Picking a Favorite Character? Impossible!

The question comes up all the time. It’s inevitable. Like taxes. Or discovering that you’ve been walking around with spinach in your teeth all day.

"Who’s your favorite character?"

And I should have a definitive answer, right? Like, boom—here’s my favorite! Neatly tied up, no hesitation, no emotional turmoil, no staring off into the middle distance questioning my life choices.

But no. That is not how this works. That is not how any of this works.

My knee-jerk reaction is always Pixie. Pixie, my telepathic, sass-infused, magical Papillon from the Magical Papillon Mysteries. How could I not pick her? She’s got it all—wit, charm, fluffy ears, and, most importantly, magic. I mean, who wouldn’t want a touch of magic? I can barely find my car keys half the time. Pixie would just twitch an ear, and boom—problem solved.

And she’s funny. Not just “accidentally amusing” funny. No, she’s deliberately funny. She says the things we all wish we could say, with perfect comedic timing and an impressive lack of self-awareness. She’s got that quirky, mischievous, “Oh, did I just cause minor chaos? My bad. Or was it?” energy that makes life more interesting.

But then there’s Sarah. My strong, determined, occasionally exhausted single mom protagonist who stumbles into a world of magic and murder and somehow keeps it together. (Mostly. There’s coffee involved.) She’s the kind of character I admire—fierce, loving, loyal. The one who shoulders responsibility but still manages to crack a joke. Could I pick her as my favorite? Absolutely.

Except then I remember Matthew. Steadfast Matthew. Loyal, practical, steady-as-a-rock Matthew. The man who, in Book Six (which you haven’t read yet, but trust me, it’s coming), looks Sarah in the eyes during a time shift, when everything is unraveling, and says “I will find you in every lifetime.”

Did I cry when I wrote that? Maybe. Did I dramatically sigh and stare out a window, contemplating fate and romance? Absolutely. That line alone makes him a contender.

And don’t even get me started on Connor Beauregard, the swashbuckling charmer with a reckless streak, or Rafael, his steadfast sidekick who would follow him into a storm. They bring adventure, danger, a little roguish charm… How do I not pick them? Or Ethan the software developer who is too smart for his own good, and his best friend Brad, falling into a trap so many of us would have?

See? This is impossible.

But at the end of the day, I still circle back to Pixie. Because she has something I’ve always wanted.

She’s effortlessly funny. She doesn’t take herself too seriously. She’s magical. And, let’s be honest—she’s adorable. I’ve always wanted to be effortlessly pretty, the kind of person who just rolls out of bed looking like a whimsical fairy tale. Instead, I’m more “accidentally fell into a hedge while carrying coffee.”

So yes, it’s Pixie.

(But also Matthew. And Sarah. And Connor. And Rafael. And—oh no, we’re back at the beginning again.)

Picking a favorite character is like picking a favorite child. Or a favorite snack. Or a favorite TV show. Impossible.

So… final answer? Pixie. But also… well, let’s just say, don’t hold me to it. You tell ME who you like best... :-)

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

DIY Audiobook. A bit of equipment, good advice and lots of patience

I want to create an Audiobook - should I? Ever since the release of book one in the "Cannabis Preacher" series of thrillers, that question has been on my mind. The "Cannabis Preacher" books were quite long. To produce an audiobook from each of the four, including voice actors and audio production with a turn key service, I was looking at around $15,000 per book. Financially, that was a non-starter for me at the time. That amount represented a LOT of books and audiobooks to sell to recover the investment, and I shelved my plan again. With the popularity of the "Magical Papillon" cozy mystery series, I found myself coming back to the growing popularity of audiobooks. I knew that audiobooks could reach a wider audience and catered to busy readers who prefer listening while multitasking. The idea of bringing my characters to life through narration excited me, as it offered a new dimension to my storytelling. The cozy mysteries were only 60-65,000...

Stories Are Everywhere: The Writer’s Endless Inspiration

As a writer, one of the most common questions I’m asked is, “How do you come up with your stories?” It’s a question that often makes me smile because the answer is as simple as it is profound: stories are everywhere. Inspiration doesn’t always strike in grand, dramatic moments. More often than not, it emerges quietly, weaving its way into the fabric of everyday life. Conversations with friends, the sights and sounds of a bustling city, or even the stillness of a room can spark the seed of an idea. Writers aren’t just storytellers; we’re observers, collecting fragments of life and spinning them into tales. Let me share a recent example of how a simple evening turned into the genesis of a new story idea. Over two perfectly crafted negronis, I was discussing the schedule for an upcoming event with a friend. Their house, a treasure trove of artwork, surrounded us. Every piece of art seemed to hum with a story of its own. Midway through the second drink, I remarked, “One day, someb...

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