Thinkingdog Publishing

There I was, innocently scrolling through the internet, looking for absolutely nothing in particular (as one does), when an ad stopped me cold. It wasn’t for a life-changing gadget, nor was it for a questionable "miracle" supplement. No, this was worse. It was an ad for a shampoo subscription. That’s right. Some marketing genius out there thinks I should subscribe to shampoo. Now, I don’t know who needs to hear this, but shampoo is not Netflix. Shampoo is not a magazine. Shampoo is not a service. It is soap for my head. You buy it. You use it. You buy more when you need it. The End. But no. Apparently, that’s not good enough for the corporate overlords. Now, they want us to subscribe to everything. Laundry detergent. Kitty litter. Coffee. Socks. I mean, sure, the socks I understand—those things disappear into the void faster than my motivation to exercise—but shampoo ? The Problem with Subscription Everything Let’s talk about how these so-called "convenience...

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...

 You know those wholesome motivational quotes like, “Be the reason someone smiles today” ? Yeah, well, I aimed for that. I really did. But sometimes life hands you a glitter grenade, and suddenly you're the reason someone’s clutching their emotional support coffee (or cabernet) like a life raft. ☕ It Started with Good Intentions... One day, I woke up and said, “Today’s the day I’m going to spread joy like confetti!” Except, I was out of actual confetti, so I improvised with passive-aggressive Post-it notes and a smile that made people wonder if I was okay. (I wasn’t. But I had snacks, so I was hanging in there.) At the coffee shop, I complimented a stranger’s socks. They looked at me like I had just asked them to join a cult. I smiled. They left quickly. So… not quite a smile, but I was the reason they power-walked back to their car with fresh adrenaline. 🍷 You Win Some, You Wine Some Later that afternoon, I tried again. I told a friend they looked radiant. They asked if I wa...

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

  The question comes up all the time. It’s inevitable. Like taxes. Or discovering that you’ve been walking around with spinach in your teeth all day. "Who’s your favorite character?" And I should have a definitive answer, right? Like, boom—here’s my favorite! Neatly tied up, no hesitation, no emotional turmoil, no staring off into the middle distance questioning my life choices. But no. That is not how this works. That is not how any of this works. My knee-jerk reaction is always Pixie . Pixie, my telepathic, sass-infused, magical Papillon from the Magical Papillon Mysteries . How could I not pick her? She’s got it all—wit, charm, fluffy ears, and, most importantly, magic. I mean, who wouldn’t want a touch of magic? I can barely find my car keys half the time. Pixie would just twitch an ear, and boom—problem solved. And she’s funny. Not just “accidentally amusing” funny. No, she’s deliberately funny. She says the things we all wish we could say, with perfect comed...