I write trauma-adjacent love stories, the kind where characters carry old wounds into new rooms and learn what it means to be held without breaking. These are the books I needed when I was younger. But here’s what I’ve learned: the bravest stories require the gentlest invitations. I don’t want you bracing for impact. I want you choosing your pace with your feet on solid ground.
A content note is how I make that promise. Two or three calm lines that name what’s on the page, what stays off the page, and the tone that carries you to the end. It’s not about warnings. It’s about trust.
What I name (and what I keep)
I use plain words. No euphemisms that obscure, no alarm bells that startle. I just want you to know what you’re getting into.
The tone promise matters just as much. I name it so you know what kind of journey you’re stepping into. Hopeful. Gentle. Or steady with heat where it serves the characters. You deserve to know if the book will hold you softly or ask you to hold yourself through harder moments.
Here’s what a full note looks like for Painting Celia:
Content notes: grief after a parent’s suicide; abusive parent; social anxiety; light consensual sub/dom intimacy; explicit on-page sex; hopeful ending
I also include tropes and tags because different readers need different signposts:
TROPES: slow burn; starving artist; millionaire (subverted); innocent cohabitation; painter and muse; emotional scars; explicit scenes
TAGS: over 30; Filipina; Latino; BIPOC; LGBTQ+; found family
Where I place it (and why consistency matters)
I put my content note anywhere you might make a decision about my book. On product pages. On my author site. Sometimes on the back cover or in the front matter. I mirror the same phrasing across every listing because consistency builds trust. When the promise stays clear from discovery to last page, you can relax into the story knowing I’ve thought about your experience as much as my craft.
Why I’ll keep doing it
Because it respects you and protects the work. When expectations match the book I actually wrote, you can walk in without flinching. That’s good ethics. It’s also good business, because trust reduces mismatched experiences and builds the kind of reader relationships that last beyond a single book.
If you’re writing in this space too, borrow these lines and make them yours. Adapt the structure. Find your own language. But keep the principle at the center: clarity is care, and care is what lets our bravest stories find their people.
I’ll see you on the page.
