UPDATE: I’ve been writing

First published in the September 10, 2025 issue of the #TeamHaidren Newsletter.

Team Haidren,

It’s been over a year since my last newsletter.

The author I was just two years ago could have never fathomed that statement.

But it’s been long enough and Shreya (our occasional intern) is right: I owe you some words.

A lot of them.

First off, THL is not finished nor am I, though it is on a temporary hiatus. Now before you fret, there’s no need. Led by Emiere, Luscia and Zaethan (dragging a persnickety Hachiro in tow) are undercover and on route to Pilar. Phalen is stirring Dmitri’s elixir, wondering what the shtàka he’s even doing. Ira is trying to stay sober as he outruns a cagey lycran. And Sayuri? You’re about to find out.

The Obscurer is rising and so is his cult. Darkness plagues the minds of the Shoto elite. Bribes and blackmail have become the common currency. The aristocracy is turning against the throne. Warlord Kasim eyes the Orynthian crown, for the regency was just stolen beneath his nose. The Houses shudder. The realms are watching. To whom holds the power?

Suffice it to say, book 4 is plotted and ready to roll.

The problem is that I am not.

That’s a hurtful thing to admit. For those who adore this series, it hurts you too. For nearly a decade these books were my life. They occupied every storeroom of my mind—to the point where probably too much of my self worth was tied up in their success (or lack thereof).

God has a funny way of course correcting plans; washing us so we can begin anew. Stronger. Clearer. And more free, despite the surmounting demands.

I thought becoming a mother would “set me back”, so to speak. Assuming the third trimester fog, postpartum healing, and general adaption to baby life… I imagined I’d be right back where I’d left by now.

But something happened a little over a year ago…. I almost suffocated in a car wreck. I almost lost my (miracle) baby in the process.

We were rescued by a good Samaritan, driving past in the dead of night. He wrenched the car door ajar and let us out. My swollen stomach quickly turned black and blue. I couldn’t feel her moving anymore.

There was a moment as I stared up at the ceiling, laying in an empty, quiet hospital room, when everything changed. These books are my heart but they weren’t my life, not anymore. The thought terrified me. I’d been running, I’d realized. Running from my daughter who’d not even been born.

So I unplugged. Apart from my last newsletter, I unplugged the minute I got home. She had lived through that event (and another near loss during labor). My daughter survived and needed me fully present. She deserved a mom who wanted to be fully present.

That’s the problem when your greatest passion—and your best work—is accomplished through escapism. For that is what writing fantasy is, an escape, is it not? I love to traverse my own mind. That is where Orynthia originates. And I miss it. I cannot fully express how much I do. But when I’m there, I’m there. Not in part. Only in whole.

Amid this season, someone else needs me in whole too. And she won that tug-of-hearts last summer.

I can’t tell you when Orynthia will have me completely again. Except that it is on my horizon. I learned recently that when bamboo is seeded, it must be tended by the farmer for 5-10 years before it sprouts growth. The passerby sees the farmer watering flat soil for ages, thinking him a fool. Yet the farmer is performing active work. For beneath the surface grows the strongest root system imaginable.

Like bamboo, the Quadren and I may seem dormant but we are not asleep. I will make good on my promise from the start of the series in that “I will deliver”. It won’t be as long as the plant, either! It will be as long as the roots need.

Finally, “tadöm”, my friends. My gratitude pours out to you. To those who’ve just discovered the books, we welcome you with open arms. To those who leave praiseworthy and thought-provoking reviews, who tell their friends and convince their book clubs to read… you’re the G.O.A.T (don’t tell Ira, he has history with goats). And to those who emailed me: you can’t possibly know the gravity of that gesture. Choices in life have consequences. Your messages remind me that for the sake of the series mine will be okay.

If you’ve stayed with me this long, there is one more teeny tiny, kind-of-a-big-deal announcement.

I am writing.

Just not THL.

I’m putting my limited time, hormones, mom-brain, and other assorted personality quirks to good use in my special project. Here’s the deal, though. I need readers. The book won’t be for everyone. It’s not even finished, nor in this genre. But it’s ready to make friends. More on that below.

Thank you again to everyone. We’ve built something truly special. Something that will last, despite my sabbatical. Because that thing sings an anthem, beating in your hearts and mine.

Tredae’Aurynth,

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