The Co-Authors I Couldn’t Say No To

When I started writing Breathing Freely, I had a good idea of how the story was going to go. The major plot points were tucked neatly inside a mental folder. I simply had to get Wes and Lou to those chapters. 

Then, I got to know them, these characters I’d created, and boy were they opinionated. 

I remember being excited about putting a scene I vividly imagined countless times to paper. It was beautiful. Wes was going to take Lou riding on his four-wheeler. They were going to laugh and get caught in the rain, Lou was going to steal Wes’s hat and mud was going to be flung everywhere… but, it didn’t happen. Not quite the way I had hoped anyway. 

If you’ve read Breathing Freely, you know there was mention of the four-wheeler ride and Lou stealing that ballcap, but it was just that: a memory. 

That scene only made it into their story as a flashback from Wes as he strolled down memory lane at the most ill-opportuned moment. 

“I knew Lou was planning something for today, it's been marked in my calendar for months now, but I never would have guessed she’d try to out-romance me. I’m sorry it took me so long to come home to you, baby. I bet it was beautiful.

I pocket the tealight to add to my collection of tokens from her. One day, whatever day she picks, the items I’ve accumulated will be on display as a part of the centerpieces for our wedding guests to enjoy, giving them a peek into our life together. 

One table will have the chunk of driftwood Lou tripped over while we were scoping out locations for new parking spots near the banks. My shoulders shake when I recall her face the moment she realized we were both going into the water after my failed attempt to catch her. We swam to the dock, striped our clothes and let them dry on the sun-bleached planks while we skinny-dipped. 

Another will have the ballcap I can’t bring myself to wear again, not since she plucked it off my head and backwards onto hers as we rode fourwheelers through muddy trails. It looks better on her.”

The chapters leading up to this point never gave room for these many memories to have texture. At first, I was a bit upset and thought I’d royally messed up when I didn’t give the audience all those sweet moments in real-time. I thought their connection was going to fall flat and feel forced. But, Wes gently whispered “Let’s try this…here.” And, I listened to him. 

And I’m incredibly grateful for his advice. 

On the flip side of that same coin, there are scenes I never meant to write that became my favorite and made me ache to put to paper.. Like, the trial toward the conclusion. Those chapters weren’t on my radar at all. They weren’t mental checkpoints or milestones for me to reach. They just happened.

I’ve never sat in any of the hotseats I wrote about, but now, I feel as though I have. 

My heart raced. The words on the screen faded in and out of focus with every forced blink as more and more tears were cleared. My nose was stuffy and by the time court adjourned, I was shaking and my chest ached. 

I felt like I could finally breathe, much like I’m certain Wes and Lou felt.

I can’t take all the credit for the scenes I wrote. Some of them Wes and Lou insisted on sharing. They didn’t betray me or their story, they simply surprised me with their stewardship. 

I suppose that’s either the benefit or downside to having characters living in your head for years, depending on how you look at it. I’m sure Wes and Lou would both agree to it being the former. 

At this point, I can’t confess to what the ending was originally supposed to be.That’s a secret I’ll keep between me and my co-authors. But I can tell you this: I never intended to write a sequel. Wes and Lou simply informed me they weren’t done, yet.

With gratitude,

Haleigh

The Day I Stopped Chasing Virality

The same day I published, marketing emails flooded my inbox. I was asked to join their featured authors list, give approval for a book trailer, and targeted ads to the '“right” people.

I have to admit, a few of the reps had tempting pitches, but most made untrue claims like, “I’ve had time to sit with Wes and Lou’s story and its something that really stayed with me. I’d love to help it reach more readers who would benefit from it.”

As flattering as their words were, I knew they weren’t true, and it left a bad taste in my mouth.

You see, one of the many reasons I decided to initially publish with books.by is they give you access to the names and emails of your supporters the moment a copy has been ordered. At the time, books.by held a monopoly on my novel, so access was limited and, in a non-invasive way, monitored.

After sitting with the offers, I decided to try responding to every email so that if my name began to circulate, the reputation that came with it was a good, or at least friendly, one. Most contained a thank your for reaching out, but I preferred to go about matters organically.

Which is true! Watching the way Breathing Freely has made its way into the world has been fascinating. Seeing support come in from people I’ve never met, those moments held me in a different way than even my first copy selling — no offense to my sister because that memory sits on a shelf of its own.

