Originally posted on the Archeolibrarian blog as part of my Virtual Book Tour.
I’ve loved literature since I was a child, and my fondness has only grown over the years. Every stage of my reading life has added significant elements to my writing, changing not only my style but also how I think about what stories can do.
Childhood books
Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time changed my life as a child. L’Engle confirmed what I now call the “play mind”: a creative, imaginative space where anything is possible. This is the place I write from. Meg Murry, the main character in her book, taught me that what people think are flaws can be strengths, a theme that runs through my debut novel, Tangled Darkness. At a time when I really needed to hear that being different wasn’t something to fix, L’Engle stood up for individuality and not fitting in. The adventure and fantasy elements in her story taught me that books could be both fun and deep, with heavy themes told through easy-to-understand prose.
As a child I also loved Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. These stories featured main characters who had to solve difficult puzzles and deal with dangerous situations, which added both suspense and mental challenge. I learned that a person could be the hero of their own story, able to face real danger and triumph through wit and bravery. The magazine’s focus on psychological suspense and clever plot twists showed me that mystery fiction could be both entertaining and thought-provoking.
Teenage inspirations
Adolescence brought different authors and needs. J.D. Salinger’s books, especially The Catcher in the Rye and the Glass family stories, spoke to my growing desire to rebel and find my true self. Salinger’s writing about feeling alone and searching for meaning in a world that seemed empty really resonated with me during those difficult years. The characters in his stories felt the competing needs for independence and self-reliance, while also desiring connection with others and belonging to a community. This is a theme I often explore in my own work.
Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance taught me that finding quality in work, relationships, and life in general could make existence more meaningful. Pirsig showed me that our values shape what we do and that the journey to understand ourselves is just as important as any destination. This way of thinking about stories made me realize that novels should do more than just entertain; they should also make readers reflect on their own lives.
gender and sexuality
Rita Mae Brown changed my life with her bold examination of lesbian identity and women’s empowerment in Rubyfruit Jungle. She showed me how to write characters who break the rules. Brown’s close examination of what society expects of women was validating for the queer adolescent development I was experiencing. Her writing showed me that literature can be both political and deeply personal.
Reading Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins in my early twenties helped me understand how fiction can use unusual narrative techniques to explore gender, sexuality, and the search for freedom. Robbins taught me that you could write about serious topics in a funny and playful way, and that literature didn’t have to be tragic or steeped in a serious tone to be important.
I’ve read nearly every book by Jeanette Winterson, whom I consider a literary genius. Her early books, like The Passion and Sexing the Cherry, were eye-opening in terms of style and ambition. Her lyrical yet shrewd writing and wild, imaginative characters made me rethink what fiction could do. Winterson’s brave examination of gender roles, social class, and the nature of storytelling itself taught me that writers could make readers question what they thought they knew about reality, time, and identity. Her feminist historiography, which captures women’s roles and importance (or lack thereof) in history, inspired me to give voice to people who are often left out.
The Alchemist and The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho introduced me to the idea of Personal Legend, which suggests we all know our true path and that the universe helps us follow it when we do so honestly. Coelho’s stories about adventure and mysticism helped me see how literature can guide people on their own journeys of self-discovery, spirituality, and personal growth.
mystery greats
Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series has taught me a great deal about how to write character-driven stories. Much of my own work is influenced by her themes of community and connection, healing and redemption, and the weight of the past. Penny’s stories about human dignity, compassion, trauma, and recovery, all wrapped up in compelling mysteries, demonstrate how genre fiction can address the deepest aspects of being human. Her nuanced examination of good and evil and her understanding that art, beauty, and truth are all connected have changed the way I think about moral complexity in stories.
Tana French’s work may be the most compelling psychological crime fiction I’ve ever read. I’ve learned much by studying the way she depicts memory and trauma, her in-depth character studies, and her examples of how the past continues to affect the present. French’s writing is atmospheric and richly detailed, lyrical with occasional startling turns of phrase, creating worlds that are both familiar and strange. Her exploration of moral ambiguity, ethical questions, and how friendship and loyalty hold up or break down under pressure has shown me that the most interesting stories are often the ones that are most difficult to tell.
Time and word count limit this review. These are just a few writers who have helped me understand that literature should tell thought-provoking stories that honor the full range of human experience while also challenging, comforting, and changing readers.
