Spotlight: Beyond the Blue Horizon by A.L. Jackson

Beyond the Blue Horizon by A.L. Jackson will be out Oct. 7th. Get a first look of her upcoming book about a single mom, he falls first, small-town romance!

I should have known I’d break the promise I made when I found her stranded in a blizzard…

Feisty as hell and the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
With the cutest kid and her grandmother in tow, she’s completely off limits.
I don't get involved with women like that.
I learned long ago I don't have the ability to love.
My life is sordid and danger is always hiding in the shadows.
Only I can’t turn my back on them when I realize she’s in trouble, and I insist on them staying in a cabin at the motel I own.
As penance for my sins, I promised my life to protecting others.
Except she becomes so much more.
A need I don’t recognize. A desperation that burns beneath my flesh.
One kiss, and I’m falling for her.
One touch, and I’m at her feet.
But when my dark past comes back to haunt me, I’m in a race against time to save the only woman I’ve ever loved. Only it may be the demons that have been chasing her that destroy what we built…

What to Expect in Beyond the Blue Horizon:

  • Single Mom

  • He Falls First

  • Hate to Love

  • Morally Gray Hero

  • Heroine in Hiding

  • Motel Shenanigans

  • Ex-Motorcyle Club

  • Secret Society

  • Band of Brothers

  • Small Town Romance

Excerpt (Chapter 1)

The squall of snow came sideways across the road, the gusts of wind howling through the trees as the storm pounded its fury out on the earth.

I was barely able to see a hundred feet in front of me, which was why I was squinting extra hard as I tried to make out the faint glow of red up ahead.

Taillights.

Another vehicle was traveling through the hazardous blitz.

Didn’t know why that bothered me so much, but worry suddenly blistered up beneath the surface of my skin.

Maybe it was instinct.

A sixth sense when things were about to go to shit.

Because the car started to take a curve that eased a bit to the left—one I knew like the back of my hand considering I normally flew along this road on my bike.

Only the lights suddenly whipped harshly to the right then gave into a full spin. A flash of color and a shockwave of disorder that I could feel diffuse across the space.

“Shit.” It left me on a ragged breath.

Sweat instantly slicking my palms, I gripped tight to the steering wheel as I sped toward the car, heart fuckin’ pummeling my chest in a riot of dread.

Took me all of three seconds to travel the distance, and I came skidding to a stop off the side of the road, angling a fraction behind it so the car would be protected if someone came blazing around the bend, unprepared and unaware of an accident.

It was a small gray sedan that had taken a nosedive into a ditch.

I didn’t take the time to drag on my jacket. I tossed my truck into park, flipped on the hazards, and jumped out.

The pelting snow felt like tiny, fiery darts that impaled the bare flesh on my arms.

I ducked down against the frigid ferocity of the wind, blood sloshing in my veins as I ran up to the car, terrified of what I might find.

Never could stomach it when something happened to an innocent.

I ran up to the driver’s side door and jerked the handle.

Locked.

Alarm twisted through my insides, and I smacked my palm against the window. “Hey, are you okay in there? Can you hear me? Is anyone hurt?”

I could feel the energy radiating from the cab.

Disoriented fear.

Like whoever was inside might be in shock and unable to process what was happening.

Didn’t relish the idea of breaking the glass, but I’d do it with my bare hands if I needed to.

“Open the door. I’m here to help you,” I shouted, barely feeling the frigid cold that howled through the forest.

A fire lit through my being.

Fuck, please be okay.

I breathed out the smallest gush of air when the door finally clicked open, and the light inside the cab flicked on to reveal a woman in the driver’s seat. An older woman was in the passenger seat, but what sliced through me like a blade were the cries erupting from a small child in the back.

The airbags had deployed, and it looked like the windshield was busted to shit.

A scourge of distress poured out, and I bent at the knees so I could better assess the situation.

“Is anyone hurt?” The words scraped up my throat.

The driver finally shifted her face in my direction, giving me a look at her for the first time.

In an instant, I was nailed to the spot.

Held by these fucking giant blue eyes that stared back at me in shock.

The same color as the arctic lake that The Sanctuary was built up against.

Just as fuckin’ deep.

The kind if you even dipped your toes into it, you’d slip right in and drown.

