Thinkingdog Publishing

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...

I know what the experts say. “Writers write.” “Butt in chair, fingers on keys.” “Power through the block!” Sure. Okay. I hear you. But after approximately six hours in the same chair, surviving on coffee, creative fumes, and the misguided hope that the next scene will magically write itself, I start to feel like Gollum from Lord of the Rings . Only less shiny. That’s when Blueberry enters the picture. Blueberry is my Papillon dog, my muse, and arguably the real boss of this household. She has the self-confidence of a rockstar on a reunion tour. When Blueberry decides it's time for agility practice, she does not negotiate. There are no polite suggestions. There is barking. There is trotting in place. There is staring . And there is absolutely no chance I’m going to get away with, “Five more minutes, sweetie.” I’ve learned that when Blueberry wants to move, I’d better move with her. So we go outside. We run, we leap, we weave through poles, sprint through tunnels, and some...

I’ll admit it right here in front of the internet and anyone snooping on my Wi-Fi connection: I am obsessed with small towns. Not in a mildly fond way, like I’m a fan of flannel or I occasionally fantasize about running a pie shop. No, no. I mean full-on, planning-my-escape-to-a-town-with-one-stoplight obsessed. You know the type of town where the mayor is also the mechanic and possibly the yoga instructor. The kind of place where people don’t use Google Maps to find your house—they just describe it as “the white cottage with the hydrangeas where the ghost dog lives.” Yes. That kind of small town. It’s not a coincidence that I chose to set my Magical Papillon Mysteries in just such a place: the delightfully peculiar village of Rosewood Hollow. A place that practically smells like cinnamon rolls, candle wax, and secrets. Because here’s the truth— we are all secretly (or not-so-secretly) drawn to the warm hug that is small-town life. Even if we’ve never lived in one. Even if ...

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

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 ...

This winter really kicked my rear end . I don’t know if it was actually colder, longer, and snowier than usual or if it just felt that way, but either way, I felt drained. A kind of low-grade listlessness settled over me, the kind that makes it hard to muster enthusiasm for much of anything. My creativity? It all but hibernated. I’ve always been a summer person. I thrive when the sun is shining, when I can get outside and move, when nature feels alive and bursting with possibility. There’s something about stepping into warm air that sparks energy in me, making ideas flow as easily as the breeze through the trees. But winter? Winter is different. The days are short, the nights are long, and the cold seeps into everything. Even with the glow of holiday lights or the beauty of fresh snow, I find myself counting down to spring. I try to embrace the season—hot tea, cozy blankets, the occasional twinkling snowfall—but the truth is, I have to actively fight my way through these three months...

As the calendar turns to a new year, it's a natural time for reflection and renewal. The slate is clean, the opportunities are fresh, and there’s a collective energy that encourages us to dream big, try new things, and set goals that push us toward our best selves. If you're like many people, you might have a resolution or two in mind—whether it's to exercise more, eat healthier, or learn a new skill. But if you're a creative soul, there's another resolution that deserves your attention: setting intentional creativity goals for the new year. Creativity isn’t just reserved for artists or musicians; it's an essential part of every profession and every life. Whether you're a writer, an entrepreneur, a teacher, or simply someone who enjoys expressing themselves in new ways, creativity can unlock new opportunities and lead to personal growth. So, why not make this the year that you intentionally nurture your creative side? Let’s dive into how you can set creativ...