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...

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 ...

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 ...

If you're the kind of person who breaks into hives at the mention of AI, I have one gentle suggestion for you: maybe go pour yourself a cup of tea and skip this post. No hard feelings—I’ll see you next week when I’m talking about Papillon dogs or haunted attics or something wholesome like that. BUT… if you’re curious about what happens when an indie author who usually handcrafts her audiobooks like they’re artisanal sourdough decides to flirt with artificial intelligence… well, pull up a chair. It all started when KDP (that’s Kindle Direct Publishing for the uninitiated—Amazon’s indie author arm) invited me into a beta program to test their brand-new virtual audiobook creation tool. You read that right: AI voices reading your book aloud . It’s like giving your manuscript to a robot and asking it to sound dramatic, heartbroken, or mildly sarcastic. Now let me preface this by saying—I DO record my own audiobooks. I have a cozy little studio set up, microphones that cost more th...

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...

  I once read that inspiration strikes like lightning. That’s a lie. At least for me. Inspiration sneaks up on me like a cat deciding whether to knock over a glass of water. It circles, it considers, it waits until I’m in the shower with no access to a notebook and then it pounces. So where does my inspiration come from? Well, buckle up, because it’s a weird and wonderful mix. First, there’s nature. And not just in a “how poetic, the whispering pines” kind of way. No, I mean nature nature . The kind where I go on my daily walks and see a squirrel making direct eye contact with me while committing crimes against a bird feeder. Or when a branch creaks ominously in the wind, and I’m instantly imagining a Victorian ghost lady pointing toward a hidden clue. Or that one time I saw a crow drop an acorn directly on a jogger’s head, and I started wondering if animals hold grudges. And speaking of animals, let’s talk about the real queen of my inspiration: my Papillon dog. My tiny, f...

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...

  JOYCE AI Launches Today: When Fiction Mirrors Tomorrow's Reality Today marks a moment I've been anticipating for months – "Joyce AI" is finally available to readers worldwide. As I watch this story take its first steps into the world,and it's been quite a journey that brought us here. The Story Behind the Story I never intended to write a cautionary tale about artificial intelligence. What began as a exploration of friendship and ambition in the tech world evolved into something far more urgent. Every headline about data breaches, every notification asking for access to our personal information, every conversation about AI's growing influence in our lives – they all found their way into the story of Ethan and Brad, two childhood friends whose dream of making the world better through technology becomes a nightmare. Why This Story Matters Now We're living in an age where our devices know our shopping habits, sleep patterns, and daily routines b...