But it was the stream of blood coming from a gash on her temple and running down her cheek that sent worry screaming through my body. Slammed with a rush of protectiveness so severe that I didn’t know what hit me.

I ground my teeth against it. Only I was fucked up enough to be thinking about how gorgeous this woman was when she was in the middle of a calamity. Wanting to sink my fingers into her flesh all while I wanted to make sure she was whole and complete.

Never claimed not to be a sadistic bastard.

“Are you okay?” I forced my voice into calm as I tried to break through the daze that had taken her hostage.

Attempting to get her to focus on me when I could see her spellbinding gaze whirring with confusion.

“Hey, I’m right here. We’re going to get you help. I just need to know if anyone is hurt.”

She blinked through the havoc, words breaking on her tongue. “I…my son.”

Rattled cries of terror were coming from the backseat.

“It’s alright. Just stay calm. I’ve got him.”

I pressed the locks on the inside of the door. They clicked, and I hurried to the back driver’s side door, pulling it open to expose the car seat that sat directly behind the driver’s seat.

It faced backward, and a toddler who I’d guess was maybe two was buckled into it. His blond hair struck in the bare glow that rained down from the cabin light. Fat tears ran down his chubby cheeks, and he pointed his little index finger toward the front.

“Mommy!” Fear distorted his face, his mouth tipping down deep on the sides.

Distraught and still cute as fuck.

“Hey, buddy.” It was impossible to keep it light and easy with the dread that barreled through, my words gritting against the thickness that held the air. “Your mommy is right here. She’s okay. You’re okay.”

At least, I hoped to God they were.

From where I stood, I couldn’t see any visible injuries on the child, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering something internally.

“Does anything hurt, little man?” Tried to inject lightness into the question, hoping not to freak the kid out any more than he already was.

His head swished erratically in his seat, and he pressed his chest up against the restraints. “I not hurt. I want my mommy!”

I could feel the woman finally break through the haze. No doubt, her son’s pleas drove her to coherency. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy is right here. We just had a little accident. It’s okay.”

“O-kay.” He drew it out on this little cry, though his fear was tempered by her voice.

The woman shifted to peer at the older woman in the passenger seat who looked to be maybe in her early seventies. Just as confused as the driver, her gray hair sticking up all over the place as she tried to process what had happened.

“Are you okay, Nelly?” The words heaved from the driver.

The older woman inhaled a steadying breath.

“I think so. Might have scared the pants off me, but it doesn’t feel like any of these old bones are out of sorts any more than they normally are.”

The driver nodded, then started to fumble around to unbuckle.

“Think you should stay right there until we get someone out here to check you all out,” I warned.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed, ignoring my instruction.

“You have a nasty gash.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Before I could convince her otherwise, she was on her knees, turning around, and crawling through the narrow gap between the seats.

My guts clenched in uncontrollable greed as the dome light overhead illuminated the striking contours of her face.

Fuck me.

This woman was stunning.

The kind of exquisite that could cut through every roughed layer of a hardened man.

Crack him wide open and make him believe there might be a chance of beautiful things.

Too bad I had the propensity of destroying the beautiful.

That didn’t seem to sway the urge at all because my fingers itched to reach out and explore.

Wanting to drag them through her long hair that was so white it was nearly the color of the snow.

Trace them along a face that was a painting of perfection. Defined but soft on the edges.

Cheeks flushed from the adrenaline.

Lips plump and pink.

But maybe what was really stealing my breath was her fierce determination as she fought her way to her son.

Blood gushing from that cut and tenacity dripping from her veins.

Made her look like some kind of battle-torn angel.

Or maybe it was just my own adrenaline thundering through my being that was distorting my nerve endings. Sending my reaction sideways and slanting in a direction it shouldn’t go.

A trauma response.

Only I’d seen so much blood and gore in my life that I knew fuckin’ better than that.

I was nothing but a gluttonous fuck.

Wanting to devour the good and lay it to waste.

“Mommy is right here, baby.”

The second she set her knees on the seat next to him, the kid instantly stopped crying.

“Hi, Mommy.” Through his tears, he grinned this beaming smile, and she choked out a relieved laugh.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered. Her delicate hands started running over every exposed inch of his body.

His little arms and legs.

