Escape the Madness

If you’re like me, you’ve had a difficult time these past few days. Maybe not because of who won the election necessarily, but because of the tension that seems to be everywhere we look. I want you first to know that I love and accept each and every one of you, no matter who you voted for, no matter how your beliefs, decisions, views, and pathways differ from my own. I fully embrace the diversity of my army of amazing readers, and I want you to know that you’re in a safe place here, with me. My hopes are that we can pull through this time as one, learn from each other, look past our differences, and lead our children, and our nation, toward a bright future, in whatever ways that may materialize.

That being said, I’d like to offer you a chance to breathe, take a step back, and get a small reprieve from the noise, the best way I know how. Reading is such an amazing way to relax, give our monkey brains a rest from the constant chatter up there, and treat ourselves to a mental vacation. I encourage you to breathe, love, and read your way into peace, and–of course–I’ve got plenty of free books to give you, so you don’t even have to spend a dime to do it. 😉

For 11 free Scifi and Fantasy books, click >HERE<

To shop from 70 free books from various genres, click >HERE<

Short Update:
The third book in my best selling Mature YA Dystopian Scifi “Treemakers Trilogy” is scheduled to release on December 3, but is now available for preorder at a 25% discount >HERE<
For a peek inside of book 3 of the Treemakers Trilogy, check out the trailer below. 🙂

Happy reading!
And don’t forget to breathe ❤
xo Christina L. Rozelle

My Life as a Zombie


It has been just a few short years since my release. I had to learn how to be a thinking, feeling human, and a productive member of society before they’d even consider letting me out to roam free among the masses. It’s been a slow recovery process, but against all odds, here I am, four years later. And I’m so blessed and grateful to have healthy children, who show no signs or symptoms. The mere fact that I recovered from this makes me smile into the sun, and even the clouds, because I shouldn’t be standing where I am today. Once a zombie, always a zombie; at least, that’s the case for the majority.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want to be a human before. But as a teen, the signs were there, and it was soon discovered through countless doctor visits and whatnot, that the worst case scenario was at my parent’s door. Their daughter was infected. Indeed, she’d grow into a ravaging, bloodthirsty beast with insatiable appetite for darkness and death, anything that made the pain and fear vanish, and anything to fill the void, a cavity of the soul brought on by the virus.

My poor parents . . . who could blame them for not knowing what to do? It’s not every day you find out you’ve got to raise a zombie. They did the best they could with what they had to work with, and that was a lot. But unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Soon, any resemblance of humanity had left their once-healthy child, and absolutely nothing could stand in the way of her appetite for destruction, and her tendency toward inner decay… Occasionally they’d find her in the yard, lying in a bed of flowers as if she were planning a death more beautiful than the life which could never appease her.

Looking back now, I remember those big zombie tears I cried when no one was looking. Because I’d go into these rages and it was like my mind was being controlled by some dark force that wasn’t me–the virus, I figured, was making me do these things, be this way, hurt those people, destroy everything . . . And there was this tiny human inside of that zombie shell who wanted to come out into the light, but she had no idea how. Eventually, she realized all was lost and she gave up, resigning to be a zombie until the end of days. She prayed someone would come along and end it for her, because the hunger to fill the void was too strong to let her die by her own hand.

Fortunately, there were souls along the way who wouldn’t let me devour them. They were stronger than me. They bound my hands and heart and sat me down at eye level. They looked straight into my zombie soul and saw the innocence trapped inside. They cut through the decay and found pink flesh and a beating heart, and they told me how I could heal. They gave me the medicine I needed to beat the virus, of which the main ingredients were truth, courage, acceptance, forgiveness, breath, creativity, humility, and love.

Countless doctors tried to give me pills to heal the zombie, but it wasn’t the zombie who needed healing. It was that fleshy, pink little girl, crying behind the zombie shell, who needed the strength to break out, to look into the mirror and say the words “I love you.”

So, today I walk a free woman. When I think back over these years of learning how to be a real human, I sometimes forget where I came from. When I get bad reviews or criticism, I forget for a moment to be grateful. For I am being graded on a level playing field with my fellow humans. I am no longer zombie-handicapped. I can stand shoulder to shoulder with others and not want to devour what they have to fill my void. The void has vanished in the light. And though some have reached a higher summit than I have, I know I still have much more to go, and to grow, and I can be proud of what I’ve accomplished so far. I can extend my hand to those who struggle, lend an ear, or a kind word of love and encouragement. And if I see a fellow zombie I can share my experience, strength, and hope, to aid in their own search for meaning, life, and recovery. Because inside of me, in a place I hardly go anymore, that sad,  zombie girl still sleeps in her bed of wilted flowers. She’ll always be a part of my journey, a part of me.

But I am no longer her. I am finally me. I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, a lover, a fighter, a survivor . . . And my journey has just begun.



Christina L. Rozelle

4 years clean and sober, 4 years relationship-free, 4 years recovered from Borderline Personality Disorder

February 16, 2012-February 16, 2016




Check out my new website!!

