If Your Books Were a Song, What Genre Would They Be? 🎶

Like a slow, smoky ballad—gritty, raw, and full of love that refuses to fade.

If my books had a sound, they’d be a blend of country, blues, and southern rock—gritty, soulful, and filled with longing, heartbreak, and slow-burning passion. The kind of music that lingers, haunting and electric, long after the last note fades.

Think Chris Stapleton’s “Fire Away,” Whiskey Myers’ “Stone,” and The Civil Wars’ “Poison & Wine”—that slow, smoky guitar riff. That raw, unpolished emotion. That push and pull between love and heartache. And with a touch of Gone West’s “I’m Never Getting Over You” and “What Could’ve Been”—that bittersweet ache of love lost, love found, and the kind of sexual tension that doesn’t fade, no matter how hard you try to let it go.

Because my books? They’re not about love that’s simple or effortless. They’re about stubborn, messy people who feel everything but refuse to say it out loud. The ones who act like they don’t care when they do—so much it terrifies them. The ones who would rather push love away than risk losing it, who build walls so high they can’t even see over them. But when they finally let themselves feel? When they finally give in? It’s not pretty or perfect—it’s big, all-consuming, and absolutely worth the fight.

I love the kind of romance that smolders—where every glance is a challenge, every touch feels like a dare, and trust isn’t given, it’s earned. The kind where love isn’t just something that happens—it’s a battle, a choice, a leap off the edge with no guarantee of a safe landing.

My stories are about love that takes work, about pasts that don’t stay buried, and people who have to fight their way to happiness—sometimes kicking and screaming—because they don’t believe they deserve it. (Spoiler: they do.)

So yeah, if my books were a song, they wouldn’t be soft and sweet. They’d be raw, electric, and just dangerous enough to make you lose your breath.