Over his head and chest and shoulders.

Searching for any injury.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she mumbled like maybe she was trying to convince herself.

“I okay. We go crash?”

“Yeah, just a little crash, but we’re okay. Everyone’s okay.”

“Mommy got owie?” He pointed at the cut on her head. His eyes that were the same color as hers were wide with innocent worry.

“It’s just a tiny bump. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Doubted that claim was actually legit. About an inch of flesh was busted open, and a steady stream of blood oozed from it.

“I’m going to grab the first aid kit and get an ambulance out here to check everyone out. Pretty sure your car isn’t going anywhere.”

Her attention flashed up to me when I said it.

A different kind of panic lit her gorgeous features. Could tell she wanted to argue, but then she was looking back at her son, torn by something I couldn’t make out.

“Okay,” she finally agreed, and I ducked out of the car and ran for my truck. I threw open the back door and dug out the kit from where I kept it stashed, then I nabbed my phone from the console and thumbed into the screen at the same time as I went running back for the car.

Fuck.

No service.

Guts twisting, I kept moving before I popped my head back through the rear passenger door. “There’s no service. We’re pretty deep in the woods and the storm is likely adding to it. I can probably get it about five miles up the road. Think we need to move you all into my truck. It’s warm and I can get you into town quickly.”

Didn’t love the idea of moving the kid, or any of them for that matter.

My only solace was he seemed unharmed.

“I thought you said you could get service five minutes up the road?”

I let go of a heavy exhale. “I said probably, but I’m not a hundred percent. Besides, I’m not sure how long it would take an ambulance to get out here in this storm. Might be best for me to drive you the whole way.”

A war went down in the middle of the woman.

This fiery hot protection that I could feel brimming from her flesh as she stared me down like she could see every sin I’d ever committed.

Thank fuck she couldn’t.

Otherwise, she’d have them all running out into the woods, figuring surviving the storm would be a whole lot safer than surviving me.

“Not going to hurt you. None of you. My name’s Theo. Theo Mallin.” The promise grated up my throat.

Disbelief shook her head. “And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

The older woman in the front seat shifted around and peered into the back. “We don’t have a lot of other options, Pipes, unless you want to sit out here and freeze to death, and that doesn’t sound like a real fun way to go to me.”

Good. At least she was in my corner. Seeing things rationally.

I turned back to the woman who was looking at me with so much distrust it was a wonder I didn’t turn to ash.

But apparently, it was too fuckin’ cold for fires because that flame burning from her was petering out.

She breathed out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But know I will claw you to pieces if you even look at any of us wrong.”

Couldn’t stop the rough chuckle that rolled up my throat while something in my chest was clutching in a fist.

This woman was ferocious.

“Noted, Pipes.”

She sent me a scowl.

I ignored how much I liked it, and I angled my head toward my truck. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this storm.”

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Spotlight: When You Blush by Kristen Proby

From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Proby comes When You Blush, a small-town, forced-proximity romance set in Bitterroot Valley!

Blake


I don’t do relationships, but I’m excellent at casual hookups. That’s not to say I’m a jerk. Not at all. I respect women—all women—and I know the value of love. But I’m married to my job as a physician. In fact, I’m married to the hospital, having a full-time affair with the clinic, and my family is my side piece. I don’t have time for a relationship with a woman.

But then the most beautiful human I’ve ever laid eyes on walks onto my plane, and my world tilts. Thanks to a Montana snowstorm, I spend one incredible night with Harper, but wake up alone. She never told me her last name. She’s just … gone. It would figure that the one woman I could see myself breaking my own rules for is the one I can’t have.

Harper


It’s time for me to come home to Montana to help take care of my dad and pick up the slack for my siblings. I’ve been gone for a long time, but this beautiful corner of the world is my home. I’m excited to start my job as a NICU nurse at Bitterroot Valley General and begin a new chapter in my life. A fresh start. A clean slate.

Then he walks into the room, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. Blake was the one-night stand who still haunts my dreams. The man can do things. Amazing things. But I never thought I’d see him again. Okay, that’s a lie. I knew he worked at this hospital, but he’s an ER doctor. I’m in a different department, so I planned to avoid him. Yet that didn’t last more than the first hour of my first shift.

