I’m realizing now just how long it’s been since I gave any sort of writing update. I moved to a new state this year. I changed jobs. And life keeps lifing despite my desire on occasion to just get a break and have the mental capacity to focus on the things I want to. All of that to say, Songs of the Wanderers book 2 is taking a bit longer to get going than I had originally intended. As the weather warms and some of the bigger changes settle into quiet routine, I find myself attempting to build writing back into a regular piece of weekly life. I appreciate the patience from everyone who I know is waiting to see what Sasha, Eli, and Marion get up to next, and I have some other writing-related irons in the fire that I will share details on as soon as I am able to.

In the meantime, I want to give everyone a quick glimpse of what’s in the works. Book 2 does not have a title yet and every word on the page is subject to change as drafting and revisions move forward. But with that being said, here’s a glimpse at what to expect from the sequel to Land of Outcasts. Stay tuned for more updates as they’re available and hopefully more general writing-related content as well. Thanks for reading!

In the North

Doolan took pride in being captain of the guard in Boulder. Theirs was a simple village, full of artisans, miners, and trappers. People worked, raised families, obeyed the rules. The greatest threat they faced was the occasional bear or wildcat wandering down from the peaks in search of a stray goat. Chase them with a torch and yell loud enough and they tended to scamper back to their caves. The rest of the time—well, he dealt with feuding neighbors and drunks pitching fits if they lost at dice. Life was harsh here among the northern mountains, but his people were hardy, and they knew how to face the elements. All of these were things Doolan knew how to face.

What he didn’t know how to deal with was an all-out battle in one of the village taverns that left the building in cinders and every cell of their tiny jail packed with people he needed to pull answers from—most of them strangers and one of them a hoarfrosted unicorn. Unicorns belonged down in the lowlands. This was someone else’s trouble, and it had found its way straight to Doolan’s doorstep.

Doolan trudged inside the guardhouse, sealing the door against the chill air. “They still screaming at each other?” he asked Glyn, his second in command.

Answering his question, a female voice bellowed from behind the locked door. “Come at me, you poxy fieldmice! I’ll send you home to your mothers in pieces!”

Doolan rubbed his brow against the sharp ache already forming there. “Has any of them explained what the fight was about yet?”

Glyn’s eyes widened slightly. “All due respect, Captain, but I haven’t unlocked that door since we got them in there, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“If only it were that simple.” Doolan eyed the pot hanging in the fireplace. “What do we have today?”

“Old Delwan brought her bone broth again. I swear, that woman adds more pepper every time.”

“Good. Ladle me a bowl.”

As Glyn obeyed, that same voice echoed down the hall again. “I’ve seen faeries with more fight in them than all of you put together!”

Doolan sighed. “I’m going to need it.”