Wattys 2022 Boot Camp

Karis Galloway - Mentor

MEET KARIS kcgalloway on WATTPAD

As I write this, the sky is orange with Sahara dust (like apocalyptic goggles orange 0.0 ), the streets are a muddy red from our once-every-year rain, and my laundry is probably mildewing in the machine outside because I can't find my slippers and wet socks aren't my mood. ;)

I studied psychology in cold Chicago, but the pallet of my imagination is nestled in the seas and hills of supposedly-sunny Southern Spain, where I grew up. I returned home almost a year ago to a small life in a Spanish valley with an old dog and a keyboard where I can procrastinate my laundry in peace.

Not that I have much laundry; I rarely leave the house. In spite a of reclusive a streak a mile wide (hopefully many, many miles), my heart is a hive of niche passions. You want to chat about composting? fairytales? regency manners? Eastern Orthodox philosophy? vegetable gardens? I'm there—wet socks and laundry quandaries be damned!!

My reclusiveness has been a source of recent creativity and allowed me to start a podcast called Orange Ink where I pretty much call up other Wattpad writers to fangirl about their work. Though the official tagline says something about exploring what shapes their art because their art shapes us, don't be deceived—that's my psych degree grinning beneath my fangirl heart-eyes. :)

I write dark fantasy and werewolf thrillers (read: angst with a sprinkling of sexual tension). In between the crime-ridden cities and glow-fish beaches, I am trying my hand at haikus.

The situation:

Puddle has laundry hostage

Collateral: Socks

I call it: The Rain in the Plains of Spain—which is like half a haiku in its own right.

Fear not, haikus have taught me to stick to long-form fiction and avoid poetry all together. And probably bios too if this wet-sock, orange-sky dribble is anything to go by. ;)

While I can't seem to get my laundry done or say anything worthwhile in 17 haiku syllables, give me a couple ten thousand words and I can tell you a darn good story. Comfort the Wolves won the 2020 Watty for paranormal. My second book, Cinder Bound will be tossed into the query trenches by the end of the month. In the works are two sequels, one bad idea and a half-baked werewolf Jane Austen retelling. All of my books are quite long (like this bio) and I wring every bit of wet-sock angst and orange sky colour from my heart into their tales—with a splash of the Med and some sangria to boot.

Jokes aside, I'd say my greatest qualification as a mentor actually lies with my greatest limitation as an artist. I have a chronic illness (subtitled: when wet socks mean house arrest). Which means I know two things better than most: How to count ceiling tiles. And how to read. I read at least a hundred books a year—ten a week in a flare up. This has taught me to spot a sinking plot from a mile away, but given me the patience, determination and love to jump back in after those boats despite all their bleeding holes. Because some of those boats have saved my life.

So please trust me when I say that I know your writing matters. To change the metaphor: stories gave me paper wings when all I had was wet socks in a puddle. Your words might be the sinew of my next flight. And the flight of any others looking for heights above whatever ceiling tiles life has them counting. 

VISIT KARIS'S PROFILE TO SEE HER WISH LIST