Rumors of my death…

Fair warning…this is written under the influence of exasperation, frustration, and a fairly decent domestic Cab Sauv, though I plan to work toward a really nice Red Mascato as the evening progresses.

Life has been crazy over the last few years. Somewhere along the way since I last talked to you, one of my twins was diagnosed as Autistic, years of homeschooling was transitioned into public school in another state, and I (in a moment of insanity) began a Master’s degree in Rhetoric and Composition at East Carolina University. The end result of all of this was a state in which writing my next series of books became an effort in futility. Rejection after rejection….and now I find myself in a transitional space where I am evaluating everything that I value in my life.

My husband recently acquired his DNP (Doctorate of Nursing Practice). His meteoric rise in academic respect while I managed our children and household has been a cause of envy for me. Combined with my rejections and the stagnation of my writing career as my priorities wavered between writing and the obligations to my son. I want to have value. I want to feel as if I have merit, especially since I’ve sidelined my personal ambitions and joy for someone else.

One of the authors I respect and value most in the world told me that I wouldn’t be happy until I let the cat out of the bag during a writing retreat last year. I began to work on the next Destiny book at that point. I had hoped to put forward other books in the St. George world, but that was not to be. Defying Destiny took root and I’ve been actively working on finishing that book in the series. The nine other books in that world may be available at some point, but (as of right now) they are on the back burner until I establish my St. George universe again.

For all of you who have followed me, thank you. For all of you who are just discovering me, thank you, too. I’m not perfect. I’m not one of these positive women who put out book after book and have these lives of glorious productivity. Life gets in the way for me. Parenting an Autistic child creates boundaries I would never have predicted or respected a decade ago. Maybe, as I wrap up this degree, my relaunch of the St. George world, and reclaim my identity as a person instead of someone’s wife and mother, I can also embrace my calling as an author.

For those of you who have waited patiently for my next book, I say thank you. You have my heart and I hope, desperately, that I won’t let you down again.


Kaye Chambers

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