Gone North… for “Research.” (Sort of.)

Friends, readers, fellow caffeine-dependent life forms—

This is your friendly neighborhood author reporting live from... somewhere just shy of the Arctic Circle. Okay, maybe not that far north, but it feels like it. Especially when your only connection to civilization involves plugging in the Starlink and hoping the squirrels don’t chew through the cable.

Now, you know me. I’m all about showing up, putting on the writing pants (they're stretchy, obviously), and getting the words down. I love a good “sit down and do the thing” moment. That’s my jam. But sometimes, you’ve got to do something radical.

You have to... stop.

I know. Take a breath. I’ll wait while you recover from that bombshell.

Truth is, the creative well doesn’t refill itself, especially not when I’m knee-deep in deadlines, plotting magical mysteries, and making sure Pixie the Papillon doesn’t unionize for more treats and magical screen time. So I did something wild: I packed up, left the to-do list behind, and escaped north. Way north.

Not to some far-flung beach paradise where you sip tiny umbrella drinks while someone fans you with a palm leaf (though if you're offering, I won’t say no). Nope. I'm staying right here in good ol’ Ontario—just the part where your GPS gives up and starts blinking “???". I’ve gone where the roads are gravel, the loons outnumber the people, and the only Starbucks is a moose-shaped shadow at sunrise.

And let me tell you, it’s glorious.

There's limited Wi-Fi (one hour a day if you ask Starlink nicely), no city noise, and absolutely zero chance of me "accidentally" reorganizing the spice drawer instead of writing. I’ve traded scrolling for stargazing. I’ve swapped email refreshes for campfire crackles. And I’ve remembered something vital:

The best ideas don’t come when you force them.

They sneak up while you're kayaking down a misty river, or while you’re trying to swat a mosquito with your sandal and end up in a full yoga pose. They arrive somewhere between your third marshmallow and the realization that chipmunks are cuter when they’re not stealing your trail mix.

So yes, I’ve temporarily left behind the hum of modern life to sit with the silence, to scribble in notebooks with sap on my fingers and glittering water nearby. Because the truth is, I want to bring you even better stories. I want the next Magical Papillon Mystery to sparkle with fresh mischief. And I want my characters to sound like they’ve had a bit of fun in the woods, too.

I'll be back soon—probably with leaves in my hair, a notebook full of scribbles, and at least one mosquito bite in an unspeakable place—but most importantly, I’ll return with stories. Stories that were born not in front of a keyboard, but in the quiet places where imagination wakes up.

So if you don't hear from me for a few days? Don't worry. I'm just... writing. Or roasting marshmallows. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

Yours from the woods,
Sabine
(Author, Cozy Mystery Enthusiast, Mosquito Buffet)

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