The Glass Inkwell

There's a thing I say when people look at my watchlist and squint. You'll write an entire fantasy novel with blood and betrayal and ancient monsters who eat grief for breakfast, but you won't watch Law & Order? And the answer is: correct. Absolutely not. Not even the reruns. I've thought about this more than I probably should have (it was a Tuesday, I had coffee, I was procrastinating on a chapter—you know how it goes). And what I landed on is this: it's not about the darknes

There is a specific kind of magic that happens when you stop doing what you’re supposed to do and start doing what your soul actually demands. For my newest heroine, Cerys Duncan, that meant trading a predictable life for a solo sailing adventure. For me? It meant writing a story that felt like a warm hug, a stiff breeze, and a very necessary reminder that love shouldn't require us to shrink. I am so thrilled to finally announce that Saltwater Between Us is officially availab

I want to tell you something about Cerys Duncan before you meet her. She's not a woman in crisis. She's not broken, exactly—just... compressed. Like someone who's spent years fitting herself into spaces that were never quite the right shape, who learned early that being agreeable was safer than being herself, and who got so good at performing "practical" that she forgot practical and afraid aren't the same thing. She's also kind of remarkable. Quietly, stubbornly, wonderfully

There's a specific kind of magic that happens when two characters meet for the first time. Not just any meeting. Not the "oh, you work in accounting too?" kind. I'm talking about the kind of first encounter that makes you stop mid-bite of your sandwich, forget you have tea steeping, and accidentally stay up until 2 a.m. because you have to know what happens next. The kind that crackles. I've been thinking about this a lot lately—what makes a first encounter in romance truly u

There are stories you write. And then there are stories you bury. Paradise Island was the second kind. If you've been following along, you probably noticed I recently renamed Paradise Island to Saltwater Between Us. That wasn't just a branding tweak. That was a reclamation. A quiet, salt-stung, sun-warmed reclaiming of something I almost convinced myself wasn't worth keeping. Let's rewind a little. I started my very first story in high school because a friend casually ment

Saltwater Between Us by Jade Black Releasing Mid-April 2026 There are stories that whisper. There are stories that linger. And then there are stories that grab you by the hand, pull you barefoot across hot sand, and say, Come on. You deserve this. Saltwater Between Us is very much the third kind. This is your official heads-up that my next release—written under my romance pen name, Jade Black—is on the horizon, and I am vibrating with excitement like a sail catching its first

There's something about island stories that hits differently. Maybe it's the promise of turquoise water lapping against white sand, or the way salt air seems to strip away everything unnecessary until you're left with just yourself and what you actually want. Maybe it's the permission that distance gives us—to be someone different, someone braver, someone who says yes to things we'd never consider back home where the bills are waiting and responsibilities have our phone numb

How Obsidian Throne Went From “Spicy Romance Weekend Project” to “Oh… This Is a Whole World.” There are moments in a writer’s life when you suddenly realize you’re not driving your own story anymore. You’re gripping the wheel, but someone else’s taste is quietly pressing the gas, turning the blinker on, and adjusting your rearview mirror like they live there. For me, that moment with Obsidian Throne hit like a pothole at midnight: I didn’t realize someone else’s taste had its

Office romance tropes don't ask permission. They settle into the bones of your outline uninvited—and eventually, you stop trying to remove them. I'll be working through a scene with clear intentions and a professional word count goal, and suddenly two characters are locked in eye contact across a conference table while someone explains quarterly projections to a room that isn't listening. It happens every time. Fictional workplaces are designed for tension. Proximity without

There’s this couple I watch on YouTube—yes, a sentence that still feels vaguely ridiculous to say out loud. Once upon a time we lived in a world before YouTube existed. (I don’t remember those days clearly, because my memory enjoys playing hide-and-seek, but I’m told they definitely happened.) Anyway. This couple lived in an RV when I first found them during my vanlife-curious era, and eventually they traded wheels for a sailboat. Something about that shift—taking your entire