A recommendation to a friend during a conversation, sharing a link, adding to your shelf GoodReads, etc… they’re all quiet segues that lead more people into discovering Wes & Lou’s story. And that organic connection, people sharing something they enjoy with folks they either care about or happen across during their lives, is how good things used to get around.

And I believe people can and do still share things in such a way.

I handed the future chapters of Breathing Freely over to the masses, and I’m loving how they’ve written them thus far.

With gratitude,

Haleigh

Trust the Rest

As a writer, I love how different aspects come together and build a story. But, what I love even more is the same story can mean something different to someone else. You can even reread the story, years later, and the take-away is new.

My favorite tool to execute this as a writer is to trust the rest.

What do I mean by rest? Silence. Letting something breathe. Allowing a moment to have its full impact before moving on.

It may be rich that a girl whose assigned seat was moved in nearly every class is talking about the importance of silence, but it was a lesson I had to learn.

Take music for instance. Someone playing/singing a loud/high note and holding it forever seems impressive, and it is. Building the muscles and lung capacity to execute the physical task alone takes months. Take into consideration the sharpening of the skill so it actually sounds like music instead of someone blaring a horn or shouting off-key, that’s the dedication and endurance shining through.

But, when someone plays or sings softly? Did you know that is actually harder? It takes something I struggled with for years. Restraint.

I always wanted to fill the silence. I was bummed when we got new sheet music and found I had rests. Lots and lots of rests.

I would sit and wait through several measures as our band director, Mr. Adcock, would cue different sections in and patiently wait for my turn. The ancipatoon was killer. One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four. Three, two, three, four… Then, I’d play. After a while, something besides anticipation grew. I began to feel what the composer had written — the build they orchestrated from moments of silence, drawing from nothing but their mind, heart, and the desire to share.

Isn’t it neat how music and books both tell stories? Some are happy and you find yourself tapping along or cheering for a certain character. While others are filled with a melancholy so deep you wipe away tears and feel a heaviness in your chest.

That is the beauty of composing — both music and novels.

The author creates the tension and brings in components at a specific time with the intention of a large emotional payout.

Rests between the noise gives listeners and readers the freedom to interpret as they choose, allowing the same piece of art to hold a potentially endless number of meanings. It will feel different to everyone, every time.

In Breathing Freely, there were moments I had to delete what I blurted out to preserve the reader’s right to interpret — telling my readers how to feel about a scene, confrontation, or ending verses using imagery, pacing, tension and dialogue to show them in a way that also lets them feel freely. I had to step back and trust the reader’s ability to feel and that the emotional weight of the words would land appropriately, without the need to explain.

Rests give stories breathing room.

Another applicable aspect of rests, is Job and his three friends. Job has been through the worst pain a parent could imagine and then continued to endure through more physical torment. Once Job’s friends hear of his turmoil, they come to provide comfort. And they did. For 7 days and 7 nights, Job’s friends sat with him in silence.

Then they spoke and increased Job’s pain by forcing their interpretations and beliefs upon him.

The key takeaway from that story, for me, was that simply being present is all the comfort we need to provide. There is no time limit to grieve or a correct way to do so. A steady, silent companionship can be invaluable during times when those we love are going through something we can’t even begin to fathom.

We don’t always remember what was said, but we do tend to remember who was there. Presence is what lingers, and silence is golden when all words fall short.

Trust the rest.

As a storyteller, I had to learn that what makes a story memorable is not filling every space, but leaving room for it to breathe freely within each member of its audience.

With gratitude,

Haleigh

The Best Writing Advice I Ever Ignored

Outline. Outline. Outline.

Yeah… Tried that, and while it arguably works for most, outside of To Do/Shopping Lists, writing things out isn't an aide for my brain.

The method that works best for me is sort of no method at all, or “Pantsing”. Not the pantsing definition referring to pulling someone’s pants down as a prank— this is in reference to “Flying by the seat of your pants.”

I do have a mental outline that I try to adhere to including major plot points and dialogue, but I have found that as soon as I so much as jot them down so I don’t forget them, the desire to use that material vanishes.

I have to safeguard everything inside my head and let the need to put on paper fuel my writing juice.

