Welcome to Crystal Crawford's official author blog!

The ding of the bell above the unopened door hung in the air for only a split second as Striker met my stare, then we both spun into action.

I grew up creating—writing stories, drawing and painting, making jewelry, constructing homemade furniture and accessories for my dolls, writing songs, singing, imagining. It was as natural to me as any other part of life. Being an author was always something that deeply appealed to me. I had always felt deeply moved by stories, and had always been passionate about writing them. I believed I could write something "great" one day, if I just kept at it. And I wanted to. I wanted

Right now as I'm writing this, it's the last day of September 2023... which means it's about to be Preptober! For those who aren't as familiar with NaNoWriMo (a write-a-whole-novel-in-a-month event which takes place in November), many writers use October as their prep month to get everything planned, prepared, and ready for their November writing sprints. 50,000 words (minimum!) in a month is no joke--and the planning definitely helps! But you don't have to be doing NaNoWriMo

I eked out about an hour more of research before the library began to close, but what I found in that hour made me wonder if I was losing my grip on reality.

Hello, everyone! For those who are new here, I'm sure your first question is, "Why should we listen to YOU about how to write on Kindle Vella?" Well, the briefest explanation is, I've been part of Kindle Vella since it first launched in July 2021. With a few short breaks here and there, I've been posting weekly episodes (sometimes multiple weekly episodes) for the majority of the 2+ years (and counting) since Kindle Vella first became a thing. I've got 2 completed serials on

A figure clad in leather breeches, an earth-toned tunic with a hunter-green hooded cape, and brown leather boots stepped out through the archway from the Void. It snapped shut behind him as soon as his boots hit the grassy hilltop.

The bell on the glass door of The Shoppe dinged as I shoved it open. My gaze scanned the aisles—empty of people—as I stepped inside.

Rake had promised to be home when I got back, but the trailer was spotless, like it’d just been cleaned for a brand new tenant.

We stopped at the spring when we reached it, and Fiska and I helped mother down onto a rock to rest. Fiska used a canteen from her pocket to retrieve fresh water for mother, while Fiska and I drank gratefully of handfuls scooped straight from the cold flow of water.

I crouched on the ground outside the woods, examining the unconscious girl’s bitten ankle. If she really was only half-Fae, she’d need treatment for the Shadowvein from that bite, and fast—without the correct runestone or faespell to cure her, she could be dead within a day.

I cowered, gaping at Joe’s furious face, as Rake stood protectively in front of me.

As soon as Fiska confirmed my magic had returned, she turned back to my mother.

Striker and I took off running for the trees.

The next moments were a blur, but somehow I found myself by my father’s bedside in the county hospital with my backpack at my feet, not entirely sure how I got there or how long I’d been sitting there.

The dragon flew smoothly and swiftly—and I spent nearly the entire flight with my eyes squeezed shut, leaning my body into Mother’s to keep her steady and clinging to the dragon’s ridged spike in front of us for dear life.

My gut tensed. When Striker sounded worried, it usually meant whatever he had to tell me was even worse than I expected.

All day at school, thoughts of Rake kept popping up in my head, till I was practically embarrassed of myself. Would he still be with Pops when he picked me up? Something about Rake fascinated me… and not because he was cute.

I jumped to my feet and shifted protectively in front of Mother, still clutching her hand. “Who’s there? How did you get in here?” The woman’s voice sounded familiar, but I didn’t dare trust my ears right now.

Striker and I took the nearest exit out of the Hub, then hiked to the outbuilding where I kept my pickup truck.

I froze in the doorway, gaping at the brown-eyed man standing on my porch, still holding out his hand for me to shake.