Thinkingdog Publishing

Has this happened to you? You're sitting there working, on a fun cozy mystery. Magic, a mystery, there's a ghost floating by, Pixie says something sassy.... And then it happens. Something went wrong. That's it. That's the whole message my computer gave me. Three words, delivered with all the urgency and helpfulness of a shrug emoji. Something went wrong. I stared at it. It stared back. Neither of us blinked for what felt like a considerable amount of time. Now, I think i am a reasonable person, right? And - I write magical cozy mysteries, which means I spend a significant portion of my working day inventing elaborate, detailed explanations for impossible events. Pixie, my enchanted Papillon, has explained the mechanics of ghost communication to me in more coherent terms than my own computer managed just now. My fictional dog — who does not exist — is better at communication than enterprise-grade software. I need a moment with that. But back to the scene of t...

You know these people. Everybody knows these people. The ones who do one thing so well that watching them feels a little bit like witnessing magic. You see them in sports all the time — the athlete who makes the impossible look like a Tuesday. But I don't have to turn on the television to find them. I have them right in my own family. Take my relative, the mechanic. I could bring this man an engine held together by rust, hope, and one very tired bolt, and say, “Something doesn't work.” That's it. That's all the information I give him. No diagnosis, no helpful details, just something doesn't work — which, as descriptions go, is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. And he fixes it. Not only does he fix it — the engine comes back better than before. It purrs. It practically sends thank-you notes. I'm fairly certain that if I brought him a toaster and said “something doesn't work,” it would come back capable of flight. Then there's my s...

Here’s something that’s either going to make you say “duh” or “are you kidding me?”  Over the course of writing seven books in my Magical Papillon Mysteries series (yes, seven… I know you only have six in your hands right now, but the others are coming, pinky promise), I have learned so much it’s almost embarrassing. Not in a tragic way. In a “how did I not know this before?” way. When I wrote the first Magical Papillon book, I thought I understood pacing. I thought I understood tension. I thought I understood when to let a ghost float dramatically through a wall and when to let a single mother drink her coffee in peace. Turns out, I did not. Enter Rosewood Hollow. That charming, magical, slightly nosy town that now feels as real to me as my own kitchen. Somewhere between book one and book seven, I learned that magic has rules. Ghosts have boundaries. Secrets need air. Action needs silence. And pauses? Pauses are powerful. Sometimes the most important moment in a story is the breat...

So - here's a story that will make you shake your head, and possibly grin into your coffee..... There was once a young(ish) writer—me—who had a dream. A dream of becoming a full-time author. And back in those days, when I was working a “normal” job with real pants and scheduled lunch breaks, I wrote like my life depended on it. I was a writing ninja. A stealth scribe. A literary outlaw with a contraband notebook shoved between HR memos and leftover Post-Its. I mean, I was ON FIRE. Every time I had five minutes to spare—waiting in the breakroom for the microwave, parked outside the vet’s office, pretending to be in a “conference call”—out came the notebook. Words were flying. Characters were developing. Mysteries were unraveling. People thought I was quietly journaling. Nope. I was busy plotting a suspicious death behind the bakery while eating a stale granola bar. Fast forward to today, where writing is my full-time job. And… well. Now I start my day with social media,...

There was a time—not so long ago, but also somehow a lifetime ago—when the internet felt like opening a mysterious little door. You didn’t know what you were going to find. You clicked anyway. And then you just… stayed. Reading. Exploring. Falling down delightful rabbit holes that had absolutely nothing to do with what you originally came for. No pop-ups screaming at you. No perfectly curated lives making you question your existence. Just curiosity and a sense that something interesting was always waiting around the next click. It was fun. And now? Well. Now it’s… a lot. It’s ads stacked on ads stacked on “just one more ad before you get to the thing you actually wanted.” It’s perfectly lit videos with people who somehow look like they woke up flawless and live in homes that have never met a stray sock or a muddy paw. And here I am… In a 100-year-old house that creaks like it has opinions. The lighting? Let’s call it “moody” on a good day and “did a ghost just dim t...

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...

Truth time? I have a full-blown, popcorn-in-hand, rabbit-hole-diving addiction to watching videos about how to “do well on social media.” Not casually watching - Studying. Observing. Nodding thoughtfully as someone with perfect lighting and cheekbones blessed by the algorithm tells me that if I don’t post three reels a day, engage for forty-seven minutes before and after, use trending audio from a seventeen-second clip of a remix originally posted in 2024, and position my coffee mug at a 32-degree angle… I will vanish into the void. It is both fascinating and mildly terrifying, and I am not going to do any of it. You want to know how I know? Y’all are taking it so serious. Meanwhile, I am over here half-assing my social media presence because I know I have to. I know I should. I know visibility matters. I know marketing is important. I know the algorithm is a mysterious creature that must occasionally be fed. And yet. I don’t particularly want to be o...

There are two kinds of people awake at three in the morning. The first group is peacefully asleep, dreaming about beaches, vacations, and fluffy clouds. The second group is writers. Specifically… writers whose brains decide that 3:07 a.m. is the perfect time to launch a full creative production meeting . I wish I were exaggerating. Picture this: the house is quiet. The world is asleep. Even the moon seems to be minding its own business. I’m lying in bed trying very hard to drift off into dreamland. Instead, my brain leans over the metaphorical desk, slams a stack of imaginary papers down, and says: “Okay team, hear me out. What if… magical kingdoms… ancient prophecy… morally complicated hero… and it’s a trilogy.” Excuse me? A trilogy? It is three in the morning. I cannot remember where I put my glasses yesterday, but apparently I am now outlining an entire fantasy saga . And not just a vague idea either. Oh no. My brain goes all in. There’s world-building. Ther...

There’s this idea floating around that writers have “perfect writing days.” You know the ones. The charming cottage. The soft morning light. The gentle breeze fluttering linen curtains. The coffee brewed to aromatic perfection. The laptop humming obediently. The muse hovering nearby like a polite Victorian ghost, waiting to dictate brilliance. Somewhere in the background, I imagine a string quartet. I keep waiting for that day. It has not arrived. Instead, what usually shows up is this: I sit down to write and my laptop decides it is the perfect time to update seventeen things simultaneously. None of which I asked for. None of which seem to help my life in any measurable way. I glare at it. It whirs louder. We both know who’s going to win. Sometimes, in a moment of dramatic defiance, I grab another laptop. This one, of course, has absolutely no research on it. None of my notes. None of the carefully collected details about motives, timelines, magical Papillons, suspicio...

Let me tell you a little secret from behind the scenes of my very professional author platform: I put actual effort into my social media. Like, the full package. I plan it out. I write the captions. I pick the music. I schedule it so it doesn’t look like I’m flying by the seat of my sweatpants. I even think about lighting and fonts and which filter screams “whimsical but with integrity.” And yet. The most successful posts? The ones that get the likes, the shares, the "OMG I love her" comments? Are the ones where Blueberry shows up. That’s it. She just shows up. No effort. No notes. No mood board. She doesn’t brainstorm content pillars. She doesn't try to grow an audience or tailor her brand voice. She doesn’t even know what her niche is. (Unless it's squirrel-chasing and chicken snacks.) She just exists — gloriously. Fluffily. Sassily. And people adore her. I’ll admit, it’s humbling. I mean, I’ve got a degree. I’ve got story arcs and character spread...