Thinkingdog Publishing

The ATM Ate My Morning (And Other Tales from the 5:30 Club) So, let’s talk about my mornings. I know I get up way too early. Like, the birds are still stretching kind of early. Honestly, if you're imagining some serene, yoga-mat-and-matcha situation, please erase that. This isn’t enlightenment, my friend—it’s insomnia. Unfiltered, unmedicated, and definitely uncaffeinated. But hey, there’s a silver lining to staring at the ceiling at 4:55 AM: by 5:30, I'm up, dressed (questionably), and getting stuff done like I’m starring in an infomercial titled "Organize Your Life Before the Sun Rises!" I’ve alphabetized tea, refolded laundry that was already folded, and—most importantly—gone for early walks with my faithful assistant, Blueberry the Papillon. She’s the real CEO around here. I just carry the leash. So this morning, full of smug efficiency, I decided to combine my morning walk with a quick bank run. Two birds, one stone. (Or in Blueberry's case, one squirr...

Ah, the Canada day - Fourth of July weekend. Fireworks! Freedom! A glorious expanse of uninterrupted time stretching out like a freshly opened notebook, just begging to be filled with literary brilliance. This, dear reader, is what I tell myself every single year. "This is it!" I proclaim. "The long weekend where I finally finish that chapter, outline the next book, update my website, reorganize my plotting board, and maybe— maybe —even alphabetize my coffee and chocolate drawer. (Creative minds thrive on chocolate, okay?)" I even tell my friends. With utter conviction. "Oh, I'm writing all weekend. No distractions. Just me, my laptop, and the sweet click-clack of productivity." But then… Well, then real life crashes the party with potato salad and a sun hat. Let me set the scene. It's the first truly beautiful weekend we've had in forever . After an apocalyptic winter that left me questioning if I should start writing Narnia fanfic and...