Skip to main content

Happy Labor Day!!

 


Happy Labor Day, Cozy Mystery Lovers!

Labor Day weekend is finally here! It's time to kick back, relax, and enjoy some well-deserved rest. For me, that means curling up with a good book (of course!), spending quality time with family, and maybe even doing a little research for Book Five in the Magic Papillon series.

I know, I know, I should probably be taking a complete break from writing. But the characters in my head are already plotting their next adventure, and I can't seem to shake the urge to start jotting down ideas. Besides, a little research never hurt anyone, right?

Speaking of my characters, I want to take a moment to thank all of you amazing readers for your support. Your kind words and comments mean the world to me. I'm so grateful for your enthusiasm and for joining me on this cozy mystery adventure.

So, what are your Labor Day plans? Are you spending time with loved ones, tackling a DIY project, or simply enjoying some much-needed downtime? Whatever you're up to, I hope you have a wonderful weekend filled with relaxation and happiness.

Happy Labor Day!


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Art of a Well-Timed Swear

There comes a moment in life when frustration bubbles over, and the only logical response is… well, a good, solid, soul-cleansing swear word. I’m not talking about casual, everyday muttering under your breath. No, I mean that moment when nothing else will do. The kind of moment where dropping your toast butter-side down feels like an act of war, where technology conspires against you, or when you stub your toe so hard you briefly see your ancestors. Now, I was raised in a house where we had a rule: Use your words, not you hands. This was my dad’s way of preventing sibling-induced concussions, and frankly, it worked. We weren’t an inherently violent bunch, but three kids in one tiny household meant tempers flared, and so did elbows. The logic was simple—if you had time to yell, maybe you’d have time to think twice before swinging. Or at least give your victim a solid head start. This philosophy stayed with me, though in adulthood, I’ve adapted it to use a well-placed expletive now a...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Bird Pooped on My Head and Other Life-Changing Moments

True story: a peaceful morning, blue sky, the smell of damp leaves on the sidewalk, birds chirping with enthusiasm that can only mean one thing— trouble. I’m out walking my adorable Papillon, Blueberry (who is, let’s be honest, the true star of my writing life), when BAM. Something hits me. Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. Physically. With a plop. I know immediately. There’s no mystery here. I’m a cozy mystery author, and even I don’t need clues for this one. A bird just pooped on me. Right on the head. Bullseye. Olympic-level accuracy. Somewhere, that bird is getting high-fived by its feathered friends and earning itself a tiny gold medal for "Most Precise Aerial Delivery." And let me tell you—it was disgusting. So there I am, frozen on the sidewalk, trying not to scream in front of my dog, who is looking up at me like, “Why are you standing still, and also… ew.” I sprint home, Blueberry bouncing along beside me, clueless to the drama, and I leap into the shower...
Post a Comment
Read more