So, you wanna know how I ended up writing books? Buckle up, because this story's got more plot twists than a binge worthy Netflix series.

Do I start with my famous days on movie sets? Nah. You might think I'm bragging, when in all honesty there was a lot of adding fake blood to clothes, driving giant production trucks down roads that got narrower with every turn, and the occasional, "Yes, Mr. Hot Famous Guy, you look great."

Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

Picture little me, crayon in hand, proudly signing my masterpiece... on the living room wall. In my defense, my grandma was an art professor and I'd watched her sign her actual artwork. No one told me the canvas wasn't supposed to be drywall. Hey, you gotta start somewhere, right?

Creativity was basically the family business. Mom had a journalism degree, so instead of talking about our feelings, we wrote notes. (Probably not the healthiest, but hey, it worked for us, mostly.) Dad ran a graphic design company, and my aunt designed those cool CD covers for Warner Bros.

By thirteen, Dad enrolled me in an official Adobe Photoshop course. I was dead set on creating websites, collected those fancy certificates like they were gold medals, and started working with him after school.

Then came college and the million-dollar question: how do you actually make money being creative? Turns out, loving art and paying bills with it are two very different things, something my family taught me early on. So I compromised: film industry! I could design costumes, work in the art department, maybe even help create characters. It seemed like a much better plan than my backup: starving artist with a really cool portfolio.

I went to FIT in New York City, where the professors were apparently trained in emotional warfare. Did they help build my thick skin? Absolutely not. My skin is still about as thick as wet toilet paper, which is exactly why I don't read reviews anymore.

My commute? Three hours each way. I'm not exaggerating. Car, bus, train, repeat. I survived on caffeine and pure stubbornness. But I was learning about costume design, art history (my obsession), and living the dream... if the dream included sleep deprivation and questioning all my life choices.

This is probably a good time to mention that reading has always been my thing. And not just fiction. I’m a huge history nerd. Like, “born in the wrong century” level nerd. I mean, if you know anything about Ancient Egypt, you have to admit our leggings-and-T-shirt lifestyle is a little underwhelming. Kidding... mostly. I also wouldn't have minded living during the Renaissance, surrounded by incredible art, or even in medieval times, living in a giant castle. Granted, I'd probably change my mind the second I remembered there was no plumbing, no air conditioning, and people thought bathing once a month was perfectly acceptable. Every era has its flaws, I guess.

History fascinated me so much that I kept signing up for all those classes that, according to everyone else, had absolutely no practical purpose. I ended up earning a minor in Art History, never imagining that years later I'd write a book about an art history professor at Harvard. Who's impractical now, Brenda?

After graduation, I jumped into film internships, said yes to everything, and eventually packed up for LA. The movie set life? Exactly as crazy as you'd imagine: long days, fake blood emergencies, beautiful costumes, and enough stories to last a lifetime.

See? We finally made it to my famous years.

I got to work alongside incredibly talented people, meet actors and directors I'd grown up watching, and visit places I never would've seen otherwise. It was exciting. It was surreal. It was also one of the hardest periods of my life.

I had zero personal life. Zero time for anything outside of work. Fourteen-hour days were normal. Six-day work weeks were normal. Living out of hotels and traveling to random filming locations became normal too.

For a while, I convinced myself I was living the dream, but somewhere along the way, I realized I was drifting.

The more scripts I read, the more I realized I didn't just want to help tell someone else's story. I wanted to be the one coming up with it in the first place.

So I started writing here and there. Nothing like a novel yet, no time really. Eventually, I moved back to the East Coast to be closer to family and kept working in the film industry in NY.

It was actually on my thirtieth birthday that I finally got serious about what would eventually become Crystal Iris. It didn't even have a name yet. All I knew was that I had this idea I couldn't let go of. So I did what any perfectly reasonable person would do and spent my birthday wandering around Harvard, researching what life would be like for an art history professor. Honestly, I can't think of a better birthday.

Crystal Iris follows an art history professor at Harvard who finds herself bound to an ancient magical prism necklace, connecting her to another prism bearer she can't touch without hurting.

Then the pandemic happened... and so did my son.

