A little while ago, Canada did what Canada does best and unleashed a truly horrible snowstorm. Not the polite, fluffy kind. No, this was the kind of snow that comes at you sideways, stings your face, and makes you question every life choice that led you outdoors.
Blueberry the Papillon took one look at the situation and said absolutely not.
And honestly? Same.
She stood at the door like a tiny, dramatic statue of protest. No paw over the threshold. No curious sniff. No brave dash. Just a look that said, “I did not sign up for this nonsense.” Judging by the complete lack of footprints outside our front door, it seemed the rest of the neighborhood had reached the same conclusion. Draw your own conclusions from that.
Eventually, cabin fever won. We all piled into the big car, mostly just to escape the walls closing in and remind ourselves that the outside world still existed. And that’s when we saw it.
A young man.
Doing push-ups.
In front of a bar.
On the sidewalk.
During a raging blizzard.
I need you to really sit with that image for a moment.
Snow whipping sideways. Streets half-buried. Visibility questionable. Sanity debatable. And there he was, calmly lowering himself toward the frozen concrete like this was the most normal Tuesday activity imaginable.
My guy. I applaud your dedication. Truly. The commitment to fitness? Inspiring. The follow-through? Impeccable. The timing? Unhinged.
Because here’s the thing no one warns you about: writers are always watching. Not in a creepy way. In a “mentally filing this away forever” kind of way. You may think you’re just living your life, but somewhere, in someone’s cozy mystery—or the matching author blog—you are about to become “push-ups-on-the-sidewalk-guy.”
And I promise you, once that happens, you are immortal.
People often ask me where I get my ideas. Do I plan them carefully? Do I outline elaborate plots? Do I sit quietly waiting for inspiration to strike?
Sometimes, yes.
But sometimes… life just throws a man doing push-ups in a blizzard directly into your path and says, “Here. You’re welcome.”
That’s the magic of it. The world is weird. People are wonderfully strange. Reality has zero interest in being realistic. And if you pay attention—really pay attention—you’ll find stories everywhere. In snowstorms. In stubborn dogs. In moments that make you laugh out loud in your car while Blueberry judges you from the passenger seat.
Life is stranger than fiction, my friends. And for a cozy mystery writer, that is excellent news.
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