Now, he’s pursuing me and saying things like forever. But with a past like mine, can I trust that he won’t tire of me and leave? Or is this finally my happily ever after?

Download today or read for FREE with #kindleunlimited

Amazon | Audible

Narrated by Stella Hunter & Jason Clarke

Spotlight: Only Mine by SK Allison

A single dad with one rule: No one stays for dinner. Until her.

I don’t like surprises, especially not a woman trespassing on my land, soaked to the bone and dragging a scandal behind her.

Since my wife’s death, I’ve kept everything locked down: my emotions, my routines, and most of all, my daughter. Ivy doesn’t trust easily. But when she asks if Wrenley can stay, I give an answer I know I’ll regret.

Now Wrenley is in Ivy’s world and in mine. And every day she’s here, she’s harder to turn away.

At night, I cook for her, and watching her mouth as she tastes what I’ve made leaves me starving for more than food.

I tell myself I don’t trust Wrenley Morgan. That she won't last. That this mistake can still be undone.

But the longer she stays, the more impossible it becomes.

Only Mine is an addictive standalone about a brooding single dad who doesn’t invite her in, can’t push her out, and refuses to let anything take her away. But how long can he keep her when she was never meant to stay?

Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon

Spotlight: Slap Shot Scandal by Kara Kendrick

A sexy grumpy/sunshine, enemies to lovers, hockey romance from bestselling author, Kara Kendrick

He’s the grumpy captain with everything to lose. She’s the PR problem he didn’t ask for.

Hockey is my life. Always has been.

As captain of the team, I’ve built my career on discipline, loyalty, and laser focus.

But after a scandal tanks the franchise’s image, the owner relocates us to Driftwood Cove, a small sleepy Florida beach town.

New name, new strategy.

And a bubbly PR consultant hired to clean up the mess.

Harbor Hayes.

She’s sunshine in a bottle. Bright, blonde and opinionated. Worse—she knows hockey. And exactly how to get under my skin.

We clash from day one and I’m torn between wanting her gone and wanting every inch of her body underneath mine.

The longer we work together, the harder it is to pretend she doesn’t affect me.

When lines blur behind closed doors, we make a deal.

Three rules:

No feelings. No falling. No future.

Until one reckless moment leaks in a viral video.

Now I’m not just leading the team–I’m at the center of a brand-new scandal.

One that could destroy everything.

Especially the woman I swore I’d never fall for.

Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon

Spotlight: Cruel Rule by J.T. Hardt

Series: Royal Oaks Prep Book 1

Release: September 28, 2025

I kissed the king of Royal Oaks Prep. Now I’m his favorite target.

Leo Holt is rich, ruthless, and ridiculously hot.

Captain of the basketball team.

Worshipped by the school.

Feared by everyone else.

And me?

I'm the new girl. The nobody.

The mistake he never saw coming.

One stolen kiss at a summer bonfire—that’s all it took to paint a target on my back.

Now he’s made it his mission to destroy me, one brutal rumor at a time.

But I don’t scare easy.

I don’t cry in the bathroom.

And I sure as hell don’t bow to bullies—no matter how good they look in a varsity jacket.

Leo Holt thinks he can break me?

He’s dead wrong.

Because I’ve got secrets of my own.

And when the queen rises… the king falls.

Buy on Amazon | Bookshop.org

Genre/Tropes:

  • High school bully romance

  • Enemies-to-lovers tension

  • Alpha bad boys & fierce heroines

  • Prep school drama with real heart

  • First kisses, cruel games, and slow-burn passion

About the Author

✨ Author of swoon & scorch

📚 Stories with heart, heat & edge

💻 Writing one HEA at a time

📍Small towns | Big feelings

Connect:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0FHGB7MCS

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/j-t-hardt

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jthardt1/

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@jthardt

Spotlight: Wayfinding by Renee Gilmore

Throughout her life, Renee Gilmore has been in love with the open road. Her passion for exploration has taken her across all seven continents—but the real journey has been much more personal. In Wayfinding, she confronts the impetus behind her wanderlust: a lifetime shaped by loss, betrayal, and sexual violence. Told through a series of car trips and postcards from the road, this powerful memoir maps a route toward healing, acceptance, and hope, with stops at Waffle House and the Monaco Grand Prix along the way. Narrated with unflinching honesty and flashes of humor, Wayfinding is the story of a fiercely resilient woman determined not only to survive but to remap a new life filled with freedom, connection, and joy.

