Lily Writes

I’m back from the Pacific Northwest and absolutely itching to write again.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of long days on the road, beach walks, national park trails, painting, family visits, mountain switchbacks, sunsets, and stopping at approximately every scenic overlook in Washington and Oregon.

Wonderful?

Absolutely.

But there hasn’t been much time to write.

Painting and travel rejuvenate me in a different way. They fill the creative well.

Writing, though?

Writing is my passion.

And three weeks away from my characters is a very long time.

There were stretches of this trip when we had little—or absolutely no—cell service or Wi-Fi.

As someone who likes being connected, this initially chafed.

A lot.

What do you mean I can’t check the news?

What do you mean I can’t look that random thing up?

What do you mean there are NO BARS?

And then…

It started to feel right.

Washington: Herons, Mountains, and Quiet

One of my favorite stops was Semiahmoo, Washington.

For several mornings, I sat along the shore with my paints and watched the tide roll out. Great blue herons arrived for breakfast. Vancouver shimmered across the water.

And I painted.

And watched.

And breathed.

The last time we visited was six years ago, during the pandemic. My brother has a large boat, and on that trip we isolated aboard the J-Pod for ten days—fishing, crabbing, whale watching, and island hopping through the San Juans.

It was heavenly then.

Semiahmoo is still a little slice of heaven.

This time we added Mount Baker to the adventure, driving up into the mountains and hiking around Artist Point.

Stunning doesn’t begin to cover it.

Mountains do something to me.

They always have.

Playing Hide-and-Seek With Mountains

From Washington, we headed south toward Portland, stopping at the undersea museum in Keyport along the way.

Unfortunately, wildfire haze followed us through part of the trip, and the mountains became surprisingly elusive.

We saw Mount Rainier from the airplane when we arrived.

Mount St. Helens eventually made an appearance.

But Mount Hood and Mount Adams?

Nope.

They hid.

For two weeks.

Then, as our flight lifted out of Portland to take us home, there they were.

Seriously?

Thanks, guys.

Nice of you to finally show up.

Cannon Beach: Still Magic

We spent several days at Cannon Beach, and it was worth every dime.

I love that place.

Readers of the Rider and Vanguardian series probably already know this because fictionalized versions of Cannon Beach keep sneaking into my books.

There’s something about Haystack Rock.

The enormous sweep of the beach.

The mist.

The tidal pools.

The birds nesting on the rocks.

It feels slightly otherworldly, which may explain why my paranormal characters keep ending up there.

And this trip?

We finally saw puffins!

Puffins!

I may have been slightly overexcited.

Okay.

Very overexcited.

Lincoln City: Glass, Cheese, and Ice Cream for Lunch

A few days later, we moved down the coast to Lincoln City and landed in a gorgeous spot right on the water.

Morning walks.

Sunsets.

Changing tides.

And one particular mission I’d been looking forward to: visiting one of Lincoln City’s glass studios.

We made our own glass paperweights.

Best. Souvenir. Ever.

We also explored everything we could find nearby, which is how we ended up at Tillamook Creamery watching aged cheddar being cut and packaged.

Naturally, we had ice cream sundaes for lunch.

Cough.

Vacation.

It counts.

And because apparently neither of us is capable of driving past a sign that says SCENIC VIEWPOINT, we stopped at beaches, overlooks, and state parks all the way down the coast.

And Then We Lost the Internet. Crater Lake National Park

From Lincoln City, we turned inland toward Crater Lake National Park.

My partner is a Navy submarine veteran and has a lifetime National Parks pass, which has turned out to be one of the veteran benefits we appreciate most.

Crater Lake was spectacular.

Our connectivity?

Not so much.

We spent three days with extremely limited—and frequently nonexistent—cell service.

Our lodging was rustic. The National Park lodge was full, so we stayed about half an hour away.

Bathroom down the hall.

No reliable internet.

Barely any cell service.

I’m not a camper.

This felt suspiciously like camping.

Everyone was friendly. The scenery was incredible. I enjoyed meeting people and talking with fellow travelers.

But…

No cell service.

And Michigan’s August primary was happening.

Of course it was.

We had to wait nearly a full day to find out what happened in the Senate primary back home.

Twenty-four hours.

In 2026.

Practically pioneer life.

Eventually we reconnected with civilization, caught up with the election results, and discovered our preferred candidate had won a very close race.

And then, strangely enough, I found myself missing the quiet.

Maybe three weeks of beaches, forests, mountains, painting, and unreliable Wi-Fi did exactly what I needed them to do.

Because I came home with stories.

Back to Pinkerton Falls

I’ve spent most of this year living in the Pink Matchmakers universe, and I’m not quite finished there yet.

First up is Love Secrets—Alistair and Ryan’s story.

This is an MM age-gap romance with a surprising enemies-to-lovers angle. The first draft is finished, so now I’m heading back in to rewrite, weave, deepen, and polish.

Then there’s Love Nut.

Ali and Miles.

This one is a single-mom romance, although Ali has absolutely no intention of participating in one.

Her seventeen-year-old son, Max, is worried about leaving for college and abandoning his mother to an increasingly isolated empty nest.

His solution?

Sign her up for Pink Match.

Without telling her.

What could possibly go wrong?

Then Aura finds Ali’s soulmate.

He’s a tattoo artist.

Ali is skeptical.

Very skeptical.

Also intrigued.

But definitely skeptical.

Meanwhile, Love Books—Margo and Hull’s story—is with my proofreaders.

So Pinkerton Falls is humming along nicely.

But something happened while I was wandering around the Pacific Northwest.

I started hearing other voices again.

The Vanguardians Are Calling

Maybe it’s the mountains.

Maybe it’s Cannon Beach.

Maybe it’s spending days disconnected from the ordinary world.

Whatever caused it, I’m feeling a very strong pull back toward the Vanguardians.

There are unfinished stories waiting for me there.

So while my mornings are dedicated to writing and rewriting Pink Matchmakers, my afternoons are shifting toward planning, outlining, and research.

First up: Peacemakers.

Aurora Star Rider and Quill Fox Rider’s origin story.

Ironically, Peacemakers was originally supposed to be the first book in the Vanguardian series.

Then Rigel Lorian happened.

You know me.

I got distracted by the challenge of turning a seriously complicated man with a truckload of issues into a compelling hero.

And somehow Nomad: Forsaken Lorian was born instead.

No regrets.

But Aurora and Quill have waited long enough.

And Then… The Hounds

By the end of the month, I’m also blocking out time for something I’ve been waiting a long time to write:

Hades’ Hounds of Hell.

Readers have already met several of these god-nicknamed Vanguardians in Thief, Oracle, and other books.

They’ve lurked around the edges.

Caused trouble.

Collected secrets.

Made themselves impossible to ignore.

Now they get their love stories.

And I’m starting with Apollo.

Of course I’m starting with Apollo.

He’s complicated.

He’s unpredictable.

He’s going to be ridiculously fun to write.

And there will be zing.

Lots and lots of zing.

So maybe I didn’t really take three weeks away from writing after all.

Maybe I was gathering.

Colors.

Landscapes.

People.

Conversations.

The way fog settles over Cannon Beach.

The impossible blue of Crater Lake.

Great blue herons hunting when the tide rolls out.

Mountains appearing through wildfire haze.

The strange quiet that settles in when your phone stops working and there’s nothing left to do except look around.

Pay attention.

Absorb.

That’s the thing about being a writer.

Even when I’m not writing…

I’m still collecting stories.

And now I’m home.

The creative well is full.

Time to write.