Why I Write the Heroines I Do

One of the questions readers sometimes ask me is why my heroines feel so real.

They aren’t perfect.
They aren’t fearless.
They don’t stride through life untouched by disappointment or heartbreak.

In fact, most of them begin their stories wounded in some way.

Some carry shame they never deserved.
Some have been misled by the world’s confusion about love and intimacy.
Some are confident and successful but still learning humility, trust, and surrender.

But every one of them shares something important.

They are feminine and formidable.

They are women who may begin uncertain—but who grow into strength, faith, and self-knowledge as their stories unfold.

And perhaps most importantly, they learn that love was never meant to complete them.

It was meant to be shared between two already whole people.

Most of my heroines begin their journeys carrying some kind of emotional wound.

Sometimes that wound looks like Aviana’s story—a good woman who trusted the wrong man and now carries shame she shouldn’t have to bear.

Sometimes it looks like Danaë’s—a woman who has lived the world’s version of freedom and is slowly discovering that freedom without truth eventually leaves the heart empty.

And sometimes it looks like Alexis’s—a capable, intelligent woman who seems to have everything under control but still has deeper lessons ahead of her.

The specifics change.

But the reason I begin my heroines here remains the same:

Because this is where many real women begin.

Modern culture has left many women uncertain about how love, strength, and femininity are supposed to look.

They are told:

But many women instinctively feel something about that message is wrong.

So my heroines begin where many readers are already standing—

In the middle of that confusion.

One of the defining characteristics of my heroines is that they are strong.

But their strength doesn’t come from imitating men.

It comes from embracing the power of being fully feminine.

That’s a kind of strength our culture often misunderstands.

True feminine strength is not loud.
It isn’t hostile.
It doesn’t need to diminish men to elevate women.

Instead, it is grounded in dignity, self-knowledge, and quiet confidence.

The model I often return to when thinking about my heroines is the Proverbs 31 woman.

She is not fragile or passive.

She is:

She builds a life of meaning and purpose—and the people around her flourish because of it.

That kind of woman is not weak.

She is formidable.

And when a strong woman stands beside a strong man, neither one needs to shrink for the other to grow.

Perhaps the most important transformation my heroines experience is learning what love truly means.

They do not end their stories believing that a man completes them.

Instead, they discover something deeper.

Two people should come to marriage already whole.

They should know who they are, what they believe, and what kind of life they are building before they ever promise to share that life with someone else.

Love, in my stories, is not about filling emptiness.

It is about joining two lives that already have purpose.

When my heroines reach the end of their journey, they often come to understand something simple but powerful:

Marriage works best when both partners are strong—and when something even stronger stands above them.

As Scripture reminds us:

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

A man.
A woman.
And God at the top of their union.

Like a triangle. A love triangle. But in these romances, a love triangle is never messy, dangerous, or problematic.

It’s the kind of love my heroines ultimately find.

Strong heroes need equally compelling heroines.

If a hero is courageous, disciplined, and devoted, the woman beside him cannot be passive or shallow. She has to possess her own depth, intelligence, and inner strength.

That’s why my heroines aren’t simply characters who need rescuing.

They challenge my heroes.
They sharpen them.
They call out the best in them.

Aviana is the perfect foil for Colton because she refuses to be impressed by his past fame or bravado. She sees through him almost immediately.

And that forces him to become the man he was always meant to be.

When readers watch these relationships develop, they’re not just witnessing romance.

They’re seeing something rarer: mutual admiration.

The hero doesn’t fall in love because the heroine is easy.

He falls in love because she is:

She is the kind of woman a good man respects before he ever loves her.

And when those two strengths meet—the masculine and the feminine working together instead of competing—the result is something powerful.

Not domination.

Not rivalry.

But partnership.