This non-method allowed me to go from not writing for months, not one word, to pumping out five chapters in one day.

The reason I didn’t write for months wasn’t that I couldn’t figure out what would happen next or that I had a severe case of writer’s block.

No, I just couldn’t figure out how to move from the scene I was closing and into the next one without the tempo taking a huge hit — readers would have gotten major whiplash.

Ironically, I was reading a novel that I ended up DNFing because I couldn’t stand how the chapters seemed to pick up in different times with no indication of when. I was actually venting to a friend over the phone about it and said, “I wish they would have said Two months later or Five years later or something instead of me trying to pull from context clues that don’t seem to exist. My brain is working too hard. And by the time I figure it out, boom, another time jump.”

Then it hit me, the Ah-Ha moment. I figured out that I wanted to literally skip the slow stuff.

We ended the call with me saying, “Today is going to be a good day to write.”

And boy, did I write.

Ideas that had been floating around in my head, building tension on their own until they were ready to burst from the seams came rushing out. There were typos galore from how fast my fingers were flying over the keys, but all that was fixed later.

The important message in all of this is, I didn’t outline anything. I just waited until the time to tell the rest of Wes and Lou’s story (or the first half of it) was right. And during the waiting, the magic happened. The characters talked to one another inside my head, the emotional depth grew richer in ways that wouldn’t have felt organic if I’d forced the chemistry, and inspiration wasn’t something I lacked.

It was all sitting there, patiently waiting for me let it out to play.

If any of my English teachers are reading this, thank you for every lesson you taught me. This is the one I had to simply appreciate and let go.

If you’re looking to write a novel and feel like the outline process is intimidating — because it can be, even if you’re a planner — I emplore you to give this method of Pantsing a try. You might just find it fits you better than any well-thought outline could. And if you’re a writer needing help getting their manuscript ready for publishing, I’m happy to assist you. Check out my Author Consulting services on my site.

With gratitude,

Haleigh

The Life That Wrote With Me

I always had this vision, a dream of a dedicated office and library, which I thought I had to have in order to put a story on paper.

I have never been more happy to be proven wrong.

As a SAHM of four daughters, most of the chapters of Breathing Freely were hammered out while my twins, about a year old at the time, were napping. I’m sure many parents can attest that naps aren’t always predictable, even more so with twins. Sometimes, one would decide it was social hour and fight the sandman so hard they’d wake the other. Giggles would ring out through the monitor over the roar of the sound machine. Other times, naps were easy. Both twins would lay down and sleep for hours. This was when the moments between Lou and Wes truly came to life and took over my mental space.

Some evenings, my older two would be playing their Nintendo or watching a movie while Jamison played COD with his coworkers. I’d sit beside him, laptop open, and the twins would turn our bodies, the couch, and our poodle into an obstacle course. Tiny elbows and knees to the ribs happened alongside commas and quotations. “Down. Broke him.” and “Heading to the load out.” coexisted with keystrokes and giggles.

These core memories never would have happened if I’d been shut away behind a door. I could have been surrounded by shelves filled with my favorite genes. Inspiration from authors I admire could have whispered to me from time to time. But, I don’t think Wes and Lou’s story would have been the same.

Living my chaotic life— changing diapers, cleaning spills, and fixing dinner— while writing kept the feelings that shaped the world of the Woods & Waters series real.

I have more time to write now that the twins are full-blown toddlers and prefer to dig their elbows and knees into their older sisters’ ribs instead of mine and Jamison’s. It’s one of those small things you don’t realize you’ll miss until time has stolen it. Children don’t keep!

With the increase of “free time,” I’ve broadened my focus. The second installment of The Woods & Waters series isn’t the only thing I’ve been working on. I’ve also started this blog, something I never could have pictured I’d enjoy as much as I do. I find fulfillment in sharing what I’ve learned and experienced with you all.

I’m also working on a fantasy manuscript review for an up and coming indie author; another facet I’ve added to my site since discovering my love for helping other authors — assisting them in going from manuscript to published novel via Author Consulting.

Whether it’s another author’s manuscript in front of me, my blog, or my own novel being shaped, I still get visits from all my littles.

I always dreamed of writing in a room filled with books, but I found my greatest inspiration in the little hands reaching for me, the voices calling my name, and the people who hold my heart.

