I Was Going to Write a Brilliant Post. Then I Didn't.

Okay. So. Here's the thing.

I sat down today with every intention of writing you the most brilliantly crafted, gloriously witty, perfectly cozy social media post about the Papillon series. You know the kind — the ones that make you laugh out loud, hit follow and then buy a slightly haunted cozy mystery involving a very small but extremely opinionated dog.
I had the vibe. I had the energy. I had the snacks.
What I did not have, as it turns out, was a single solitary idea.
I put my fingers on the keyboard. I stared at the screen. The screen stared back at me with the blank, unblinking patience of a particularly judgmental cat — except in my house, the judgy energy doesn't come from a cat. It comes from a five-pound Papillon named Blueberry who was, at that precise moment, watching me from her perch on the couch with an expression that said, very clearly, "Mom. What are you even doing."
And honestly? Fair question, Blueberry. Fair question.
Here's the thing nobody tells you about being a writer — or really, about being a human person navigating the chaotic and occasionally absurd experience of life — and that thing is this: sometimes the brilliant ideas just don't show up. You send out the invitation, you set the table, you even put out the nice snacks (the good crackers, not the ones you eat guiltily over the sink), and the ideas just... don't come. They're off somewhere being brilliant for somebody else, apparently.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: surely someone who writes cozy mysteries, someone who has built an entire series around a clever, sassy, butterfly-eared dog detective companion, surely that person has a well of creativity that never runs dry. And to that I say: bless your heart. My well runs dry approximately every third Tuesday and also any time I sit down with actual intention and a deadline.
But.... Pressure is exactly the thing that evaporates creative thought. You can be wandering around doing absolutely nothing — folding laundry, waiting for toast, staring blankly at your shower tiles — and ideas will come rocketing at you from all directions.
Great ideas! Funny ideas! Ideas for plot twists and character moments and that one scene you've been trying to crack for weeks! But the second you sit down and say, okay brain, it's time, let's do this, your brain takes one look at the expectation, puts on its coat, and quietly leaves through the back door.
My brain left through the back door today. And Blueberry watched it go with what I can only describe as mild contempt and a tiny head tilt.
So I did the only sensible thing available to me.
I decided to write about not having anything to write about.
Is this meta? Absolutely. Is it a little bit ridiculous? One hundred percent. Is Blueberry still rolling her eyes at me from the couch? Reader, she has not stopped. She has been rolling her eyes at me since approximately ten this morning and it is now well past noon and her eye-rolling endurance is, frankly, impressive. She gets it from her fictional counterpart, I think.
The Magical Papillon series has that same energy — that particular brand of I am smarter than everyone in this room and I would like that acknowledged that makes her such an absolute delight to write. And also, occasionally, a challenge.
So here I am. Writing a post about not having a post. Being completely honest with you that the brilliant Papillon series content you deserve will absolutely be coming — the mysteries, the haunted houses, the village gossip, the moments where Blueberry side-eyes a murder suspect with devastating accuracy — all of it is coming. But today, today we are here together in the creative wilderness, snackless and vibe-checking ourselves back to baseline.
Blueberry has since repositioned herself so that she is lying with her back to me.
I'm going to choose to believe that's affectionate.
Thanks for being here, genuinely. The Magical Papillon series is funny and cozy and slightly eerie in the best possible way, and writing it is the most ridiculous fun I have ever had. Even on the days — especially on the days — when the brilliant post doesn't come and I'm out here writing about crickets and butterfly dogs and the quiet comedy of being a creative person in a world that occasionally refuses to cooperate.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go negotiate a peace treaty with a five-pound dog who feels that my creative struggles are, frankly, beneath her.

She is probably right.

— The Author (and Blueberry's somewhat embarrassing mom)

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