I was raised in a small Northern Maine town. Growing up in a town of five hundred people, I spent my time listening to my grandparent’s stories. As a shy kid, I eventually learned to entertain myself. I started to explore the world around me, trudging through the woods and fields surrounding my home, scaring myself with what lurked in the fog.
In this time I picked up a pencil and wrote my first story, a dystopian fanfic starring the hottest stars of the mid-90s. Several stories later I traded the pencil for a paintbrush and camera. At this time I was creating art of the world and learning about my family history. This led to taking trips in my twenties to Salem, learning what I could about the Salem Witch Trials, and learning the fates of those I descended from. Little did I know the influence this would have on me later.
I began traveling, drawing inspiration for the world that I would inevitably create. In my thirties, I left my small town for the big city and moved to Worcester, Massachusetts. There I met my familiar, a little black cat named Flour. Once I was settled I got back into writing and began to create a world inspired by my life, travels through Europe, and art. I began to learn more about witchcraft and on occasion dabble in the art of Tarot. It led to stories about witches and strong women overcoming being oppressed by men and freeing themselves. Through my own personal studies, I hope to shed light on the accused so they may be remembered for not what they were thought to be, but who they were. My debut novel, See How They Burn, is the first of many to be set in that magical world.
Something else about me…
Some of you may know me (hi mom and dad) and others may have stumbled upon my Instagram and clicked that link in my profile that brought you here. Hello and welcome to my spot in the vast world of the internet. All are welcome and might I note this is a safe space. We don’t take cruelty and bullying lightly here. Don’t be that person.
For those who don’t know me my name is Jen. I’m an author who writes dark fantasy. While I may be an author, I didn’t always have this path at the forefront of my mind. It came to me later in life. When I was young I loved to read and draw. I created stories (mostly fan fiction) in my bedroom. I would explore the world around me. As it is I went to school for fine arts. I ended up working retail jobs that left me unfulfilled and eventually ended up in a medical supply office. While there I thought to myself why not get my master’s degree? So I did—or well, I started it.
A moment of light before darkness fell
I started my master’s at Southern New Hampshire University for a degree in Healthcare Management. I had been doing great. I maintained a 3.5 and higher and for the most part, I enjoyed it. During this time I picked up writing again. I’d created a world where characters lived. I loved these characters. So I wrote every opportunity I had. I finished a very, very rough first draft while taking business classes. And do you know what? I enjoyed myself. I loved sitting down to write on my computer. It took me away from the realities and travesties of the world we live in. The darkness that appeared on the page in front of me eased my mind. My anxiety went away for a short moment and I was happy.
As the storm raged I fell apart
It was a night in November when everything fell apart. I was sitting at home alone looking at the first week of coursework for a Health Law class and it hit me. Waves of panic struck me like never before. My breathing became erratic. I was crying so hard I was physically ill. My cats ran from the room scared of me and my dogs were concerned with one jumping up to hug me. It was the first time I felt like that. Sure I’d had smaller anxiety attacks while at work. (That should have been the first clue or hell red flag.)
I sat there for an hour with tears streaming down my face. I was rocking back in forth repeating the words “I can’t do this anymore” like a mantra. Because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want a master’s degree in something that didn’t bring me joy. So I did something about it. Through teary eyes and a runny nose, I tried to carefully type out an email to my advisor telling her that I wanted to drop out of the program. When I got that email confirming I was no longer enrolled in it I felt this immense sense of relief. I felt this tension leave me briefly before it came back. Did I do the right thing? Did I just waste a year and a half for nothing?
and in that storm i found pleasure
I sat on it for about a week before my best friend suggested a writing program. The look I gave her said, “Sure like they’d take me”. By the next week, I had applied. Submitting a piece of writing was nerve-wracking. No one had read anything I had written before besides my best friend. The wait was agonizing but one day I got a call and I had been accepted. I’d never felt that happy before.
Entering the MFA program led to me creating a story I adore. It led to me learning about myself. It led to the release of my first novel, See How They Burn. I wouldn’t change the experiences I had. Without them, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be living a dream I didn’t realize I had until my late thirties.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I’m glad you’re here, I’m glad you exist, I hope you stay a while.
JH 