Gotta go, someone just called for Mom,

Haleigh

The Courage To Try

We rarely recognize the moments that change us while they’re happening. A gift is just a gift. An instrument is just an instrument. A coffee shop is just a building. But, without notice, in time the smallest investments become the foundation for something we couldn’t have imagined yet.

The cookbook at the top of the page has significance, and I’ll get to it in a moment, but first, let me take you back to the fall of 2004.

I started beginner band a year behind the rest of my classmates due to my parents needing me to think over what all band would entail before they would commit to enrolling me. Needless to say, the desire stayed. One of the first memories I have of my first year is getting to select or try out instruments to learn. I had zero prior music experience, so I didn’t have a preference, I just knew I didn’t want to be what I viewed as a cliche at the time — a girl playing the flute or clarinet. (I have a niece who plays the flute now so, my opinion has been forever changed.) Our band director, Mr. Adcock, had already gone over all the different types and classifications of instruments, woodwinds, high brass, low brass, percussion, you get the idea. One instrument in particular stood out to me: The French Horn.

As some of you may know, it isn’t a very beginner-friendly contraption. The bell points backwards, your left hand presses the keys (I’m right hand dominant), and your right hand goes in the bell. Why does your hand go in the bell? Ha, great question. To have control of pitch. Yep. It isn’t just the slides and keys or even your embouchure (mouth muscle form). Things like how you hold your tongue and, you guessed it, your right hand positioning inside the bell are also factors for pitch.

Why in the world is that what I insisted on playing? Simply because it presented a challenge. I was already a year behind and had marching band staring me in the face the following year, so why not be sure the deck was stacked against me?

The looks exchanged between Mr. Adcock and Mr. Wetstone, the music sales rep, were comical when I insisted upon giving the French horn a go. Mr. Wetstone provided a mouthpiece while someone was sent to retrieve a dusty horn case. You see, my small school hadn’t had a French horn player in a few years, yet another sign that this wasn’t something someone simply did.

I was handed a mouthpiece and Mr. Adcock gave me the instructions, “Say ‘M’ and hold the corners of your mouth firm in that position. Great. Now, soften the middle part just below your nose and blow a steady stream of air but like you’re trying to get a hair off your tongue.”

I was skeptical, but followed his instructions. It tickled and I laughed. He encouraged me to keep going and then to do it again with the mouthpiece. Ever heard a kazoo? That’s pretty much what it sounds like to buzz on French horn mouthpiece.

Mr. Adcock’s brows rose in surprise and more looks were exchanged. “Haleigh, you just hit three octaves on your first try. That’s wonderful! Here, let’s see what you do with the horn.”

Excitement was radiating from him and it was infectious. I had never been cheered on or encouraged like this. Giddy isn’t the right word, but I was practically vibrating with emotion. I took a deep, steadying breath, reformed my embouchure, and blew.

The sound that came out was uncontrolled, obnoxious, and resembled the sound of an elephant blaring from its trunk. My immediate thought was, “Oh, no. That’s not right. I can’t play this.” But I hid it with laughter. When I met Mr. Adcock’s eyes, trying to mask the failure in my own, his were smiling. He told me to keep going, so I shook off the doubt and became the first French horn player my school had in years.

There are more moments with Mr. Adcock which my mind and heart hold dear and helped shaped me, but I’ll save them for another entry.

Twenty years later, nearly to the day, my husband and I finished building our coffee shop, Ink Drinker’s Cafe. (Ink Drinker is binomial for Book Worm) Neither of us had experience in the coffee world besides my nearly continuous consumption of the beverage. The whole venture began with my husband, Jamison, messaging me one night while I was working the graveyard shift, “Do you think we could make a living off coffee?” My immediate response, “Probably. It’s currently what’s keeping me living.”

Jamison did the research. He made the calls, one of which was to our bean suppliers, Boulevard Coffee Company. The people there became more than business partners to us. Jamison and I laid flooring, painted, installed lighting, equipment, etc. And then it was time to open. While Jamison continued working, I quit my job to operate our shop, only… I had no clue how to use an espresso machine, much less knew the difference in a latte or an americano.

