Thinkingdog Publishing

Why I Escape to a Cabin With No Wifi (And Maybe You Should Too) So… why do I disappear into the wilds of the canadian North with no Wi-Fi, questionable plumbing, and a fridge that sounds like it’s crying at night? Because it’s the only place I actually relax. Yes, I know, you can technically relax anywhere. A spa, a beach, your own backyard hammock with a pink drink and a book about Scandinavian murders. But here’s the catch: I don’t. When I have ten minutes of peace in my regular life, my brain goes, “Oooh, time to spiral!” Suddenly I’m obsessing over Chapter 4 and why it still reads like it was written by a caffeinated octopus. Or I remember that the audio edits on my last audiobook were a smidge less than perfect, and maybe I should recheck that pause at the 47-minute mark. And by the way, did I ever respond to that email about the email about the podcast interview? I don’t relax. I rev . Blame it on my upbringing. I grew up in a German household, and let me tell you, asking...

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...