Write What You Know — And Where Your Heart Is, Preferably With Dogs and a Dash of Magic

 They always say “write what you know,” right?

At first, I thought they meant, “write about your soul-crushing office job and how Alyssa from accounting eats all the good donuts and Rick never refills the coffee pot.” You know, the usual psychological warfare of cubicle life. And sure, I could’ve written a blistering satire on office politics that would make Kafka weep. But here’s the truth: that wasn’t my heart talking. That was caffeine withdrawal and the lingering trauma of HR-mandated birthday parties.

Back then, I wrote romance novels. They were lovely, sweeping stories. Handsome cowboys, city girls with trust issues, sunset kisses—you know the drill. People liked them. My mom liked them. The mailman once said one made him cry, though he might’ve been referring to his allergies. But something was off. I was writing about love, but my heart wasn’t in it—which is wildly ironic when you think about it. A romance author without romantic feelings about her own work. There’s a plot twist no one asked for.

Then came a dark time. I took a job working for a dude who turned out to be a Grade-A con artist. Think villain in a Lifetime movie, but with worse fashion sense. I won’t say much (my lawyer has me on a strict “no over-sharing” diet), but let’s just say I learned the phrase “fraudulent misrepresentation” very well.

So, naturally, I wrote about it. Financial thrillers. Lots of them. I channeled all my rage and trauma into plots about corruption, lies, and stock market sabotage. One reviewer said it was “Wall Street meets Mission Impossible.” I’ll take that.

Still… my soul was restless. My keyboard wanted more than hedge funds and hacker plots. One night, while cuddling my Papillon dog (who definitely understands every word I say, don't fight me on this), I had an epiphany: What if… there were mysteries? And ghosts? And magic? And talking dogs who solve crimes with single moms and their teenage kids in charming little towns with suspiciously high murder rates?

Boom. The Magical Papillon Mysteries were born. I poured in my love for animals, for fantasy, for quirky small-town life and yes, for the absolute joy of storytelling. I'm writing book seven now and honestly, I’ve never been happier.

So here’s my advice, from one plot-twisting, genre-hopping, donut-hoarding writer to another:

Write what you know—but more importantly, write where your heart is.

If your heart lives in a Victorian bakery run by witches, or a lighthouse haunted by a sarcastic ghost, or inside the mind of a dog who insists on wearing seasonal costumes—then that’s what you write. Because readers can tell when your soul shows up on the page. And trust me, they love it when it does.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Pixie the magical Papillon just gave me the side-eye. That means it’s writing time… or treat time. Possibly both.