He cremates her ex so they can meet 🖤🔥⛓🥀🕯

New Chapter 1 (in Stixx’s POV), 99¢ pre-order, and a sneak peek at what’s coming

“Benjamin,” I say, “I’m Stixx. Earned that name when the River Reapers MC patched me in ‘cuz I play with matches. I gave myself an X for every building I burned down to save someone from a rapist.” I lean into him so that we’re close enough to kiss. “I don’t give myself Xs anymore. It’d just get outta control. But I still burn down buildings to cleanse the world from people like you. So I’m gonna ask you again, Benjamin. What’s the alcohol content in your gel?”

I tip the lighter toward his hair, let it catch just enough to roll over his gelmet in a whoosh. The sour stench of burning hair stings my nostrils. He screams, not that anybody out on the floor can hear him, and a dark wet stain blooms across the crotch of his pants.

“You’re just full of piss, aren’t you?” I flush the urinal, dipping his head to extinguish him. His skull cracks into the porcelain. The weak flow of water flushes his waste, but barely douses his hair. Flames engulf his scalp, the smell of roasting skin and sweat wrinkling my nose. I drop him onto the floor, stepping back so I don’t catch. Mark, the MC’s treasurer, won’t be happy if I rack up an emergency services bill, never mind all the damage that comes with fire: ash, smoke, water. While Benjamin writhes on the floor screaming, I check the bathroom for an extinguisher. There isn’t even a sprinkler.

That’s a code violation.

“Did you inspect this building?” I ask him, but he’s not moving. “Benjamin?” I nudge him with the toe of my boot. Right on cue, my fire runs out of gel fuel and blinks out. Benjamin doesn’t move.

I check the pulse in his wrist, his neck too raw to find one. There’s none.

“Whoopsie.”

Forget Mark, now I’ve gotta deal with Ravage, the president of the MC.

The door starts to open, music blasting in, and I slam it shut with my boot, throwing the lock.

“Out of order!” I shout, texting on my phone with one thumb. My other hand tugs at my hair. I didn’t think this through. The way he ran his mouth about Lucy, all I saw was red.

Killing a man in the Mermaid during broad daylight could get me kicked out of the club—or worse.


Arsonist’s Lullaby release update

August flew by! I’m calling this my whirlwind summer because doing three signings was not on my bingo card for 2026! Signings look a lot different now: a cooler full of Pedialyte, a whole bunch of meds and timers, and sometimes two assistants. Even with all my dunnage, it was pretty awesome. In case you missed it, I signed at Barnes & Noble in Cheshire, Mini CT BookishCon in Torrington, and Dee’s Blind Dates’ Book Swap & DIY Totes Workshop in Wallingford. The River Reapers are taking over the state!

With all this extra activity, I’m a little run down. I anticipated my lupus flaring, so I’m pacing myself, and my doctors are taking really good care of me. A flare is still a flare, though. To give myself enough time to rest, recover, and finish up my revisions so that Arsonist’s Lullaby is its very best, I’ve pushed back the release date to October 25th.

If you already pre-ordered on Kindle or Kobo, you received an email notifying you about the date change.

He falls first so hard, he can’t even speak to her

I don’t mean to snoop, but with Lucy sitting at the bar, I tower over her. Her phone’s right under my nose. There’s a shot of her napping with Olivia’s orange cat asleep on her head. I stifle a smile. She holds up the phone for Olivia to see. “When did you take this?” she laughs.

Hanging around would be weird, so I don’t hear her answer. In another life, I’d stay, make a joke about how the cat feels right at home. She’d swat at me, her nose crinkling and the corners of her mouth lifting.

I’ll never get another opener like that again.

One of the biggest changes I made during dev edits was writing a whole new Chapter 1, in Stixx’s POV instead of Lucy’s (her opener is now Chapter 2, and you can unlock that soon). This new chapter is live on my author website!


A wish for my 38th birthday

It’s my birthday tomorrow! Right now, Arsonist’s Lullaby has 5 Kindle pre-orders, 2 on Kobo, and 38 ARC applications. I’d love it if we made it to 25 ebook pre-orders and 50 ARC apps by my birthday!

I’ve got a fun pre-order campaign dropping soon, and all of these numbers count toward unlocking goodies… including some more chapters.


Last call for BOGO

This is your last chance to buy one, get one 50% off the River Reapers MC series on Kobo. This sale also applies to my Stagwood Falls: Love in Ink series. I don’t know when my publisher will run another sale like this, so definitely scoop them up!

A one night stand shifts into a wild ride when the president of the MC’s son and VP’s daughter inherit the sins of their fathers.


I’m full of secrets, and I’m gonna start spilling soon! Stay tuned for fall and 2027 event announcements, and the Arsonist’s Lullaby indie store pre-order campaign.

