Thinkingdog Publishing

You know what’s harder than plotting a cozy mystery where the Papillon always sniffs out the clues before the humans do? Harder than writing a romantic subplot that doesn’t sound like it belongs in a greeting card from 1992? Harder than naming five suspects who all have plausible motives, mysterious pasts, and an odd relationship with baked goods? Facebook ads. Yes. Facebook ads. I’m not kidding – at all. I have just survived the most excruciating, ridiculous, time-warping four hours of my life trying to program in a few simple ads for my books. I went in optimistic. Hopeful, even. Maybe a little smug. I thought, how hard could it be? (Spoiler alert: that was my first mistake.) First, Facebook (Meta? ZuckLand? Whatever they’re calling it now) required me to set up not one, but approximately 437 separate accounts, business pages, ad managers, pixel integrations, and possibly a small sacrificial offering to the algorithm gods. I clicked through pages. I filled in boxes. I uploade...

Let’s talk about the writing process. Ah yes, the process. That majestic, mythical, Instagrammable creature every indie author is apparently supposed to post about. You’ve seen the posts, right? The ones with a steaming mug of tea, a perfectly posed cat, a candle flickering beside a stack of color-coded index cards, and captions like: “Today I let my protagonist tell me where the story wanted to go…” Meanwhile, over here in the chaotic land of reality, my protagonist just refused to cooperate, the dog barked at a ghost (probably), and my coffee’s been microwaved three times. And I’ll be honest with you: if I waited around for my story to tell me where to go, I’d still be staring at Chapter One wondering why my main character is named Blergle. Here’s my writing process: Step One: Put butt in chair. Step Two: Put fingers on keyboard. Step Three: Make stuff up. That’s it. That’s the whole enchilada. No scented candles. No lunar rituals. No twenty-part TikTok series about ho...

If you ever see a kid in the corner at a party with their nose in a book, oblivious to the games, snacks, and mild chaos around them—yep, that was me . Always reading. Always scribbling something. Sports? Please. I was too short to make any team that didn’t require a step stool. Science? It was fun until they asked me to memorize the periodic table—pass. But reading? Writing? Oh, baby, that was my jam. I tried my hand at writing my first mystery novel at age 14. My protagonists were (shockingly) teenage kids who solved crimes. There were flashlights, a lot of sneaking around old buildings, and absolutely no understanding of how actual criminal investigations work. But hey—what I lacked in forensic accuracy, I made up for in enthusiasm and lots of dialogue tagged with “he said dramatically.” Then came the romance years. You know the ones. All fluttery hearts, brooding strangers, and small towns with improbably high numbers of single billionaires. I loved it. I still do. There’s noth...

Well, folks, let’s talk about something we all love to pretend we’re not – imperfection .  If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this wild ride of being an author, it’s that I am definitely not perfect . And you know what? That’s perfectly fine! (And if anyone tells you they’re perfect, just remind them that we’re all human—unless they’re a robot, in which case, we need to talk about your AI skills.) You see, every time I look back at my earlier works, I cringe just a little. Okay, maybe a lot . Plotholes that I patched over with the kind of flimsy excuses I’d never accept from my kids on homework. There are commas that should be in the witness protection program, hiding far away from the sentence they’re supposed to be part of. And some of the phrases? Oh boy. If I could go back in time, I’d sit myself down and say, “Honey, that line? It’s not even funny, it’s just… confusing.” But here’s the thing – I wrote this . It’s my work, my journey, my creation. And that’s something t...

Let me say it up front—I've never been able to keep my mouth shut. Like, ever. I popped out of the womb ready to give a TED Talk. Ask my mother. She’ll tell you. With tears in her eyes and a twitch in her left eyebrow. All through childhood, I was the kid asking “why?” one too many times. Or, okay— every time. If a grown-up said something ridiculous, you better believe I had a follow-up question, a counterpoint, and probably a joke that would get me grounded. Again. And you’d think with age comes wisdom. Nah. With age comes better timing… maybe. But my mouth still gets me into situations where I’m halfway through a sarcastic remark before my brain taps in like, “Really? You’re doing this? Right now? In front of the priest?” Now, for those who don’t know, I was born in Germany. And let me tell you something about Germans—we do not do subtle. We do not do fluffy. We do not dance around a subject with polite small talk and whispered hints. We march straight into it, stare it dow...

Let’s set the scene: It’s a bright Tuesday morning. I’m sipping my coffee, scrolling through social media like any responsible adult procrastinating on chapter edits. And there it is. Not one, not two, but fifteen comments dragging someone’s handmade soap like it personally committed a felony. “I’d never use this on my worst enemy. ” “Looks like slugs.” “Bet it smells like despair.” I mean… wow. That escalated faster than my heart rate when I remember I left the laundry in the washer three days ago. And this isn’t about soap, or art, or books, or fashion, or whatever passion someone was brave enough to share with the world. This is about the sudden popularity of… let’s call it the Snark Olympics . And friend, everyone seems to think they’re going for gold. When did meanness become the default? When did “this isn’t for me” turn into “this person must be publicly humiliated and possibly banished to the nether realms”? Now, I’m not saying we all need to sprinkle glitter ...

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear readers! Today, I want to take a moment to celebrate love, connection, and the magic of storytelling that brings us together. Whether you’re spending the day with someone special, enjoying some "me-time" with a cup of tea and a cozy mystery, or just sneaking a few extra treats to your furry friends (Pixie certainly would!), I hope your day is filled with warmth and joy. Writing the Magical Papillon Mysteries series has been such a labor of love, and knowing that Sarah, Pixie, and the enchanting world of Rosewood Hollow have found a place in your hearts means the world to me. From uncovering hidden treasures in Whispers in the Attic to solving daring heists in Sapphires & Secrets and unraveling holiday murders in A Pinch of Peril , these stories are a reminder that love and mystery often go hand in hand. This Valentine’s Day, let’s celebrate the bonds we share—not just romantic love, but also the friendships, family ties, and communities that...