The Novels BY BRITT WOLFE
Welcome to the part of the site I used to swear I’d never make—because sharing your novels with the internet is only slightly less terrifying than sharing a shower with a huntsman spider. But alas, here we are. This section exists because I finally got brave (or just too tired to keep telling my stories to the shower spider). These are the books I’ve written in the quiet hours and the chaotic ones, fuelled by too much coffee, not enough sleep, and an undying crush on Justin Trudeau.
Most of these stories started as whispers—half-formed what-ifs and emotionally needy plot bunnies who wouldn’t shut up until I gave them room to breathe. If you’re here, you’re either curious, lost, or one of my friends pretending not to be emotionally wrecked by chapter seventeen (thank you for your service).
My writing leans heavily on love, grief, ghosts (emotional and otherwise), and the spectacular ways we fall apart trying to hold on to what once made us feel safe. So if you’re into haunted memories, beautifully bad decisions, and heartbreak wrapped in poetic language… welcome home. If not, I hear TikTok is nice this time of year.
A brand-new novel is coming June 1st every single year, because apparently I’ve decided to cope with the crushing weight of existence by releasing a full-length emotionally devastating book every spring. (Growth?)
So. Deep breath. Dive in.
It’s crowded in here—but the view’s not bad.
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Families are complicated.
Some yell. Some hug. Some drink too much and cry about it later.
And some quietly ask their grown children to come home and help clear out the attic.
Dawn Hollis hasn’t been back in years. She had good reasons—ones she still keeps neatly boxed up in a mental filing cabinet labelled “Not Helpful.” But when her father calls, saying her mother’s moved into care and the family home needs packing up, Dawn does what she always does: she shows up.
She’s good at that. Showing up.
Cleaning up.
Making impossible things sound polished and professional.