Thank you for hosting me on your Blog today, Jean. I’m thrilled to be here. 

First thing every morning, when I’m feeling the most creative, I sit in front of my computer, a steaming cup of tea on the desk, my dog sleeping at my side, and I write. I wrote and published six books following this routine. 

The world-wide pandemic changed all that. The uncertainty in the world stifled my creativity, and it was a struggle to write…anything. I stared at the blinking cursor on the blank computer screen. This went on for months. But humans are adaptable, and eventually, I stopped listening to the news and focused on getting outside and appreciating the beauty around me. Walking on the trails through the forest behind my house helped ease my anxiety about the world situation. I focused on the music of birds, and the sweet scents of wildflowers blooming in the sunshine, and I reveled in the joy on my dog’s face as she chased grouse and squirrels. 

Soon, I was back at my desk, and the ideas, if not flowing, started to percolate. I got lost in my characters’ lives and their struggles, and the next thing I knew, I’d completed the manuscript for Twisted Lies. Writing is challenging and comes with many highs and lows, but if you sit your butt in front of your computer and work at the craft every day, the rewards are well worth the effort. 

Excerpt:

How was it possible? After all these years? The past she’d been running from had found her. The nightmare was back. The envelope fell from her shaking hands. Her legs wobbled as she rose and stumbled out of the living room and down the short hall to the kitchen.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window above the sink. The cozy kitchen, with its walls painted a cheerful butter yellow, and the well-scrubbed laminate countertops, gleamed. The steady hum of the refrigerator and ticking of the antique clock on the wall were the only sounds in the silent house. The pungent smell of fried onions and roasted garlic from last night’s homemade spaghetti sauce hung in the air.

The efficient kitchen, with its breakfast nook and view of the tidy, fenced backyard and the rolling, grassy foothills and snow-crested Rocky Mountains beyond, was the reason she’d bought the small rancher. This was her favorite room—the place she sought refuge when life overwhelmed her. How many times had she sat there in the evenings after work, sipping a glass of chilled white wine, watching the birds at the feeder on the back porch, breathing in the sweet smells of flowering Saskatoon bushes, regrouping until she was ready to face the world?

These days, her drink of choice was a cup of herbal tea or unsweetened apple juice. Alcohol was off the table…had been for twenty-one unendurable days.

But today, all bets were off.

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