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A graduate of Southern Utah University, Karlie received a B.A. in Creative Writing, with a minor in art. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta, The International English Honor Society, as well as ANWA, the American Night Writers Association.
Karlie is interested in all things magical and mysterious, especially elves and dragons. She is an avid fan of J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling.
When not writing, Karlie can often be found drawing, baking, watching her favorite old school shows, or just spending time with her family.
She currently resides in Dallas, Texas with her husband and a cat named Kally.
Q and A with the Author:
you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
started it way back in junior high, and, after many years of revision, finally
found the happy medium with my characters that I’d been striving for. Happy
characters (figuratively speaking), makes for a good book, even if the
characters aren’t always happy about the circumstances they end up in.
is the thing you struggle with the most while writing? And how do you defeat
sometimes overtaxes me and my characters (creative muse, if you will), won’t
talk to me. It’s hard to write when I can’t keep in sync with them. Usually, I
have to wait until they start “talking” to me again, or move on to
another story until they do.
Office Complex, searching, hoping that what his heart and mind whispered wasn’t
true. There was no way it could be true. It had to be the worst lie imaginable,
but it still sang through his veins. It felt like hot fear burning in a blazing
inferno of mixed up emotions.
The radio at his side blared static, jumbled words that were unintelligible.
Only the occasional call for haste filtered through. But, no matter how hard he
tried to run, to climb down the many stairs, it felt like he was moving
through molasses. It felt like he was moving slower and slower the closer he
got to the ground floor. It looked like a war zone, with debris strewn all
over. It was as if the place had been abandoned because of some kind of attack.
In one hand, he gripped the note he’d found on Santa’s desk. The note explained
where his friend had gone; even knowing that doing so might spell the end of
his life. Why had Santa been so self-sacrificing? Why hadn’t he asked for help?
Clarence tried to run faster, trying to understand what had gone through the
Head Elf’s head. He hoped to arrive there before the unthinkable
happened. He raced for the doors facing the Green and flung them open, bursting
out into the light.
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