tess, I’ve hungered to find my place, longed for true family, lost more than I’d ever hoped to, and made heart-rending sacrifices to help those I love.
Like Tess I’ve tried to find happiness, to craft a good life from what clay I’ve been given. Tess is braver than I am. Journeying with her, I can only hope some of her bravery has rubbed off.
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