Sometimes I wonder what it must be like inside my own head.
Actually, don’t answer that.
One minute I’m writing about billionaires, boardrooms, Irish family dynasties, old money, found family, quiet longing and women who spend entire chapters pretending they are absolutely not in love.
The next minute I’m knee-deep in blood spatter, homicide investigations, forensic pathology, FBI procedures, serial killers, trauma surgeons, crime scenes and psychological warfare.
Apparently this all makes perfect sense to my brain.
The same question
People often ask me why I write both romance and crime thrillers.
The answer is simple. Because they’re actually asking exactly the same question.
What makes us human?
The Byrne Saga explores love. Not the butterflies-and-rainbows version. The complicated kind. The kind that asks whether two women with enough scars between them to sink a ship can still find their way to each other.
Demetria Byrne isn’t simply a billionaire CEO. She’s control. She’s discipline. She’s power wrapped so tightly around vulnerability that even she can’t always tell where one ends and the other begins.
Writing her has taught me that the strongest people are often the ones working hardest not to let anyone see them bleed.
Then there is Arden Mercer. She walks into a room and immediately starts looking for what doesn’t fit. She’s relentless. Curious. Analytical.
While Demetria builds empires, Arden dismantles lies.
She trusts evidence over instinct. Until instinct becomes the only thing keeping her alive.
They couldn’t be more different. And somehow they are both entirely me.
I’m not writing bodies. I’m writing trust.
People also ask whether writing intimate scenes ever feels awkward.
Not even slightly.
Here’s a little secret. I’m not writing bodies. I’m writing trust.
The moment someone finally lets another person close enough to see who they really are.
Whether it’s Demetria finally allowing herself to be loved, or Arden Mercer and Eli Markov discovering that strength sometimes looks like surrender, those moments still make me stop, smile, and occasionally think, “Well… that’s unexpectedly attractive.”
Apparently I can still get hot and bothered by fictional women who don’t exist (while I am writing them into life).
I’m perfectly okay with that.
Living in both worlds
Right now I’m living in both worlds.
By day, I’m working in an OR or a trauma bay and when I get the chance to sit down and write, I focus on Byrne(d) Blood, where trauma surgeon Dr. Rowan Hale collides with risk engineer Sorcha O’Malley. There will be sharp dialogue, stubborn women, impossible chemistry, family, danger and, if my characters have their way, far more emotional damage than I originally planned.
At the same time I’m writing Architecture of Fear, the next Mercer novel, where Arden once again finds herself chasing something darker than a killer (and falling in love a little more each day with Dr. Eli Markov, a fact she continues to feel annoyed and irritated and utterly grateful about).
She is chasing ‘Fear’ itself.
Some days my writing playlist goes from Irish ballads to ominous cinematic scores in the space of five minutes.
Some days I genuinely forget which universe I’m living in.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
If you’ve ever picked up one of my books, thank you for trusting me with your time.
If you haven’t yet, maybe now you know a little more about the strange little corner of my brain where all these women live.
They’re waiting to meet you: the Byrne Saga and the Mercer Series.
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