It’s gonna be lit. 🔥

Call me Ms. Pac-Man

The thing about being really sick and not getting answers while watching your life get stolen piece by piece is, you eventually start believing you’re crazy. I felt ashamed telling even the people closest to me about my symptoms. “I can’t make it because I’ve had diarrhea every day for years” and “My arm is semi-numb and also burning and pins and needles?” sounds like bullshit at best, insane at worst. Or maybe I’ve just been too hard on myself.

“That’s a lot of alarms,” Mike said, nodding at my phone.

“I know, right? They’re for all my meds throughout the day. I feel like Ms. Pac-Man. All I do is take pills and eat fruit.”

Last month, a few days after Sandy my best friend of 22 years died, my neuromuscular specialist sat me down and told me I have dysautonomia. Basically my lupus gremlin is doing a lot of gremlin-ing and my nervous system is shot. This wasn’t really news; she suspected it from the moment we met. The big news was that my insurance won’t cover IVIg, which she thinks would be incredible for me.

As a consolation prize, I’m on dozens of medications that I take all throughout the day. It’s a lot… but they help. I’m also vindicated, because dysautonomia causes some wild issues throughout the nervous system, things that I mentioned to doctors over the years, things that were often brushed off, making me feel crazy.

The thing about being really sick and not getting answers while watching your life get stolen piece by piece is, you eventually start believing you’re crazy. I felt ashamed telling even the people closest to me about my symptoms. “I can’t make it because I’ve had diarrhea every day for years” and “My arm is semi-numb and also burning and pins and needles?” sounds like bullshit at best, insane at worst. Or maybe I’ve just been too hard on myself.

I’m practicing being more gentle with myself. I’ve been struggling for so long, without the right supports, so it might take a little while to undo all the mental and physical damage. Once the dust settles, I’m not sure what my life will look like, exactly, but I’m hopeful.

My stamina is still pretty shot, so I’m doing everything in little bursts. Even the simplest tasks take forever, and that triggers my flareup trauma a bit. On the plus side, I learned to do things in stages during previous flares, so at least I know how to do this. Now I’ve got a pharmacy worth of medications in my arsenal, and I know what’s causing these symptoms, so it’s not as scary when I almost pass out because I apparently stood up too fast/long, or take a mandatory nap because every muscle just tapped out and I go sleep right here. I also have the right team now, with referrals to more services and specialists.

Knowledge is power. I don’t have to fumble in the dark anymore. And if I see any ghosts, I just eat ’em.

In Case You Missed It…

  • ElizabethBarone.com is now on its own hosting! I’m really proud of how smoothly the move went, considering I haven’t migrated a website in a while. Some content is unavailable while I update links and things, mostly because I’m slow. If you notice anything wonky, give me a shout!
  • MaiettaInk.com is back (ish), baby! Because of my new hosting plan, I can relaunch my shop. Signed paperbacks, stickers, and more coming soon…
  • My free reader newsletter and premium serial edition subscription are currently down, just for a bit while I get all that set up again. I believe everything should resume seamlessly… but gremlins hide in websites, so cross your fingers!

Much love,
EB


Photo by Sei on Unsplash

Winter’s getting on my nerves, literally

Every time my lupus flares, it does so with a chef’s special, a new or worsened symptom I already had that becomes the showstopper. 2020 gave me flare a la pleurisy; 2025 is serving peripheral neuropathy. Bon appetit.

I almost made it through this winter without prednisone—almost! It’s okay, though, because it’s still another winter I’m on less steroids, another winter without chemo entirely. For me, that’s a major win. Go Benlysta!

Peripheral neuropathy is hard to manage, I’m finding. Mine presents mostly as fiery pain in my hands and feet, with tenderness in my fingertips that defies all reason, the same treatment in my toes, swelling too, and pins and needles, and coldness. It also causes balance issues. It really makes me miss amitriptyline—but not enough to die. 🙃

Since my labs are okay, I’m managing it with a course of steroids, round-the-clock Tylenol, Motrin 800, and medical cannabis, and lots of rest. I’ve also recently cut out carbs almost entirely, which weirdly has made a huge difference in my overall pain and energy levels (until winter really got going here). I’m not allergic to gluten, so I’m not sure why this works, and I’m not asking any questions, either. I’m just saying no to the carbs.

It’s frustrating because things change so fast for me, especially during the colder months. I’d just gotten into a groove, after having just gotten into another groove interrupted by renovations, and the only thing I’ve found to be true with chronic illness—especially when it’s a dynamic disability you’re dealing with—is that the game is constantly changing, and I’ve gotta be ready to trade the system I just created for myself for a whole new system. Or go into flare survival mode, a place that I simultaneously appreciate and hate.

It forces me to focus on what’s really essential. It also makes me look forward to when the flare will pass. Even pleurisy didn’t last forever; I’ll never forget the moment I realized I could take a full breath without excruciating pain. I still get twinges of chest pain, but usually only when I’ve overdone it or I’m too cold.

This will pass, too.


Photo by Girl with red hat on Unsplash