Luckily, God put the right people in our lives. The owners of BLVD Coffee Co. gave me a two hour crash course at their shop and came to mine to calibrate my machine. Alyssa, one of the owners of BLVD, stayed longer than she intended. We talked about what to expect and she calmed my fears. Alyssa’s calm and steady voice telling me You can do this. You’re going to do great. was the mantra that got me through our opening weekend.

I was slinging cups and taking names. And orders. But I was also building confidence in myself and my abilities as I gradually learned flavor profiles for each customer and got into a rhythm. There were moments of pure chaos and my prep area would look like a coffee tornado came through, yet the line stayed constant. During those times, it was best to just ignore the mess as much as possible and do a massive clean up after the rush subsided.

Then, the twins were born about a year after we opened. We sold the shop and I’ve stayed at home since.

Finally, Valentine’s Day of 2025, my friend, Abby, gifted me with a cookbook, Baking Yesteryear by B. Dylan Hollis. This is the only cookbook I own. I enjoy cooking certain things, but if you asked my aunt, sister, and cousins prior to 2025, I was notoriously NOT a baker. I burnt every box of brownies I bought. I even had an Angel Food Cake explode in the oven. (This was not my fault. Something went wrong when they were packaging it. Too much baking soda or baking powder. I will die on that hill.)

Regardless, I couldn’t bake if my life depended on it, until Abby gave me this book of antique recipes. She knew I’d been wanting Hollis’ book and enjoyed watching his videos on Facebook as he recreated some of the whackiest concoctions from decades past. “A little bit of ‘nilla.”, “Moo Juice!” and “Better watch out… for George.” are constantly repeated by my kids and myself.

I couldn’t just let this incredibly thoughtful gift sit on my shelf. I had to at least try to make something. So, after flipping through the pages for days, I finally decided to give baking another whirl.

And turns out…

I can bake. And well.

I just have to do it in “True Haleigh Fashion.” The hard way.

I’ve since expanded my newly acquired skill to recipes outside of Baking Yesteryear. My husband is a huge fan of my banana nut bread.

“That’d sell for $40, easy.” Is what he says after his first bite, every time.

I expressed an interest in wanting to attempt sour dough to my sister, Brittany, and she gifted me with a starter kit and dough whisk for Christmas. I believe she was in cahoots with Jamison because he paired it with two Dutch ovens!

I persevered through the newborn phase of sour dough starter and my first two Artisan loaves were gorgeous! They tasted pretty good, too.

These moments — these seemingly small acts of investing in someone — had a ripple effect. Over time, they accumulated until they gave me the courage to invest in myself. That’s why writing a novel and self-publishing it without any prior experience didn’t feel impossible. The people in my life had been teaching me all along that I can do hard things.

Now, whenever I hear a French horn woven into a movie score, think of Mr. Adcock and his kindness. I pour a regular cup of drip coffee and am reminded of the frenzy between 6:30 and 8:00a.m. and how Alyssa’s steady voice carried me through it. I bake and smile when my home is filled with the aroma of the richest homemade brownies instead of burnt chocolate because Abby paid attention to what brought me joy and always seemed to add a little more laughter to my life.

And, because of all those small moments, I found the courage to try.

With gratitude,

Haleigh

The $0 Marketing Strategy That Keeps Surprising Me

Once Breathing Freely was live for sales on books.by/haleighmathis, the last thing on my mind was, “How do I spread the word?“ Though, it was probably something I should have sat down and put serious thought into. Once I had sent the announcement to my Reader’s List and waited a few hours to post on social media, I was left twiddling my thumbs, thinking, “Now what?”

Granted, that thought was short lived because the Congrats! A Copy of Your Book Sold! notification kept the excited high front and center throughout launch day — I’m still in awe of the support I’ve received, thank you.

The following morning as I was getting ready for a doctor’s appointment, my mind was reeling through the flashes of possibilities like the rapid-fire slide show in the scene from Disney’s Tarzan.

What if this gets big? Like, movie big?

What if those sales where simply beginner’s luck?

What if the reader’s hate it?

I should probably do some local events to get the word out, but how, where and with what funds?

Oh, books signings would be fun!

Alas, a plan was formed, albeit a murky plan. I still didn’t know the first thing about organizing book signings. I shamefully admit to you now that I’ve never attended one that wasn’t for my own work. But, I didn’t let my inexperience or lack of knowledge stop me. If you know me, you know I love talking with people. All people. Especially strangers. Who better to blab to (and possibly overshare with) than a stranger you may never see again, or even better, a potential friend? Right?

