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I decided to test the waters of writing fantasy last year. Fantasy and paranormal romance are my favorite genres and I wanted to stretch my creative and discover if I could create worlds and amazing, nonhuman characters like my favorite authors. That has yet to be seen, but as the book is nearly finished, I found a message I felt needed to be shared.

My heroine is a witch being hunted for her powers, which her pursuers believe are comparable to her mother’s but are much greater.  After four years of running with no family and no friends, she is exhausted and lonely. She thinks she’s tapped out but her future mate, a shifter with his own set of problems, thinks she is a dragon. She is pissed by this moniker. In fact, she thinks he’s calling her an angry black woman, a big faux pas. Much later in the story his best friend talks about the hero’s love of dragons as a kid. He thought dinosaurs were mundane, but to him, dragons were majestic, strong, powerful, fierce, and rare. While it upset her thinking he couldn’t tolerate her big personality and strong will, to him she was a dragon. The dragon. His personal dragon. Before he ever knew he loved her, before he even told her that he valued her friendship, he was telling her how much he respected her, how highly he thought of her, by calling her a dragon. He was also calling her out for hiding her powers. It was his way of saying, “I see you.”

You are a dragon. Majestic, powerful, and rare. You fly above the fray, and you fry anyone who dares to harm you. There will be a few silly little knights with tiny shiny pointy things coming at you, and humans with so much hubris they think they can control you, but remember, you breathe fire. And you fly. Just because the world cannot see your wings, your shining glory, doesn’t make you any less majestic.