Author Melanie Frome

💀 Some writers plot carefully. Some outline. Some research extensively.

🤪And then there’s me… being haunted by an unwritten gothic novel delivered via dreams like some sort of Victorian parcel service.

Arriving through dreams, they drag fog in behind them, and refuse to leave until I’ve paid attention. This particular menace has been haunting me since Winter Solstice 2022, which feels both dramatic and annoyingly on-brand.

💀 It begins on May 13, 1827, Edinburgh, with a Resurrectionist digging up a body from an unmarked grave…only the woman doesn’t stay dead.

He was forged by science. She was forged by sacrifice. Together, they learn that the most dangerous kind of love isn’t born from need—but choice.

If you love Outlander, Frankenstein, gothic longing, dangerous tenderness, feminine myth, haunted cities, and stories with a bit of grave dirt under their nails… you may be my people. 🤓

And then there’s the unnerving (see “haunting” above) part: I’ll dream a name, a street, a place, some obscure detail… only to discover later it existed. Freemasons. Surgeons. Bedlam. Apothecaries. The dreams keep getting there before Google does.😱

Would you read this book… or should I seek professional help first?🤪

My birthday month begins next week… and apparently I’ve chosen visibility as my gift (time will tell if it’s really a curse 🤣) to myself with a little experiment called “May Contain Growth”.

Slightly reckless, but calling it ‘character development’ makes me feel productive.

You can expect:
✨ writer life chaos�✨ behind the scenes of Everlasting / Everfallen / whatever book is currently yelling at me�✨ thoughts on reinvention, creativity + midlife becoming�✨ humour, hormones, hope�✨ talking to readers*
(*readers currently an aspirational term, but we move 😏)

I once promised regular monthly emails. Reader… that was aspirational too. 🤣

But trying again counts. Starting again counts. Showing up imperfectly absolutely counts.

So if you’re building something too, healing something, beginning something, risking something… welcome.🫶🏻

🌅We ride at dawn.�Or mid-morning.�Depending on sleep quality.

P.S. I’m either inspired or self-pressured by the lovingly unhinged .gemmavale 🧐😉🫶🏻 who’s just rocking not only the socials but her writing ✍🏻

🌹 Apparently one of the many hats indie authors wear is Narrator of Their Own Book.

Was this always the plan? Absolutely not.
Did budget realities and delusional optimism join forces? They did.

So here I am, embarking on the slightly awkward adventure of reading my own words out loud like I didn’t write them in candlelight, emotional turmoil, and occasional snacks. 😜🎧

And honestly? The lovely humans who’ve already read EVERLASTING (and know me in real life) keep saying they can hear me all through the pages, and that anyone else voicing it would just feel… suspicious. Which is flattering, mildly exposing, and apparently the nudge I needed. 🤣

And none of this would be happening without the magnificent force that is — sound engineer extraordinaire, patient wizard of microphones, calm in the storm of my “wait… do I sound weird?” moments, and general bringer of audio miracles. You’ve made this whole thing feel possible, professional, and far less likely to end in me rage-quitting into a blanket fort.

Because of you, EVERLASTING gets to find a new voice… apparently mine.

Pray for us all.

💀TBD💀…Don’t mind me… I think this story just threw a plot twist at me.

Hearing these words out loud—like really hearing them…especially with that beautiful scots dialect 🤩…well, damn it…it cracked something open and now I can’t unsee, or should I say unhear 🤓, where it wants to go next.

..this is your fault (and also your magic). Thank you for lending your voice to this in a way that made the whole thing feel… more alive. Slightly feral. Exactly right.

And because my brain apparently can’t leave anything alone—I now have a very clear visual for the man wandering through that graveyard. 🪦 Think Tom Hardy in Taboo. That kind of gothic grit, with brutal intelligence. Oh, and don’t forget that trench coat.

Also… in a quiet moment of bravery, I sent this story out into the world this week. To a publisher. No big announcement, just a small “okay, let’s see.”
Anyway. Just a glimpse. Nothing more.