Thinkingdog Publishing

I live in a beautiful place. Like breathtaking sunrise over the lake while birds sing your personal soundtrack kind of beautiful. And no, I am not writing this from the balcony of my lakeside mansion while sipping artisanal espresso made by a butler named Giles. I live here because I moved in when this part of town was considered “the wrong side of the tracks.” Back then, the only things appreciating the view were me, a couple of squirrels, and a retired guy named Bob who walked shirtless year-round (we never spoke of winter). But I got lucky. I settled in, built a life, and now I get to walk to a little sliver of land—what I call my nature recharge zone. It’s got a trail (sort of), trees that lean in like gossiping grandmothers, hedges bursting with birds, and a beach the size of a postage stamp. In short, it's perfect. WAS perfect. Enter: The Town. Cue the menacing music. The town, in its infinite and completely questionable wisdom, has decided to “beautify” this space. Th...

Dear Human Readers, Hi. It’s me. Pixie. The fluffy superstar of the Magical Papillon Mysteries —and the uncredited, unpaid, and completely underappreciated behind-the-scenes talent of this entire household. So apparently, this week’s blog post is “About the Author.” But really, who knows her better than me ? I see all. I hear all. I nap through most of it. So buckle up, because I'm about to tell you what it’s really like living with a writer who moonlights as an audiobook narrator—and spoiler alert: it involves a lot of dramatic whisper-talking and an unreasonable amount of “SHHHH-ing.” Let’s talk about the Little Room. No, not the bathroom. The other little room. The one filled with foam panels and wires and that giant puffy microphone that looks like it should be chasing Indiana Jones through a cave. This, apparently, is where “the magic happens.” I call it the Box of Solitude and Unjust Barking Bans. Every day, Mom walks in there with her mug of tea (that I’m not ...