Excerpt

Angels in Plaid Shirts

Thank you, Angels.

Twenty miles outside Sidney, Nebraska, I heard the thump, thump of a tire that was breathing its last, leaving its skin in the right lane of I-80, and its bones on the wheel. It was January, and I was leaving Minnesota in the rearview and heading to Albuquerque. I was a mid-year transfer student to the University of New Mexico, and it was time to go. I was both driving toward my future and away from something else. Away from a lot of things. I had made mistakes, and I had put myself in danger – real danger – more than once. In the previous two-and-a-half years, I had been battered and nearly destroyed by two separate assaults, and I lost the scholarship I needed to stay at the Catholic college I attended in northern Minnesota. I made terrible choices in men, money, and alcohol. I had recently come home from studying abroad in Ireland, and during the last couple of months I was there, I got engaged to a boy, and then we broke up. It was messy, and I felt lost.

When I got back from Ireland, Duluth had gotten too small, too cold, too provincial for me, and I needed a change. There were too many people I knew, and too many places that held very bad memories. I fired off applications to colleges in warm places that I could sort of afford. I was accepted by Arizona State, the University of Texas at Austin, and the University of New Mexico. New Mexico was the cheapest. I prepared for a new start in the
desert.

I didn’t know a soul in Albuquerque, and that was okay with me. The inside of my 1976 Plymouth Duster was packed to the rafters with pots and pans, clothes, and my Smith Corona typewriter, hefty in its light blue case. The trunk of the Duster was a treasure trove of shoes, frying pans, and bedding in white garbage bags, anchored by my 50-pound RCA television.

I had been fiddling with the radio, trying to find the sweet spot between Jesus and Dolly Parton, when I heard that sound and felt the pull of the wheel. I had been on the road for hours that day, driving by dormant cornfields with their lonely stubby stalks, waving at truckers, and eating gas station doughnuts. I was trying to make it to my grandmother’s house in Fort Morgan, Colorado, for lemon cake pie, homemade biscuits, and easy games of cards. I confidently flew by every exit for Grand Island, Nebraska, where my family usually stopped, with the hubris that only a 20-year-old can possess.

I pulled over on the shoulder and stopped. This was years before cell phones. If I got out, that flat tire was going to be real. I thought I would just sit for a minute. I hummed along to Led Zeppelin on the radio. Ate a chocolate-covered donut. That minute turned into five and I finally clicked out of my seatbelt and opened the door. Yep, the left rear tire, flatter than flat and missing several layers of rubber. I knew how to change a tire – my father wouldn’t let me out in the world without it. We had practiced and practiced when I got my driver’s license at 16. By practice, I mean my father stood in the driveway, in his baggy jeans, plaid shirt, and cardigan, smoking a cigarette. He pointed out where I missed something, very occasionally telling me, that was pretty good. I knew where to locate the jack, I knew how to loosen lug nuts, and I could heft the spare out of the trunk. I knew what to do.

I opened the trunk and sighed. It had taken two of us, my father and I, to get that huge RCA television into the trunk.

There is no way one of me was going to hoist it out. And the spare tire, which we had checked just two days before, was tucked in its compartment under everything. I looked to the freeway, and there were no cars for several flat miles, in either direction.

More sighing.

I started unloading the trunk on the side of the road.

Comforters. Shoes. A spare winter coat. My red Slimline telephone. I dug and lifted until nothing was left in the cavernous space but that damn RCA. I rocked it one way and then the other. There was just no way I could get it out. I stood with my hands on my hips. I was a 20-year-old girl with no more good ideas. I turned toward the freeway. I heard the distant rumble of 18 wheels eating the road. Long before I saw it. I had no choice.

I flapped my right hand listlessly. I tried hard to look brave and tough and not cry. Tried not to think about the fact that I could be kidnapped right there by the side of the road, or murdered. My picture and story would end up on 48 Hours, for sure. The mountain of a vehicle started to slow, edging toward the shoulder, and came to a stop with a whoosh of air brakes. The driver, with his straw hat, cowboy boots, brown suspenders, and round belly, stepped down from the truck cab. He was as old as my dad, sun- soaked and strong. “Looks like you have a problem there, little lady.” Without permission, two tears wobbled down my face as he approached me. He hitched up his jeans. “Let’s see what we got.”

