Of Roses, Blood & Stone

Before the roses bloomed.
Before the hauntings.
Before the legend.

There were decisions made in daylight.

Of Roses, Blood & Stone is rooted in documented history surrounding the Second Seminole War and the imprisonment of Seminole families within the walls of the Castillo de San Marcos in 1839.

The Castillo is not simply a backdrop. It is one of the oldest masonry fortifications in the continental United States and a central landmark in Florida’s layered colonial history. Built by the Spanish in the late seventeenth century, later occupied by the British and then the Americans, the fort has stood through empire shifts, wars, imprisonment, resistance, and survival. It is a place where multiple histories converge, including military, colonial, Indigenous, and personal.

When I first began researching the Second Seminole War, I was struck by how often the Castillo appeared not just in military records, but in stories passed down. Stories of confinement, endurance, and loss. During my time researching on site, I also heard accounts from guides and historians who spoke of unexplained experiences within the fort’s stone corridors. Whether one believes in hauntings or not, there is an undeniable weight in those casemates. The air feels thick with memory. The walls do not feel empty.

It was that tension between documented history and lingering presence that compelled me to tell this story.

Before drafting key scenes, I reviewed military records, archival materials, and primary accounts related to Spanish Florida, the Second Seminole War, and the conditions within the Castillo during periods of confinement. The structure still stands. The coquina walls remain. The history is not imagined.

For the purposes of narrative continuity, I have woven together elements of both the Spanish and later American occupations of the fort. Certain timelines and administrative details were compressed to preserve the emotional and historical arc of the story without fragmenting its flow. These choices were intentional and made with respect for the historical record.

I also had the privilege of consulting with a spokesperson connected to the Seminole Tribe of Florida through their Tribal Historic Preservation Office. Their insight into language, cultural nuance, and the realities of the Second Seminole War helped shape how I approached key scenes in the novel.

The Seminole people are often noted as one of the few Indigenous nations who never signed a formal peace treaty ending the Seminole Wars with the United States government. That history of resistance and survival is not symbolic. It is lived. The Seminole communities in Florida remain sovereign and strong today, carrying forward culture, language, and memory despite centuries of attempted removal and confinement.

This story remains fiction, but the history it rests upon is not.

My goal is not to rewrite history, but to illuminate it through story, carefully and responsibly, with reverence for those whose lives were forever altered within those walls.

For those who wish to explore further, the Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum on the Big Cypress Reservation in South Florida offers deeper insight into Seminole history, culture, and resilience. Parts of their collection are accessible online for those unable to visit in person.

Of Roses, Blood & Stone publishes this April.