The monster under the bed

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There are many stages of writing a book. The initial excitement of coming up with the concept is energizing, almost euphoric. Getting lost in the fugues of writing the guts of the story is heavenly. Getting through the final edits and formatting the story is a mild form of torture. But having to summarize your 90,000-word story into a 200-word blurb is excruciating.

I have written about this dilemma before, and I received a comment that I will carry with me as I journey further into my writing career. The creator of the comment told me it should be easy, and summarized the movie Home Alone by saying, “A child is left alone at Christmas to defend his home against burglars”.

While I agree with that summation of a movie I watch every Christmas, it is difficult to separate myself from the tedious hours I spent creating each character, and each scenario, in my book. The stories I write, and the personalities I create, become a part of me. To dissect every nuance of every storyline and squeeze it into 200 words is almost impossible. I am involved with these characters, invested in their lives, and to have to curtail the fabric of their very being by choosing a limited number of words to describe their story feels like a disservice to them.

The initial idea, the guts of the story, the character development, and the relationships I create in my stories are the fluffy pillows, the feathery duvet, and the soft comfortable mattress. The blurb, the 200 words I must extract from the 90,000 words in my story, is the monster hiding under the bed.

A welcome surprise

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In the winter of 2025, I spent the cold, snowy months fiercely hammering away at the keyboard on my laptop. I had a new book in mind, and the premise of the story kept me awake at night as my mind churned with ideas. It was a story I quickly became attached to because the central focus was on the location of the three cottages on Armstrong Point in Muskoka that once belonged to generations of my family.

The further I dove into the plot, the more my childhood memories bubbled to the surface. Every sentence I wrote describing the character’s travels from cottage to cottage brought me back to my childhood days of bouncing on the springboard between our brown cottage and the green cottage that belonged to my uncle. And not far beyond that was the yellow cottage that belonged to my mom’s cousin Harry. It stayed in the family until it was sold not that long ago.

Flash forward to this winter. I was excited to read through the story I had written last winter and begin my first round of edits. I found a small room in our local library and started from the beginning. It had been a year since those characters were so firmly embedded in my brain, so the story almost felt new to me. As I began reading chapter 46, I knew the end of the story was near. When I scrolled to the next page, it was blank. The chapter had no end. The story wasn’t finished. And nowhere in the manuscript had I typed the words ‘the end’.

Suppressing both my shock and disappointment, I packed up my laptop and gathered my things. As I exited the small room, I noticed the plaque on the door. The room had been dedicated by Dr. D.G. Massey to his late wife. The shock of the book not being finished had now been replaced by the shock of seeing the name Massey on the plaque. My middle name is Massey, and the book I am working on is based on my family’s extended branches of the Massey family tree. The symbolism was not lost on me, and I returned to the library the next day to add the final chapter to the book and write ‘the end’.

The piece of land on the cover of Crossing the Lines is Armstrong Point on Lake Rosseau. Every member of my family has many wonderful memories of the time we spent together in those cottages, and many stories we could all tell about the conversations we had around each of those dining room tables. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to take a piece of my history and pay a sincere homage to such a big part of my life by including it in one of my books.

What’s in a name?

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Although this post title is tethered to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, it has much more meaning for me.

My dear friend, Pammy, passed away from cancer on March 16, 2024. She was one of my biggest champions. She was an avid Beta reader, and she would not hesitate to call me out on things that would annoy her as a reader. I will never forget her strong opinion about the scent of jasmine in my first book. She was enraged. “Why does everything have to smell like jasmine?” I immediately changed the scent to lavender.

She had the biggest heart, and she was funny to a fault. During a fundraising benefit, we were reduced to fits of giggles in a church and had to do our best to reign in our laughter. Her biggest wish was for me to create a character that was an albino. It was our running joke. Fast forward to the new book I have begun to write. Originally, the lead character was to be named Storm, but that changed as I plunged further into the story line.

In my other books, characters names came quite quickly, but with this book, I felt a slight hesitation. I had to do my research. Although Silas was the first name I came across that I liked, I had to do my due diligence and test drive some other names. After typing Silas ‘movie names’ into my search bar, this photo from The Davinci Code flooded my screen and I knew it was a sign from Pammy. Although she is not here to read this book, in a roundabout way, she finally got her wish for an albino in my book.

While my Silas will not have albinism, his namesake will be a tribute to my dear friend. I miss you, Pammy, and I hope this book doesn’t piss you off in any way. xx

Revving my engine

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Writing a new book always makes me feel like I am a race car driver at the starting line just before the gun goes off. I’m constantly double checking everything is set to go before I press the gas pedal to the floor and hold on for dear life as my story careens around corners more quickly than I imagined. But as the exhaust sputters out of the tail pipe, waiting for the split second the flag will drop and the race will begin, I know this moment, this anticipatory moment, plays a crucial role in setting the tone for the whole race. I must be ready.

