Welcome, Ink Lovers!
I’m Yvonne, a fiction, fantasy, and sci-fi writer.
My goal is to transport you into a world of adventure, magic, and courage—and recommend books that do the same.
Why? Because stories inspire me to be braver, try new things, and put myself in others’ shoes. When I moved far away from home, stories helped me connect to the people and places I encountered. Learn more about me.
Looking for short stuff to read?
News
Every morning Richard Chan sat down to a plate brimming with sausages and beet slices and a 1 liter jug of Turkish coffee. He ate while reading the newspaper. As he read, his complexion grew more and more mottled and his breathing heavier.
Protest
An old man glanced furtively from side to side, then stumped across the hallway. The wheels on his walker squeaked across gray linoleum. He reached the door marked “utility closet” and rapped twice, paused, then knocked three times. He waited. He glanced left and right, muttered something under his breath, and lifted his hand to knock again.
Eevy Menkos
Eevy Menkos licked her finger and jabbed it skyward. Her tongue flicked between her lips. Her eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she yipped, kicked her heels together and took a running leap over the rosebush. She skidded left and right along the path. The patio door banged shut behind her.
King Mo
Maurice Bentonville the second hitched up his overalls, adjusted his milk-can crown, and peered through his toilet-paper-roll binoculars. His perch? A cottonwood stump. His kingdom? The river streaming by. His subjects? Trout, catfish, carp, sharks, beluga whales, crabs, crawdads, worms, water striders, and hippopotamuses.
Writing & The Art of Secrecy
When I started my writing journey, I became an undercover agent. I didn’t give myself a code name, but I treated my manuscript like a Top Secret classified document. I didn’t let anyone read it. No one. Not a person, a dog, or a canary saw my work for three years, two months, and eighteen days.
Ink & Fire: processes of transformation
The life of a writer may seem dull on the surface (envision me standing at my keyboard in wool socks), but don’t be fooled. Writing is fraught with danger. I realized this while reflecting on my forays into amateur ceramics.