And you can check out my books on Amazon here:

 The Treemakers (Book 1 in the Treemakers Trilogy) (Mature YA Dystopian Scifi Horror)

The Soultakers (Book 2 in the Treemakers Trilogy)

The Seeker’s Keys (Book 3 in the Treemakers Trilogy)

The Truth About Mud (YA Fantasy Adventure novelette)



*zombie girl photo found on – click the photo to be redirected



Play Your Violin Amidst the Madness


Well it’s that time again. 2014 has come to a close, another year has passed us by. How was it for you? Horrible? Fantastic? Just kinda meh? Best year ever?

For me, it was mostly fabulous, with sprinkles of meh, and a few jiggers of heartache.

I did an amazing thing this year. I wrote and self-published a novel while single-handedly raising four children. That, alone, is cause for celebration, right? So, why the meh and heartache?

On top of all of the loss, death, and devastation present in everyday life around us, which makes it difficult to focus on life’s beauty sometimes, I have struggled with the disenchantment of my love of writing.

This masterpiece of mine (“The Treemakers”), which has garnished such fabulous (though few) reviews, hasn’t brought my children and I out of the poorhouse (yet!), and I have been dealing with some grim realities of my existence as an indie author.

Sure, there are things I love about being an indie author, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t sell out to the first big publisher with a five or six-figure advance. Because struggling sucks. Right? I know we all struggle with different things. A lot of you can relate to mine, I’m sure. Skimping on the groceries toward the end of the month because you’re almost out of foodstamps . . . . Having to go without things so your kids don’t have to . . . . We could sit here all day and whine about how much it sucks to be poor. And bitch about why it is that people say they care about us, want the best for us, totally support us, but then won’t/don’t even buy/read our books/art/etc… Or, they read it and don’t review it/recommend it to others… (why? Do they not realize that this is the bread n’ butter of our existence as an indie author/creative person?) But none of that wallowing and complaining and whining would do us any good. It won’t make us rich, and would only be counterproductive. It would irritate those around us, and bring more negative results into our lives.

But still, I wonder about those people. A little birdie pointed out to me that some of them are perhaps just quiet souls who honestly aren’t of the reviewing/recommending-variety. And some of them are just lazy. But then . . . there are those of the hater variety. Even people you may share blood or long-term friendships with. They see you shine and it reminds them of how dull they feel, so instead of lifting you up and adding to your brightness, they shoot you down, or try to ignore you altogether. They secretly want you to fail. Your greatness makes them realize how un-great they secretly think they are.

So. What now? What to do in the dim light of the people who want us to fail? Who want our children to go without? Who secretly want us to crash and burn because they are so flipping self-centered that they can hardly see the world around them for what it truly is? Shall we lie down and die so the poor haters may feel better about their wittle selves?


our-deepest-fear-quote (1)

I’m not a millionaire yet. I’m not even a thousandaire. Hell, I’m not even a hundredaire. But I’m not dead yet, either, and neither are you. I sure as heck don’t plan on making things any easier for me or those around me who can’t handle the light, do you? Put on some sunglasses, haters, because we’re just getting started. And hey, those who may be in need of that permission to shine, will look at us and find the strength to do so. Our strength will make them feel stronger, too.

I’ll tell you what I did once I saw “The Treemakers” plateau at a level of un-greatness (for me). . . I cried.

I cried good and hard. I died inside for a short time. I gave up writing (for a few hours) and imagined what life would be like without it (horrible). I cursed the day I ever decided to do this for the long-haul, and I wallowed in my morass of self-pity until I was so drenched in the muck that only two choices remained: give up and “die,” or take a nice hot shower, put on some fresh clothes, and do what I do best.

Stick my two middle fingers in the air . . .

and then get back to writing.

A friend and I were discussing how difficult it is to be heard in the chaos of social media land. When you have a book out, especially when you’re new, she said it can be much like standing on a runway filled with jetplanes and screaming to be heard. I thought about this for a long while. It didn’t sound like anything I wanted to do. How pointless. I thought, “why not do something that would make the pilots stop the planes and get out alongside the passengers and watch?”

This is what happened next (in my head)[you may have to skip a stupid ad first]:

No matter what life brings us, no matter what elements lie before us, we have to “play our violin” amidst the madness . . . or the calm, or the heartache, or the bliss, or the riots in our minds, or the joy, or the sorrows . . . we let our light shine on, and don’t give up.

What is that thing you do that makes you stand out, like in a good way? That’s your violin–Do that. Writing is my sweet violin, and I know if I just keep playing it, eventually, someone will hear me. They’ll see me, feel the music pouring from my soul into theirs . . . the pilots, passengers, and all the people inside the airport will gather ’round to listen when it’s my time to shine.

Same as you.

It may not be our time to shine for everyone all the time. Sometimes we may stand alone on an empty runway with no one around for miles. It’s at those times we must practice practice practice, preparing for when it’s our turn. When the world and time stop and wait, and listen. For us. It will happen if we believe, plan, practice, prepare, and continue to play our violins amidst the madness.

Believe it will happen, and make the best out of this miracle before you. Another year awaits to unfold before our eyes.

Happy New Year to you, my friends.

And no matter what, always . . .

Play on

To check out reviews or purchase “The Treemakers,” follow the links below. Thanks!