E.M. JONES

E.M. Jones has a knack for spinning the ordinary into otherworldly obsession—because if life's going to knock you down, why not land in a realm of mafia-like fae courts and cursed crowns? Her romantasy worlds blend organized shadows with enchanted edges: Pacts sealed in starlit blood, empires where love is a throne of thorns, and holiday haunts that turn "happily ever after" into "hauntily ever after." It's no accident; E.M.'s imagination alchemizes everything around her—the coffee spill becomes a prophecy, the toddler meltdown a rebellion prophecy—proving divorce didn't dim her spark; it lit the fuse.

But let's talk real magic: Her cats. Loyal (ish) muses who treat her writing desk like a conquest. One knocks pens to the floor like fallen scepters; another saunters across the keyboard, paws pounding out "meowfia" plot twists that somehow end up in the draft. "They're co-authors," E.M. insists, "demanding their scene-stealing cameos." As a mom juggling bedtime battles and wife to a partner who grounds her flights of fancy, she writes to reclaim the chaos—transforming heartbreak's ashes into fantastical fires where women rule the ruins.

From those desk-top takeovers to dawn-lit epiphanies, E.M. reminds us: The best fantasies aren't escapes; they're mirrors to our wildest, most resilient selves. In her stories, the shadows don't swallow you—they crown you.