For readers who love Greek mythology, centaurs, and myth-inspired fantasy fiction.
My novel series, Sons of Apollo, grew out of a single, persistent question:
Wouldn’t the centaurs have their own version of the events that shaped their downfall?
In Greek mythology, centaurs are almost universally cast as the villains—drunken, violent, lustful creatures defeated or driven away by human heroes. The Centauromachy, the greatest battle involving centaurs, reinforces this image. But myths are rarely neutral, and I began to wonder what had been lost when only one side of the story survived.
A Lifelong Love of Myth and Monsters
My fascination with Greek mythology began in childhood, when I first encountered the stories of Persephone and Medusa. I already loved fairy tales and folklore—especially the strange and fantastical creatures that inhabited them—so mythology felt like a natural next step. It offered a world rich with gods, heroes, heroines, and monsters who often blurred the line between human and divine.
As I continued studying mythology, recurring themes began to stand out. These themes became the creative foundation of Sons of Apollo.
The Centaurs as the Other
No mythic creature intrigued me more than the centaurs.
Across Greek myths, centaurs are treated as little more than animals. They are hated, hunted, feared, and ultimately expelled from their homeland. In nearly every story, they are framed as the antagonists—chaotic forces that must be subdued by civilization.
And yet, there is one striking exception.
Kheiron: The Centaur Who Didn’t Fit
Kheiron (also spelled Cheiron) stands apart from all other centaurs. Wise, gentle, and noble, he was the teacher of Greece’s greatest heroes, including Heracles, Jason, and Achilles. He was respected by gods, men, and centaurs alike.
That contradiction fascinated me.
Nowhere in surviving mythology does it explicitly say that Kheiron trained other centaurs—but it also never says that he didn’t. I found it impossible to believe that such a generous and benevolent being would reserve his wisdom solely for humans while denying it to his own kin.
From that assumption, an entire centaur culture began to form in my imagination.
The Missing Women of Myth
Another glaring gap in centaur mythology is the near-total absence of female centaurs. Only one is ever mentioned in surviving myths.
That raised difficult questions:
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Where did she come from?
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Why was she the only one?
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And if female centaurs were rare—or nonexistent—how did the centaurs survive as a race?
If there were no female centaurs, then human women would be necessary for reproduction, which casts many familiar myths in a more tragic and complex light.
This question became the catalyst that finally pushed me to put pen to paper.
Writing the Gaps—and the Silence
As I explored these unanswered questions, themes of procreation, survival, and cultural extinction began to dominate my storytelling. My own experiences with infertility deepened my connection to these ideas and shaped the emotional core of the series.
The more I studied centaur myths, the clearer a pattern became: centaurs are always portrayed as drunken, riotous, and dangerous. In every conflict, they are the ones who must lose. They are the villains in stories told by others.
But every villain believes themselves to be the hero of their own story.
Sons of Apollo exists in that space—between myth and memory—where the monsters finally speak for themselves.
About the Series
Book I: Mate for a Centaur explores the aftermath of exile and the cost of survival for a people history has already judged.
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Because mythology is shaped by who gets to tell the story.