Much of my readiness comes from listening to my characters, but I must also do my due diligence to research anything that may affect the plausibility of the story. I’m sure I must be on a watch list somewhere after writing six novels about serial killers and researching a myriad number of ways to commit murder. But I am compelled to keep revving my engine and prepare for the race that is imminent.

I am in the proper position. My strategy is logged in my brain, and I am mentally prepared for the experience that is about to happen. The characters are using their prowess to push my foot down on the accelerator. Plumes of exhaust are rising above the back of the car. The voices in my head are loud. The familiar track lays ahead. The flag will soon drop, and the screech of my tires will recklessly send me into a world I have yet to discover. I am ready.

The Hardest Part

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Writing a novel is challenging. Creating charming characters and loathsome scoundrels that readers will connect with on more than one level is the true test of an author.

I thought the hardest part would be writing the book. Once I learned to listen to the voices in my head, and trust that they were portraying themselves honestly, that became the easiest part. I let them guide my fingers on the keyboard. I let them pull me into writing fugues that would last for hours. I let them introduce themselves to me and mesmerize me. I let them in.

Once the first draft was finished, I thought the hardest part would be the editing. Grueling hours were spent reading my first draft and thinking it was awful, but the souls of the characters made me feel things, and that is how writing should affect readers. After I got past the initial fear of editing, changes were made to make the story better, and I introduced my characters to the world.

I have told many people, the hardest part of being an author is marketing, which is true to a certain extent, but that was a white lie to conceal what I fear is truly the hardest part.

The absolute hardest part is believing that my writing, and my stories, are good enough. When you create something from nothing, and you send it out into the world for scrutiny, your biggest fear is that it will fail. I know my writing is not for everyone, but it could be everything to someone.

I have read books by successful authors that did not resonate with me at all. Whether the characters fell short, or the story line didn’t grab me, I now know that even the most auspicious authors will not be a five-star read for everyone who opens their books.

Now, the hardest part is wondering if someday I could be someone’s favorite author.

One name lit my brain on fire

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It’s been a while since I have been in this creative space. When the lodge I work at closes for the season, my first desire is to get back into the kitchen to make weekly freezer crockpot meals for our local food bank, and, most recently, soup for our local Hospice. It is a true passion of mine.

But my other passion crept stealthily back into my consciousness after a name appeared in a Facebook post and captured my attention. I have been mentally preparing to write a new novel this winter, and, although I have begun writing the first chapter, I had no idea where this story would go. I rely on my characters to lead that charge. Once I saw this name, I knew this person was going to be an integral part of the story.

I have five white boards in my living room, all dedicated to absorbing and displaying information that will become important in the stories I write. When I scribble my ideas onto the boards, I have no idea how or when the ideas will take shape, I only know they will be a key to developing the twists in the story.

When this name wormed itself into my brain, I stood up and, in a panic, looked for my dry erase markers. I had recently cleaned my living room and moved the markers to a new spot in my house and could not remember where I put them. I became the human equivalent of a Roomba, bouncing off furniture and changing my trajectory. I became so agitated that I finally went into the kitchen and spewed my thoughts onto the white board on my fridge that usually contains my shopping list.

I freed the beast. The name is catalogued and waiting to share their story. I’m not going to mention the name in this post because that would defeat the shocking twist at the end of the story, even though I currently have no idea what that twist will be. That is for the character to tell me and guide me along as they tell their story.

My brain is on fire. I don’t see sleep in my near future. And, as always, I give my nod to the writing Gods who are constantly sending me bits of information to pique my curiosity and keep me looking for those subtle messages they send in the strangest ways.

You know you’ve met your people when….

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The calendar has finally turned the page into September. There are many reasons for me to smile after writing that line. This means the lodge has slowed down enough so we can all have two days off in a row to catch up on our rest. This means the temperature is dipping down low enough at night that sleep is enjoyed under a fuzzy blanket while the windows are still open. And this means it is soup and stew season!

I recently saw a post on Facebook written by a woman who has come to the realization that her 1971 slow cooker has finally admitted defeat and is no longer able to keep its temperature. The collective messages were those of sadness and unwavering support. We, being soup and stew people, felt the loss as much as she did.

As a helper, by nature, I immediately sent her the link to my latest slow cooker purchase that was designed to not only cook on a consistent low temperature, but had the added feature of being able to brown meat and sauté vegetables before turning the dial to cook on that same slow temperature for six to eight hours, producing the most melt-in-your-mouth meals you could hope for.

