Mixternal magic: Blending storytelling in corporate communications and fiction

If you’ve ever sat in a corporate meeting and thought, “This could use a plot twist,” welcome to my world.

By day, I’m a Senior Communications Channels Analyst in corporate communications at COUNTRY Financial: the kind of job where storytelling wears a blazer (with a very specific HEX code color). By night (and let’s be honest, early mornings and caffeine-fueled weekends), I write romance novels: the kind where storytelling wears flannel, flirts shamelessly, and occasionally burns a batch of honeybuns.

At first glance, those worlds couldn’t be more different. But somewhere between Smart Brevity headlines and slow-burn love stories, I’ve realized they actually thrive on the same thing: creating connection.

The “country” of communication

In corporate communications, my goal is simple: make people care. Whether it’s an employee resource group event recap, a LinkedIn post, or a crisis communication template that needs to land just right, it all boils down to connecting with the audience. Who am I writing for? What do they value? What story will make them feel something?

Good communication isn’t about information; it’s about creating an impact. You’re not just telling people what’s happening: you’re helping them see why it matters.

That’s the same heartbeat that drives my novels. My readers don’t just want witty banter (though they’ll get plenty). They want to feel—to find themselves somewhere between the lines, to believe that love and hope and second chances are still possible.

The narrative intersection

In both corporate communications and fiction, I’m obsessed with rhythm: namely, the cadence of a sentence, the way a single well-placed pause can carry more meaning than an entire paragraph.

In a corporate memo, that rhythm means clarity. It’s cutting through the clutter so the message lands. In a romcom chapter, it means chemistry. It’s letting the silence between two characters hum just long enough for the reader to feel the tension rise.

In both cases, words aren’t filler. They’re strategic.

And when you start to see communication as storytelling—not just distribution—you unlock something powerful. Suddenly, an email isn’t just an update. It’s a narrative about progress, purpose, and people.

Lessons from the bakery (and the boardroom)

Love & Honeybuns, my latest romcom, headed out on submission about three weeks ago. It’s a story about taking risks, finding joy in the mess, and choosing love even when life doesn’t stick to the recipe.

And funny enough, that’s exactly what we do in corporate communications, too. Every new message, every memo, and every story, is a test bake. We gather the right ingredients (strategy, audience insight, authenticity, brand), mix, taste, adjust, and send it into the world hoping it rises.

When it works, it’s magic. When it doesn’t, we learn and tweak until it does. Just like writing.

The secret ingredient: Purpose

Here’s what I’ve learned from living in both worlds: stories—whether they’re about a bakery in Central Illinois or a 100-year-old company’s future—only matter if they mean something.

You can’t fake sincerity in fiction any more than you can fake it in an internal email. People (readers, employees, clients, or reps) can feel when your story comes from a place of truth.

So, I’ll keep blending the two. Corporate communications by day, romance novels by night. Different audiences, same mission: tell the story well, make people care, and leave them a little better than I found them.

That’s the real Mixternal Magic.