Cherokee Mists Series

background-Cherokee-Mists-N“Why did you invent me to write these fantasy books?” said Caleb Fox. “What do you call them, The Promised One and Shadows in the Cave?”
“New start.  Something different.  Fantasy.” (It’s weird talking to your own pen name, but a writer can imagine anything.)

“I liked it when you wrote historicals,” said Caleb. “It was a lot more relaxing.”

“For you, yep. But we jumped to historical fantasy. Avoid all that research.”


“Really, I liked the idea of writing about the ancestors of our ancestors, the Cherokees. And I had a yen to play around with the Great Mysteries. Animal guides. Magic capes. Journeys to the land of the gods. Descents into the underworld. Adventures! Fun! And Meredith liked the bad guys!”

“What next?”

“We write the books, and you get all the credit.”

“But you guys get the royalties. This is making my head hurt.”

He sat in front of the computer. “By the way,” Caleb said, “our authors’ photo, labeled me, is a forty-year-old picture of you. More sex appeal, I guess … And while I work now? What are you up to?”

“Baseball on TV, beer in hand, and Meredith in my lap.”

“Buddy, you get the best end of the deal.”