Thinkingdog Publishing

There is a weird silence at book fairs before the doors open. If you've ever done a signing, a craft show, a library event, or one of those enormous convention halls that smell weird, you know the one I mean. It's the sound of folding tables being adjusted for the fifth time, bookmarks being straightened into perfect little fans, and someone two tables over whispering, "Do you think this tablecloth looks okay?" And underneath all of it, every single author in the room is having the same thought. What if nobody stops at my booth? Not just the new ones. Not just the shy ones. All of us. The cozy mystery author with her paperbacks arranged beside a ceramic teacup, the fantasy writer with dragons on his banner, the artist behind the watercolour postcards trying not to stare directly down the aisle like a hungry raccoon waiting for snacks. We're all worrying about the same thing, and almost nobody admits it out loud. Oh, there's always someone performing bravery li...

There are few sounds in the life of an author more emotionally loaded than the groan of an old printer waking from hibernation. Not the cheerful hum of a modern office machine, mind you. I mean the old one. The dusty beast squatting in the corner like a retired dragon guarding ancient toner cartridges and unresolved grudges from 2017. The printer you haven’t touched in so long that when you finally press the power button, it sounds personally offended. As a cozy mystery author, I spend most of my days happily tucked inside the digital world. My manuscripts float safely in cloud storage. My notes live in apps with color-coded tabs. My editor leaves comments in neat little bubbles instead of scribbling in red pen like an irritated schoolmaster from a Victorian boarding academy. And yet. Every now and then, despite all our noble intentions to save paper and become streamlined digital creatures of the future, an author needs a hard copy. Maybe it’s edits. Maybe it’s proofreading. Maybe you...

🐾 5 Cozy Mystery Series Pixie Would Consider Starring In (as told by Pixie the Magical Papillon, international jewel thief of hearts and occasional solver of crimes) Listen carefully, dear reader. I do not audition . I grace productions with my presence . However… after reviewing the literary landscape (while reclining on a velvet cushion, naturally), I have selected a few series that might be worthy of… me. 1. The “Large Dog Energy, Questionable Elegance” Option Baker Street Mysteries A 250-pound mastiff named Baby? Adorable. Excessive. Slightly drooly. I would, of course, bring refinement. Imagine it: I enter the bakery, solve the murder, and leave without a single crumb on my fur. A revolution. 2. The “Finally, Someone Who Listens to Dogs” Situation Dog Walker Mysteries A human who can hear dogs’ thoughts? At last. Someone who will document my brilliance accurately . I have been saying for years that I am the true detective. The humans simply hold the snacks. 3. T...

I am tired. Not the “oh I stayed up a little too late reading” kind of tired. Not even the “my dog insisted 5:47 AM was a perfectly reasonable time to begin the day” kind of tired. No. I am the kind of tired that comes from falling down a social media rabbit hole so deep, I’m fairly certain I passed at least three alternate dimensions and a dancing algorithm named Chad. Somewhere along the way, I watched approximately ten thousand videos—give or take a dramatic exaggeration—on how to “optimize your content,” “hack the algorithm,” and “go viral overnight.” Yech. Every single one promised a formula. A trick. A secret. A step-by-step plan to become wildly successful if I would just… be slightly shinier, slightly louder, slightly more something . And do you know what I realized? None of them were me. Not one. I am not a 30-year-old with flawless contouring, botox and a ring light that could guide ships safely to shore. I do not have a “hot take” about anything except ...

7 Totally Accurate Truths About Being a Cozy Mystery Author (With a Diva Papillon) If you think writing cozy mysteries involves sipping tea and quietly plotting in a sunlit nook… I regret to inform you that you’ve been misled. Especially if you share your workspace with a Papillon who believes she is both royalty and your direct supervisor. Here’s what author life really looks like:   1. You are not the main character. You may think you’re writing the book. But the Papillon has already decided she’s the star, the plot twist, and the emotional arc. You’re just… transcription services.   2. Your writing schedule is snack-based. Forget word counts. Your productivity is measured in: Treats dispensed Belly rub breaks Number of times you got up “just for a second”   3. Every scene requires approval. Romantic subplot? Ignored. Murder reveal? Mild interest. Crinkling treat bag? IMMEDIATE FULL ATTENTION. You learn quickly what truly matters.   4. “Quie...

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...

       There’s a quiet kind of magic in doing things that serve absolutely no useful purpose — other than making your heart ridiculously happy. As cozy mystery readers, we already understand this better than most. We willingly step into fictional towns where everyone knows your name, the tea is always hot, the cats are unusually intelligent, and the biggest problem of the day is usually solved by page 312. And honestly? That’s not frivolous. That’s survival. Reading one more chapter when you should be doing something else. Lighting a candle before you open a book. Rereading a favorite mystery because you already know it will make you feel safe, comforted, and quietly delighted. None of these things are “productive” in the traditional sense. But they are restorative. They remind us who we are when the world feels too loud. Joy doesn’t need to justify itself. It doesn’t need a moral lesson or a measurable outcome. Sometimes joy exists simply because it ...

Some days, I have no idea what to write . I sit there, staring at the cursor like it’s personally offended me. That blinking little line just dares me to type something worthwhile, but instead, I find myself thinking, “Well, this is awkward.” I think that’s part of the definition of being a writer. If you’ve never argued with your own cursor, are you even in the club? Lately, I’ve found a trick. I open a fresh document and type something silly, along the lines of, “Well here we go again—I have no idea how to finish this scene. Could be this happens, could be that happens…” And then—like magic—I’m writing again. Ideas come when you open a door for them. You just have to unlock it, fling it wide, and let them stroll in, preferably carrying snacks. Way too many years ago (and we’re not counting, thank you very much), I was forced to write every second I could. On the train, scribbling into a notebook balanced on my knee. On scraps of paper when the boss wasn’t looking. On receipts, n...

So - here we are....  It’s a peaceful afternoon. Birds are chirping. The dog is asleep. A mug of coffee cools beside my keyboard. I’m sitting at my desk, deeply focused on crafting the next scene in my cozy mystery novel. My characters are in the middle of a heated debate—someone has been murdered, after all—and things are getting dramatic. Suddenly, my husband peeks into the room and says, “Sorry, did you say something?” Oh no, dear. I wasn’t talking to you . I was talking to myself. Loudly. With feeling. And perhaps a bit of a British accent. This, my friends, is where the writerly madness truly shines. Now before anyone calls for a wellness check, allow me to explain. I’m not losing my marbles (though I admit they do rattle suspiciously from time to time). I’m just... rehearsing. Because when you write cozy mysteries filled with grumpy detectives, nosy neighbors, flustered suspects, and talking Papillon dogs (yes, Pixie has opinions and she’s not afraid to share them), y...