This book is almost yours. The next one might destroy me. 💌
- Amy Russell
- Jun 27
- 5 min read
June Dispatch: Romance, Ruin, and the Pre-Release Spiral.
Hello, loves.
You ever feel like your own words are haunting you? No? Just me. Cool. 😂 It's not in a bad way, just more like they’re lingering in the doorway, waiting for me to say something truer.
That’s the mood in the writing cave right now. So, let’s talk about what’s coming… and what’s quietly clawing its way into being.
📦 INEVITABLY US — It's Out. It's Yours. It's Happening.
Advanced copies have officially landed in inboxes… and my soul is vibrating.
The early reactions have already started trickling in (some of you are feral and I love that for us), and I’m overwhelmed in the best kind of way. Inevitably Us is a story I wrote with my whole, messy heart—soft in the middle, sharp around the edges, and absolutely drenched in longing.
Whether you’ve started it, devoured it, or are saving it for a day when you want to feel everything—thank you. You're part of this book’s story now.
If you didn’t get an ARC but want to know when it officially releases, hang tight. You’ll be the first to know when things get real.
This story has been mine for so long. It lived in my bones before it hit the page. And now? It’s not just mine anymore. It’s yours, too. That’s beautiful—and also completely terrifying.
I’m kind of lowkey feeling very protective over Collette, Dylan, and Cade right now. They’ve lived in my head, whispered in my ears, haunted my outlines. They’ve trusted me. And now they’re out there, walking around in your minds and hearts, and I’m over here like:
Which is ridiculous, I know. Because stories are meant to be shared. But if you’ve ever created something that mattered to you, you know what I mean. I want you to love them—but part of me also wants to wrap them in bubble wrap and snatch them back.
So, if you’re reading Inevitably Us right now—thank you. Be gentle with them. Or don’t. (They can handle it. Mostly.)
And if you didn’t get an ARC, don’t worry—release day is coming, and trust me, this story knows how to wait for its moment.
It will be available to purchase in paperback and eBook, and on KU on Amazon from July 21st, 2025. But given that Amazon is in another time zone, I have a feeling it will be more like July 22nd, 2025. 🙄 I'm annoyed with that too, but it is what it is.
🖤 Meanwhile, in the dark…
While Inevitably Us prepares to take flight, I’ve been slowly descending into the dark for my next project. Let’s just say:
The romance is obsessive.
The danger is real.
And no one is walking out clean.
I wrote a scene last night that made me sit back in total silence. The kind of silence where your heart goes, “Oh. We’re doing that now.” I won’t say much yet, but here's a taste. This excerpt is from the manuscript:
“I do love you,” I say, voice hoarse. “More than I’ve ever loved anything. That’s why I’m scared.”
“No,” she says, tone cutting low. “You’re scared because you still think I’m a fantasy. That I’m this perfect little thing that’ll break if you breathe too hard. But I’m not. I’ve been broken already. And if you can’t figure out the difference between being dark and being dangerous, then maybe you’re not the one I should be trusting to hold me there.”
I flinch like she hit me. Because maybe she did. Not with her hands, but with the truth she knows I’ve been avoiding.
“You think I see you as a fantasy?” I ask, voice quiet now, scraped raw. “Tate, I see everything. I see the shadows under your eyes when you haven’t slept. I see the way your hands shake before you hold a weapon. I see the fucking scars.”
“Then stop acting like I’ll shatter,” she fires back. “I don’t need protection from who you were. I need honesty about who you are.”
I stare at her. God, she’s so fucking beautiful when she’s furious, when she’s right, and when she’s burning.
“You want honesty?” I rasp. “Fine. I still think about it. About you. About that night. Not the part where I was standing outside like some fucking ghost—but the part where I climbed in. Where I didn’t stop myself from acting out these dark fantasies about you that I've had for half my fucking life. I think about it more than I should, still.”
Her breath stutters, jaw locking tight.
“You want to know what I fantasized about?” I go on, because I’m past the point of turning back. If shit's gonna hit the fan, I might as well throw it myself. “I wanted to drag you out of bed, put you on your knees, and take what I wanted since I was sixteen. And I wanted to hear you thank me for it.”
Yes, it’s that kind of story.
Writing this one feels like carving something out of stone with my bare hands. It's slow. It's bloody. And it's fucking beautiful.
But honestly? I’ve never felt more alive as a writer. And that's the point, right? Writing something that makes you feel alive. Because that shit translates on the page, and you, as the reader, feels it.
Literally me when I read this scene back after I wrote it 👇🏼
📚 What I’m Reading (When Elias Lets Me)
I’m currently reading Dragons and Aces by J.G. Gates, which has been super fun so far—fast-paced, bold, and already throwing me into a world I’m curious to get lost in.
I also cracked open Caught Up by Navessa Allen, and the writing?? Immediate chef's kiss. But full honesty: I’ve only read the first chapter.
Because… Elias Winchester—my dark romance disaster man—has completely hijacked my brain. He’s sharp, possessive, emotionally unavailable in the most devastatingly compelling way, and he will not shut up. Every time I try to read, he shows up like:
“That’s cute. Now write me ruining Tate’s pussy.”
So, I’m trying to read. I want to read. But apparently, I’m in my “tormented MMC ghostwriting his own scenes through me” era, and we’re all just surviving it together.
If you’re into morally grey men who you know are bad for you, but you want them anyway? Wait ‘til you meet Elias.
Thank you for reading and for being part of this wild ride with me. I don’t take a single one of you for granted.
Until next time—stay unhinged, stay soft, and maybe don’t fall for men like Elias (unless you want to).
💖A. L. Russell
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