Blood to Ink
Author: Brynn Myers
Editor: Liz Ferry at Per Se Editing
Cover Designer: Emily Wittig from Emily Wittig Designs
Publisher: Indigo Ink Publications
Publication Date: April 30th, 2021
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Indigo James was a successful author until the day she got writer’s block, and everything changed. Weeks turned into months without anything but fleeting thoughts and half-ass ideas. That is until the day she met Mila Aeress—aka the Goddess of Chaos. Suddenly Indigo is thrust into a world she only thought existed in books. Now she’s bound to her writing for a completely different reason. Her life and her works are more than labors of love; they’re a matter of life or death. Each new manuscript becomes a book of sacrifice when her blood literally turns to ink.
Brynn Myers is a paranormal romance author. After considering writing a hobby for years, she finally turned her passion and talent into a career. She came into the paranormal genre later than most but has always loved fairy-tales and all things magical. Using that love, she creates charmed worlds by writing stories involving passionate, strong-willed characters with something to discover.
They should be simple enough. I mean, everything begins with them, right? A single letter can be a word. A series of words become sentences. A series of sentences become paragraphs: papers, short stories, novellas, novels. Sounds easy, and yet as I sat there staring at a blank page, I couldn’t for the life of me seem to put my thoughts into a cohesive flow.
I was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block, and my muses seemed to be on the longest coffee break ever. This would have been all well and good if I weren’t under a deadline with my publisher. Naomi had been kind enough to give me three extensions but had made it clear there would not be a fourth. I sent her some pages in hopes she’d take pity on me, but instead, she emailed them back to me in a bold, harsh font and told me they lacked my usual passion and fire and to go back to the drawing board.
Nine hours later, I was still staring at a blank screen. Hope of any inspiration knocking me over was as cold as the cup of coffee and a half-eaten chicken sandwich sitting on my desk. Nothing was working—not the junk food or the caffeine. Maybe I should grab some chocolate and alcohol, I thought. Wasn’t it Ernest Hemingway who said, “Write drunk, edit sober”? Hell, what did I have to lose at this point?