He helped me yank that TV out of the trunk like a tooth from a socket. We grabbed the spare tire and the jack and got to work. I jacked up the car, and he unscrewed the lug nuts. One was very stubborn and he swore at it with great creativity and enthusiasm. We pulled that tire off, and as we did, the rest of the rubber shrugged off the rim onto the ground. We put the wheel, its once-shiny surface now pitted and scratched, on my front seat, and loaded everything back into the trunk. He got on his CB and found out good news and bad. The good news was there was a garage 20 miles away, in Sidney, and they could get me a tire. The bad news was that they would get it tomorrow. Or the next day. He told them I was coming.

I thanked him and offered him ten dollars for helping me, but he laughed and told me to spend it on a new tire. I pulled back on the interstate, and drove far slower than the posted speed, with the radio off, straining to hear any signs of distress from the spare tire. There was honking, as I was passed by every car and truck heading in the same direction. I made it to Sidney. I found the garage and pulled a third of my cash out of my red wallet to pay George the mechanic for the new tire. I left my car and most of my possessions in his care. I stayed overnight a few blocks away in a Howard Johnson’s Motor Inn, with the dresser pushed in front of the door. When I walked back to the garage early the next afternoon, the tire had arrived. George clearly felt sorry for me. “Hey, I got a kid your age.” He didn’t charge me to remove the spare and tuck it back into the compartment in the trunk, next to the jack, under the bags of bedding, and the RCA. George said that damn TV weighed 60 pounds.

I made it to Fort Morgan, a day late. I stopped overnight, ate two good meals, and was sent on my way in the morning, with a lemon cake pie and a plastic fork. From Fort Morgan, it was about an eight-hour drive to Albuquerque. I arrived right before the sun was thinking of setting over the mesa, and there was just enough golden hour left to read the street signs. I already had my key, so I hauled everything out of the Duster and up to my apartment until nothing remained but the TV. I stood in the parking lot, in the deep twilight, and assumed the hands-on-hip position, as I stared into the trunk. An angel, in the shape of a plaid-shirted man named Terry Garcia (or that’s the name he gave me, anyway), asked me if I needed some help. Together, slowly, we carried that TV from the parking lot up the stairs to my second-floor studio apartment. The next morning, I wanted to thank him. I described him to the apartment manager. She said that no one named Terry Garcia lived there. I never saw him again.

I was not prone to thinking about God, about angels, about mysterious, mystical protectors. I attended Mass when required by family obligation, I lit candles in church because the ritual was comforting. But my hard-edged cynicism about religion, about those all-powerful beings who supposedly lived in the clouds, who controlled what happened to me in everyday life, had begun to seep in. It all started to make less sense than when I blindly accepted it earlier in my life. All the dogma, the unlikely-to-be-true Biblical myths I absorbed during five years of Catholic school, two years of confirmation classes and then Catholic college. I mean, didn’t God control the hands of the men who wrote the Bible? Whispered in their ears, shared the Truth™, the Good News, His word, to control the people? But I digress.

Maybe a benevolent God, a personal savior did not, could not exist. I was starting to think that maybe this patriarchal God was just not for me. Maybe I just had “daddy issues.” How would this Father God explain sitting on the sidelines while I experienced such horrible, evil things? I was sad and angry and I wanted answers. But at that point, I didn’t have anything better to replace Christianity, Catholicism so I continued to search. I wanted to believe so badly.

Copyright, 2025, Renee Gilmore. Excerpted from Wayfinding: A Memoir with permission from Trio House Press.

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About the Author

Renee M. Gilmore is the author of Wayfinding: A Memoir (October, 2025; Trio House Press). A multi-genre writer, essayist, and poet, she earned a BA from the University of New Mexico and an MA from Hamline University, and her work has been featured in The Louisville Review, The Museum of Americana, Fatal Flaw, The Raven Review, and Pink Panther, among others. She lives in suburban Minneapolis with her husband Steven and you can visit her online at reneethewriter.com.