After my appointment, I swung through the drive-thru of a local coffee shop, Dakota Coffee Works of Dothan, and ordered a latte to treat myself for a positive report from my doctor. Okay, fine. You caught me. I just wanted the coffee. After the lovely lady handed me the cup of good bean juice, I was about to pull away but caught myself and asked, “Hey! Do y’all happen to host small events like… book signings perhaps?” Her response was, “Umm, I’d have to ask. Why? Do you know someone needing a signing done?” I smiled softly and answered, “Yeah. I do. I published my first novel yesterday and —” She cut me off mid-sentence, “No way! Congrats! What’s it called?"

She wrote down all of my information, the title of my book, and promised to reach out after she spoke with the owner.

When I got home, I followed that same line of thinking and hopped on my hometown’s page and made a post inquiring if there were any local businesses interested and wiling to host a signing for a previous alumnus and former resident and that I was truly wanting to celebrate with the people who helped inspire my book in the place it’s modeled after. The comments caught wind.

The Emma Knox Kennan Public Library was tagged in multiple comments and one of the librarians reached out. An English professor at Enterprise State Community College (ESCC) also commented and invited me to have one there.

I reached out to my dear friends at Boulevard Coffee Company, business partners I grew close to while I owned and operated my own coffee shop, and asked if they’d be interested in hosting an event as well — they were my first yes, though we agreed to a date that was months away. (God knew what He was doing on that and a later date was a blessing)

A few days later, the librarian called me to lock in details. Not even five minutes after we hung up, Dakota Coffee Works came across my phone screen. Signing number two’s details were hammered out, as well. The next day, the English professor and I exchanged email correspondences to iron out the details.

And just like that, I had a mini book signing tour.

$0 spent, unless you include the latte.

The signings went better than I expected! With nothing to compare them to, I had one rule: Enjoy Yourself. And I did! I talked about books, not just mine, inspiration, thwarted plans, timing, and finding your way back to your dream.

Just before my last signing, I dropped some copies of Breathing Freely off at BLVD Coffee Co. to go on display to be sold (with the owners permission) during the two weeks leading up to the event. None sold, but that was okay. The signing still happened and I still had a good turnout and had a blast.

A few weeks after the tour ended, I thought about pulling the copies from BLVD to give them back their shelf space, but then I received a CashApp notification with a comment “Breathing Freely (My moms super excited)”.

Because I hadn’t set copies out anywhere else, I knew it was a customer at BLVD.

I decided to let the rest of the copies stay.

About a month ago, my daughters and I joined my mother-in-law on her work trip to Guntersville, AL. We stayed at the beautiful Lake Guntersville State Park Lodge. If you’ve never been, please, add it to your bucket list. The views are absolutely breathtaking.

I still needed to get my husband something for Father’s Day. He’s an outdoorsman at his core and my heart was set on finding something unique to Guntersville to support his hobbies. I looked up local outdoors stores and stumbled upon a recently opened shop by the name of Cast and Trail Outfitters.

The following morning, we had brunch as a family and then set out to find Cast and Trail. It was actually less than a mile from where we had eaten. Tucked away behind a gas station on the main strip was a mini shopping center which housed our sought after destination. The windows had been painted with cute signage and the displays were inviting. The atmosphere inside was a cross between boutique and Academy Sports — something a woman like me found to be visually appealing. It was cozy.

My kids decided to explore immediately, and with my mother-in-law there, I wasn’t worried with losing sight of them and something getting broken. The shop owner, Laci, greeted us warmly and kept the conversation flowing easily. I neared the front desk and was shocked to find pottery. Yes, pottery! Handmade, hand painted, beautiful mugs. One of which had a black dragon, mid-flight, and a smaller golden dragon. My head whipped to the owner and a slow, excited grin spread on my lips.

I had to ask.

“Is that… Tairn and Andarna from Fourth Wing?”

Laci’s smile was answer enough, but she graced me with, “Yes! Do you read?”

Our conversation went from casual to something resembling long-lost friends in about .2 seconds, flat.

