The Psychology Behind Blood Money - Writing Trauma and Redemption

When I sat down to write Miles and Warren's story, I didn't expect my own grief journey to become the roadmap for their healing. But sometimes life gives us exactly the experiences we need to tell the stories that matter most.

When Loss Becomes Your Teacher

In February 2024, I lost my husband Donald. What followed was a crash course in grief psychology that no amount of research could have prepared me for. The funeral home sent me an email chain about how grief affects people differently yet is weirdly, consistent—how we all feel lost during that time, how healing isn't linear, how some days you can barely remember to pay the bills while other days you surprise yourself with your own strength.
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That listlessness, that trouble caring about reality when you're drowning in loss—I lived it. I'm still living it. There are days when the simplest tasks feel impossible, when moving forward seems pointless. But as I wrote Miles' story, I found myself putting into her what I wished I could have had the motivation to do. She kept going despite her profound loss. She always had her "stuff" together, somewhat. She was the version of strength I was reaching for.

Miles: The Survivor I Wished I Could Be

Miles has spent eight years searching for her mother—eight years of not giving up, of pushing forward despite trauma, of maintaining her determination even when the world felt impossible. Writing her gave me a way to explore what resilience could look like, what it meant to channel grief into purpose.

Her philosophy—"true friends stab you from the front"—came from understanding that when you've lost everything, honesty becomes sacred. You can't afford pretty lies when you're barely surviving. Miles' suspicious nature, her difficulty trusting, her need to stay in control—these weren't just character traits. They were survival mechanisms I recognized from my own journey through loss.

Warren: The Ancient Grief That Mirrors Our Own

Warren's 200,000-year quest for redemption initially seemed like pure fantasy. But as I wrote him, I realized his journey mirrored something deeply human about grief and love. Everything he's done for millennia has been about connection, about finding his way back to that moment of peace he felt with the angel Mikael, about keeping love alive despite the darkness.

The parallel hit me one day while writing─all the things I did for Donald were to keep us together. Every doctor's appointment, every small gesture of care, every moment of fighting for our relationship—it was all about preserving connection. Warren's endless search for redemption is the same impulse stretched across centuries. We do everything we can to keep love alive, even when—especially when—it seems impossible.

The Psychology of Broken Characters Who Choose Love

What I learned from both personal experience and research is that trauma doesn't make us weak—it makes us complex. Miles can survive being drained of blood, but she struggles to trust. Warren can open portals between dimensions, but he can't understand why someone would love him. They're both incredibly powerful and deeply vulnerable, just like real people navigating real loss.

The funeral home's wisdom about grief affecting everyone differently yet the same became the foundation for how I wrote their healing. There's no timeline for getting better, no checklist for moving forward. Some days you're strong enough to fight vampires. Other days you can barely get out of bed. Both are valid parts of the journey.

Writing as Healing

Creating Miles and Warren didn't cure my grief—nothing can do that. But it gave me a way to explore what healing might look like, what it means to choose love despite loss, what redemption could feel like for someone who's been broken by life.

Their story became a safe space to examine the hardest questions, How do you love again after loss? How do you find meaning when everything feels meaningless? How do you keep going when stopping would be easier?

Why Broken Characters Resonate

I think readers connect with flawed, traumatized characters because they reflect our own experiences with loss and healing. We've all felt like Miles at some point—searching for something we've lost, not sure if we'll ever find it. We've all had Warren moments—wondering if we're worthy of love, if redemption is possible, if the things we've done can ever be forgiven.

"Blood Money" isn't just about vampires and blood dolls. It's about two people who've been shaped by trauma, who've learned to survive in a world that's hurt them, and who have to decide whether love is worth the risk of being hurt again.

The Truth About Redemption

What I've learned, both from writing this story and living through grief, is that redemption isn't about forgetting the past or pretending the trauma never happened. It's about transforming pain into purpose, loss into love, survival into strength.

Miles and Warren don't get healed by falling in love—they get healed by choosing to be vulnerable with each other despite their fear. They learn that being broken doesn't make you unworthy of love, it makes you human.

And maybe that's the most important psychology lesson of all. We're all a little broken, we're all searching for something, and we're all worthy of love—especially when we can't see it ourselves.

Coming July 31st

"Blood Money" releases July 31st, and I can't wait for you to meet Miles and Warren. Their story is dark, steamy, and ultimately hopeful—a reminder that even in our brokenness, we can choose love, choose healing, choose each other.

Because sometimes the most powerful magic isn't supernatural at all. Sometimes it's just two broken people deciding they're worth fighting for.