New Year, Same Magic (Plus Extra Papillon Shenanigans)

There’s something about January light—it slants through the window as though it’s trying to whisper, “So… what now?” And every year I give that light the same answer: “Honestly? Probably the same thing I was doing yesterday.”

Because here we are, off into a brand-new year, standing at the doorway as if it’s a shiny party we weren’t totally prepared for but decided to attend anyway. Everyone around me starts talking resolutions, gym memberships, juice cleanses, ambitious goals with color-coded planners—meanwhile I’m over here with a notebook full of ideas for magical Papillon mysteries, a coffee mug that says Writer at Work (Probably), and two Papillons who have decided the only real resolution worth making is More Snacks.

Blueberry, the diva princess of fluff and mischief, approves of my non-resolutions. Buddy, my newly adopted eleven-year-old gentleman scamp, has no idea what a New Year’s resolution is but confidently assumes it involves belly rubs and making sure I never type more than three sentences without petting him. And honestly? That sounds like an excellent life strategy.

People always ask me what my big plans are for the year, and I usually break into a small internal panic because “plans” implies some sort of adult-level organization. But this year, as I settle into a comfy chair with my notebook, I find tremendous peace in realizing the truth: I like what I’m doing. I like where I am. I like the stories simmering in my brain like a pot of cozy mystery stew on a winter stove. And so many of you have reached out to say, “Please keep going!”—which is both heart-melting and mildly terrifying because now I have witnesses.

So what’s next? More magical Papillon books, of course. More whimsical adventures. More tiny dogs solving crimes while I pretend I’m the one writing them (Blueberry insists she does most of the plotting, Buddy handles character development, and I merely operate the keyboard). And yes, I’ve got a couple of side projects brewing too—sparkly little ideas that keep nudging me awake at 2 AM to whisper, “Write meeeee.”

And as I get older, I realize there’s no grand reinvention needed. I’m not doing a New Year overhaul. No “new year, new me” happening here—unless you count the fact that I might try being a tiny bit less stubborn and a smidge less perfectionist. But let’s be realistic: if my personality were a Papillon, it would be the kind that sits on your lap lovingly… and then refuses to move because this is where it wants to be forever.

So here’s my grand resolution for the year: keep dreaming, keep writing, keep playing in magical worlds where dogs talk and mysteries unravel, and have an absolute blast living life with my two Papillon muses.

Blueberry nods. Buddy wags his tail. And I—well, I sharpen my pencils, refill my mug, and get back to creating stories that (hopefully) bring you as much joy as these dogs bring me.

Happy New Year, my friends. Let’s make it magical.

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Or, Mostly Just Staring at a Screen)

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

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. ...

Thinkingdog Publishing

Search This Blog