While we were gushing over what we’ve read and sharing recommendations and personal reviews, my “middle” child, Hayden, chimed in with, “My momma wrote a book, too!”

I didn’t know what to do.

My heart squeezed at the admiration and pride in my daughter’s voice, but I didn’t want to shift the conversation to me. It seemed selfish.

I chose to smile and admit to the truth of Hayden’s words.

Laci congratulated me and I smiled and thanked her.

Then, Laci asked what my novel was about. I don’t know why this surprised me. Laci was obviously an avid reader, like myself. But I was genuinely shocked. Even more so when she pulled out her phone and asked where she could get a copy.

That conversation closed and I bought a few items for my husband, I opted out of a mug, even though I really did want the one with flowers.

Not long after we returned to the lodge, I received a books.by notification saying that Laci had ordered a copy.

I had to tell Hayden.

“Hayden! That lady at the shop, the one you told about my book? She just bought a copy, look!”

I showed her the notification and her face lit up as she yelled, “Yay! Momma, she bought your book!” (I’m tearing up about it again, now.)

I thanked Hayden for her little marketing moment and we hugged. I later received notifications that Cast and Trail Outfitters followed my page and the gratitude for the moment resurfaced tenfold. I followed them back.

Days later, we returned home and I couldn’t shake the feeling and the draw to one of Laci’s mugs, specifically the one with flowers on it.

I lost the fight and looked up the shop on Facebook and sent them a message asking if I could possibly pay for a mug over the phone and have it shipped. Laci’s response was quick and eager. With the desire to keep the memories tied to the mug about the spirit of our connection, I asked Laci to pick one out for me.

Yesterday, a box arrived at my door.

Inside it, carefully secured in bubble wrap, was a hand sculpted, hand painted mug with flowers on it.

I’m not at all knocking the benefits of paying for marketing, but what I’ve received in return from the organic option is much more than just sales. It’s been conversations that turned into friendships, strangers who became familiar faces, and moments that couldn’t have been purchased no matter the advertising budget. Those are the returns I never expected — and the ones I value most.

With a heart full of gratitude and a beautiful mug half-empty,

Haleigh

Grand Opening: My Why Behind “Breathing Freely”

Every story begins somewhere. Sometimes it starts with a single thought, a sentence, a character or person who left an impression, or a moment in time that stays with us long after it passes.

Breathing Freely was something that took years to produce, though only about a year to translate to paper. I couldn’t have written the story it became fresh out of high school, even though that’s when my dream of becoming a published author was born.

I had to live. The journey to become the woman I am today was not always Live, laugh, love. It was much more along the lines of blood, sweat, and tears. I lost a scholarship, dropped out of college, worked my tail off at a 60’s themed diner, got married at 20, had my first kid at 21, my second at 25 and divorced two months later. (The details surrounding that episode of my life aren’t as important as the lessons learned)

I rebuilt my friend circle after my divorce. In the process, I met my best friend — my husband, Jamison. He healed scars he never caused by loving me way before I knew how to accept being loved. My parents loved me as long as I was doing something they could pick up the phone and boast about. Mental health was never discussed, no matter if I hid in my room and rarely came out unless it was to eat. I was seen and not heard, but life was better for me if I could also escape being seen.

Through Breathing Freely, I was able to confront all of that. The feelings of invisibility and being worthless didn’t subside until Jamison gave me room to mess up, be less than pretty, show my worst self, and he still showed up for me. He still loved me.

With the embrace of his love bolstering me, I stopped wearing makeup to feel pretty enough. I stopped shrinking into the boxes people expected me to fit in. Instead, I began to see my naked face in the mirror and liked who I saw staring back at me — someone who was always worthy of love.

Here we are full-circle. My beginning wasn’t pretty to most, but it was a necessity I view with tenderness. It is my hope that Breathing Freely will help others see that they are, and always have been, worthy of love.

Stories have a way of reaching places conversations sometimes can’t — that’s why I created Between the Margins. This isn’t just a space for me to talk about my own books, but to share the lessons, discoveries, and behind-the-scenes moments that come with bringing stories to life.

Thanks for being here,

Haleigh

Between the Margins

A place for conversations about storytelling, publishing, and the journey behind the pages. Here you’ll find reflections from my experience as an author, lessons learned along the way, and resources for writers navigating their own stories.