Thinkingdog Publishing

There’s something rather magical about this particular moment in time. Here we are… suspended gently between Canada Day and the Fourth of July. Like the literary equivalent of sitting on a porch swing with a cup of tea in one hand and something slightly stronger in the other, watching the world celebrate in bursts of red, white, and… well, more red and white. Full disclosure: I live in Canada. Further disclosure: many of you do not. In fact, you are everywhere. The United States, Australia, New Zealand, across Europe… scattered beautifully across time zones and continents like the most delightful cast of characters I could never quite fit into one book (though don’t think I haven’t considered it). And that got me thinking. Why on earth would I limit myself to celebrating just one country… when I could celebrate with all of you? It feels like the most natural thing in the world, really. After all, stories don’t belong to borders. A cozy mystery doesn’t check your passpo...

There is something I firmly believe about life, writing, and neighborhood fences. Everyone should have an old nemesis. Not a villain-villain. Not someone plotting your dramatic downfall while stroking a suspiciously fluffy cat. No, no. I mean the classic, everyday, slightly ridiculous kind of nemesis. The sort who appears in your life just often enough to raise an eyebrow, spark a rivalry, and add a little spice to the otherwise sensible soup of daily living. For instance, I have one. Blueberry has one. And, if we’re being completely honest, the neighbors may or may not have one in each other. If you’ve ever witnessed two neighbors snarking through a backyard fence, you will understand exactly what I mean. There’s a tone. A rhythm. A sort of polite-but-not-really politeness. “Oh, you’re mowing again.” “Well, SOME of us like tidy lawns.” Cue the slightly-too-loud gate closing. And the funny thing is… if that dynamic suddenly disappeared, the entire street would fee...

There are many questions authors get asked when someone discovers what we do for a living. Some are wonderful. Some are curious. Some are slightly alarming. And then there is the one question that makes every author pause, smile politely, and begin frantically rearranging the truth in their head. “What’s your writing process like?” Now, on the surface, this seems like a very reasonable question. Logical even. Professional. It suggests notebooks filled with careful outlines, color-coded cue cards, neat timelines pinned to corkboards, and perhaps a thoughtful cup of tea steaming beside a laptop while the author nods wisely at their own genius. If you ask me this question in public, that is exactly the answer you will get. Oh yes. There will be plotting. There will be structure. I will describe character arcs and narrative beats. There will be references to linear timelines and carefully planned story progression. I may even mention cue cards, because cue cards sound impressive ...

There are many things I love in this life. Cozy mysteries. Plot twists. The smell of coffee in a quiet morning. The dramatic flutter of Papillon ears in the wind. What I do not love? Wasting time. Now here’s the funny part. I write cozy mysteries. My series, the Magical Papillon Mysteries, features a single mom with supernatural abilities, a telepathic Papillon dog, and enough small-town secrets to keep everyone whispering behind lace curtains. On paper, it sounds quaint. Peaceful. Slow-paced. In reality? Being an author is like juggling flaming swords while someone keeps adding chainsaws. I am a writer. I am also a dog servant. A social media manager. A web designer. An accountant. A marketer. A scheduler. A newsletter fairy. An amateur tech support hotline. Somewhere in there, I’m supposed to eat and sleep. There are at least eleven thousand tasks I never knew existed before I decided to publish a book. No one tells you that “author” secretly means “CEO o...

Did you know I record my own audiobooks? I know. It sounds very glamorous, doesn’t it? You might imagine a sleek studio, a glowing microphone, a sound engineer nodding approvingly while I read my words with theatrical perfection. Now allow me to gently replace that image with reality. Reality looks a lot like a cozy mystery author sitting in a carefully engineered blanket fort made of pillows, quilts, and pure determination, whispering dramatically into a microphone while praying the dog does not bark and the refrigerator does not suddenly decide to hum like a jet engine. Is it easy? No. Not even slightly. Recording an audiobook means discovering that your own tongue apparently has a personal vendetta against certain words. Words you wrote. Words you edited. Words you confidently believed were perfectly pronounceable until you had to say them out loud seventeen times. Then there are the unexpected discoveries. For example, you will learn exactly how many sounds exis...