These are my people. These people who mourn the loss of a piece of kitchen equipment that has lived through generations of their families. These people who remember Aunt Jenny’s crockpot beef stew decades after Aunt Jenny has passed, but still put the same ingredients into their slow cookers to honour her memory, and enjoy the familiar taste of her stew. These people who enjoy summer to the fullest, but secretly wait for soup and stew season to start again.

Darkness and humor

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At the end of another busy summer at the lodge, I came home today and relaxed by scrolling through the many posts I have published on this blog. I have participated in many writing challenges that have allowed me to hone my writing skills by inspiring me to create a full story in a certain number of words. This particular challenge was to write a 66-word story using the word fanatic. The following paragraph was my entry.

‘After hearing the word mispronounced, with the emphasis on the wrong syllable, she had an idea of what to do with the wretched people who would not allow her solace.  Fanatic – indeed they were.  They camped out in her driveway, followed her everywhere but, one by one, they became smaller in numbers.  Her “fan-attic”, mind you, was becoming rather full.  She hoped the smell would dissipate.’

I blame my brother for introducing me to the wonderful books of Dean Koontz in my teenage years. Dean’s books are filled with dark themes, but those books are lightened by an underlying humor that makes the badness easier to embrace. This is the style of book I love to read, so this became the style of book I wanted to write.

Although I have written and self-published six books, I still love a challenge. Earlier this year, I entered the NYC Micro-Fiction Writing Challenge to create a story in 250 words with a pre-assigned theme and a key phrase. I missed the top ten entries by one, placing first in the honorary mentions. I received some wonderful feedback from the judges and great encouragement to follow my passion to keep writing.

I will soon be editing the book I wrote last winter and I will forge ahead with the book I have just begun writing. Next year, two new books will be added to my growing list of novels, and I have ideas for so many more stories. Once the hard work of writing the books is complete, the harder work of marketing myself begins. Wish me luck!!

Putting myself out there

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In a world that is so heavily focused on social media presence, I have been content to hide behind the safety of this blog and not engage in really anything outside of my comfort zone. But those days of living behind the scenes are over. If I want to put myself out there and have people know about my books, I need to fully engage in the trends, and I need to immerse myself in Booktok.

The thought of creating many short videos of myself talking about my books, and my writing process, is terrifying, but necessary. In my mind, I have committed to the process, but in my gut, I feel like I have eviscerated myself and my entrails are spilling onto the concrete slab in front of my house, steaming under the heat of the late summer’s sun.

I have written a six-book series that I am extremely proud of, but the thought of shamelessly promoting myself makes my skin crawl. But this is the nature of the beast. This is marketing. And this is what I need to do to make people who like to read the genre I love to write about want to read my books.

It has been a remarkable journey, from the initial concept of my first book, to tying in the other ideas to create a series, to finishing the six books in The Relative Series. I could not have imagined where I am now from where I was in 2017.

I will have two new stand-alone books available in 2026, and I am eager to listen to the voices in my head and continue my writing journey.

Thank you to everyone who has followed me, and thank you to those who are just finding me. I have much more to say, so keep your eyes open for new books coming soon!

Inflation isn’t a bad thing when it has to do with your ego

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My series of books has been getting more attention lately, which makes me a happy writer. Some wonderful reader in the US has quickly ingested two of the books in the series, and I am keeping a close eye on my KDP stats to see if they delve into the next book. The local sales have increased during the summer months, and book sales at the lodge are adding to the growing list of people reading my books!

A family of long-time guests (they started visiting the lodge in the 1980’s) checked in on Saturday. Two of them are currently reading books from The Relative Series and are loving them. Vickie has not been reading much over the last few years, but she picked up Gemini and couldn’t put it down. That makes my heart happy. Her mother Deb, who is also reading my books, told me she used to be an editor. She admits there is a lot of crap out there, but she praised my writing and told me I deserve high marks.

My head barely fit through the door when I left work yesterday. My ego grew three sizes, and I could not help smiling during the entire drive home. Today is my day off, and their praise gave me the shove I needed to turn off my phone and re-awaken my creative brain. Sadly, it has been dormant since the start of our busy summer season at the lodge, but I am determined to rattle its cage and wake the beast.

The long list of ideas for new books is anxiously awaiting my attention. This fall, I am determined to edit the book I wrote last winter, and get started on one of the many ideas I have listed on the white board titled ‘New ideas for books’. One of those ideas has a firm grip on my attention and the protagonist is urging me to listen to his story. I cannot wait to be lost in the familiar fugue of writing while my characters tell their tales.