He was very much planned, but nothing prepares you for the sheer audacity of a newborn to completely derail your career. Suddenly, it wasn't about fitting him into my life; it was about fitting my work into his. This tiny human, who was impossibly adorable, had absolutely no respect for my schedule because he'd already established himself as my most important boss. And just like that, my work had to take a backseat.

I kept trying to write whenever I could sneak it in. The problem was, writing novels wasn't going to pay the bills anytime soon, and going back to working on film sets away from home, just wasn't an option anymore. So I did the only other thing I knew how to do. I drew.

What started as taking commissions slowly grew into a full illustration business. It wasn't some grand master plan. It came out of necessity but it also scratched that creative itch I don't think I'll ever get rid of. Before I knew it, I was illustrating full-time for clients all over the world.

When my son was two, I ended up needing elbow surgery because I'd simply spent too much time drawing. Apparently, your body eventually stages an intervention. That really threw me for a loop.

What now?

Thankfully, I'm fully healed, but those marathon drawing days are behind me. And honestly? I'm not one bit mad about it, because it led me to one very dangerous thought: maybe it's finally time to finish the damn novel.

In 2024, I decided it was finally time to hit pause on the illustration business. Between running a business, raising a four-year-old, and trying to squeeze writing into the tiny gaps left in my day, I knew the book was never going to get finished this way. That same year, we packed up our lives and moved to Texas for my husband's job, and I finally gave myself permission to see where writing could take me.

So I gave myself a challenge: finish Crystal Iris. My hope was that writing the book would do one of two things. Either it would finally get this lifelong dream out of my system so I could go get a normal job like everyone else… or (cue dramatic music) it would make me fall hopelessly in love with writing and doom me forever.

Spoiler alert: I chose doom. I became completely obsessed. And just when I thought writing the book was going to be the hardest part, life surprised me again.

Turns out, writing a book and publishing a book are two very different things.

I hit publish on Crystal Iris as quickly as possible because I wanted my family and friends to read it. Their response was so positive that I thought, "Well... why don't I tell strangers about it too?"

So I opened an Instagram account. That's when I discovered there was this whole world called BookTok.

Believe me when I say... I had absolutely no idea it existed. Then I learned you're supposed to market your book before it comes out, not after. Excuse me? That would've been incredibly useful information about six months earlier.

As much as I wanted to jump straight into writing Crystal Iris Book Two because, I mean... have you read the ending of Book One? I couldn't just leave everyone hanging, I convinced myself I'd already missed my chance to find readers.

So instead, I came up with what I thought was a brilliant marketing idea. I'd write a free short story. My pitch was basically, "Hi, I'm Blair. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, but would you like a free book?” I sent it to my very small group of followers.

Surprise. Again. The Bartender's Ballerina did so well that readers started asking for more. I mean... I probably should've seen that coming, Jax has that effect on people. And when I say asking... some of you were very persuasive. So I paused Crystal Iris and wrote Tar City instead.

This time, I was determined to do things differently. I threw myself into learning everything I could about publishing and marketing. Turns out writing the book was only half the job.

Now here we are, just days before Tar City's release, and the numbers still don't feel real. If you had told me just two years ago that any of this would happen, I would've laughed and told you that you were one good storyteller.

Somewhere between all of this, I also found an incredible literary agent and agency who believed in my stories enough to want to help me build a career. I'm still trying to wrap my head around that one.

Looking back, it's funny how every detour ended up leading me exactly where I was supposed to be. Learning Photoshop at thirteen. Growing up in my grandmother's art classroom. Studying costume design. Working on movie sets. Building an illustration business. Even the elbow surgery. Every single piece somehow found its place.

Today, I get to combine everything I've ever loved: art, history, film, and storytelling into the books I write.

I know the road ahead is still long. I have so much left to learn, and I'm sure I'll make plenty more mistakes along the way, but for the first time, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

If you've made it all the way to the end of this page, thank you.

Whether you've read one of my books, shared a post, left a review, recommended my stories to a friend, or simply decided to spend a few minutes getting to know me, thank you for being here.

This really is a dream come true. And I promise I'll never take your time and your support for granted.

Here's to many more stories.

Love,

Blair