Second star to the left and continue until morning.
I got that line tattooed on my wrist the day I turned twenty-one. So much symbolism in such a simple sentence. At the time, it was a nod to the future and the infinite possibilities to come, while reminding me to remember the past and to look for magic in the world.
Growing up, nothing was ever what it seemed. The shift of leaves on a tree was a faery skipping by. Shooting stars were a chance to make wishes. Shadows were souls stuck between this world and the next, mirroring a life they once had.
My imagination was limitless, the world a wonderful adventure waiting to unfold.
It’s easy to lose that sense of wonder with the weight of life on your shoulders and I wanted a reminder to get me through the hard days.
Most importantly, it was an ode to the boy who earned the title of my first crush, even if he was animated. Peter Pan wasn’t a save the damsel kind of prince. He was daring, and selfless, and took care of the ones he loved. He was a friend to all but never afraid to fight the Pirates when their moral compass broke. Wendy was an idiot for leaving him. She rushed home to a heartless world full of men willing to lie through their teeth to get down her pants.
But that’s the beauty of a book, the characters are perfectly flawed. Damaged just enough that we still love them. Whereas reality is nothing but empty promises and baggage the size of mountains.
The day I got my tattoo I would have given anything to be whisked away into a fairytale. My world was crumbling and all I wanted was to go back to when life was simpler. I didn’t realize I had sealed my fate in ink.
Branded myself as one of the Lost.
Neverland was everything the stories made it out to be. Beautiful. Full of magic. Filled with handsome men and debonair pirates. But the author of my favorite tale left out one crucial detail.
In order to get there, you have to die.
Book 1 in the Neverland Novels, a spicy peter Pan Retelling from Bailey Black.
A Little About Me
I didn’t set out to become an author. I started writing because the stories wouldn’t leave me alone.
Between work, family life, and late nights when the house finally goes quiet, I found myself thinking about characters, conversations, and love stories that felt too real to ignore. Writing became a way to slow down, to explore emotion, and to create the kinds of romances I always wanted to read. Stories full of tension, heart, and connection.
I never imagined that those stories would find their way into so many readers’ hands. Connecting with readers who see themselves in my characters or tell me a book helped them escape for a while is something I’ll never take for granted. Some days are hard, some days are exhausting, but messages from readers remind me why I keep showing up to the page.
I’m endlessly grateful for this community, for the readers who trust me with their time and emotions, and for the chance to keep telling stories that matter.