On Trying New Things

Life changes during the pandemic for a variety of reasons. Disruptions to routine. Different ways of thinking. During these moments, it's good to try new things, or fall back on old standards. 

For an author (and I've heard this from a large number of my colleagues), we're living in a world where making stuff up isn't keeping pace with the unreal happenings of everyday life. Truly, you can't make this stuff up. No one would believe it, or suspend disbelief were we to write it down. Current events are extremely disruptive to the creative process.

When I was young, lo those many years ago, the holidays meant putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Sitting at a table with my dad and/or my sisters. It was a time of peace and togetherness. Sitting still. Together. I got two puzzles for Christmas this year. What a great reminder of quieting my mind and concentrating on one thing for a period of time. Best thing I did this winter so far.

Being "inside" also meant trying new and different things. While I had been trying to write my next book, all the outside distractions made it extremely difficult to focus. So I returned to an old manuscript that I had tucked away because 1) it was different than what I usually write and 2) sometimes its easier to edit than to make up stuff in a world that defies logic. Lessons I've learned: Editing isn't much easier than writing when the world is taking a dump. In fact, I got more comments from my editor on the "old" story than I've had on any of the other sixteen books we've worked together on. Never one to back away from a challenge, I soldiered on.

Which brings me to RELEASE DAY! Please welcome into the world, COYOTE LEGACY, A Canyon Legends Fantasy. Yes, it's a diversion from my normal fare, but I hope you'll find it interesting. Inspired by the beautiful scenery of Utah and Arizona, I gave my imagination free rein, tapping into the legends of the Canyonlands.

If you're of the opinion I should stick to my usual storytelling, never fear. The fourth installment in the Hillendale novels, INTERRUPTED MAGIC,  is coming in March! 

In the meantime, I'd like to invite you along on my flight of imagination. Want a recommendation? One of my beta readers had this to say:

"I am completely blown away!  That is one of the best books I’ve ever read!  Your writing is exceptional…your imagination is magical…you’re a great storyteller…I don’t know how this book could get any better than what I’ve just read.  I was completely captivated!"

You can get your copy here.

Maybe a little over the top, but it sure made me feel good! And maybe you’ll like it, too!

Available in ebook and paperback.

Happy New Year - a sneak peek at the new release

Happy New Year! 🎉🥳

I have a new release coming out on Tuesday. Make sure you're signed up for my newsletter for a special offer!

Here's a snippet.

You can buy it here!

Devin slouched in the deck chair behind his ranch house, listening to crickets sing in the still night air. He’d traded in his pilot’s uniform for a pair of shorts. The cool night raised gooseflesh on his skin. A pounding, like a second heartbeat, pulsed in his chest. His grandmother never talked of the old ways, but she did say one day his heritage would speak to him, a comment that never made sense.

Maybe Nascha had unlocked an ancient form of Morse code. 

Where had Nascha come from? People didn’t just show up at the airport with no luggage and no money. Devin thought about Mrs. Mendenhall’s comment that there’d been someone sitting on his wing. He’d never seen a gremlin, but if they existed, he doubted they had lovely russet colored hair or skin the color of the Arizona desert. 

He took another sip of his tea—the same tea he’d offered Nascha—and stared at the bottle. He tapped his leg, still wondering if he should have called security, but Marty hadn’t seen her. Had he imagined the conversation? It had been a tough trip over the mountains. Devin wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him. The whole episode defied logic. 

Eyes closed, he exhaled a sigh and let his iced tea drop the last three inches from his hand to the wooden deck floor with a clunk where it landed upright. The night was perfect, warm and clear beneath a vast, limitless sky. Devin knew he should go inside, but he was comfortable. He credited the Native American in his soul for his preference to sleep under the stars—or Grandma Coco’s tales. His spirit guide was more likely to find him outside. 

He laughed. His imagination was getting the best of him. There’d been no gremlin on the wing. He couldn’t explain the Indian princess, but he’d go to the airport tomorrow to make sure she wasn’t a security risk—if she really existed. But that didn’t explain the frightened look in her eyes when he’d tried to calm her, when he’d held her hand—the static electricity in her touch. 

That’s when the pounding in his chest had started. He sat up straight in the chair and gazed to the North, the direction of the airport. The pulse had started when he’d touched Nascha, like an ancient tribal tattoo. 

“I need sleep,” he said out loud. He picked up his iced tea and headed into the house. The turbulence obviously shook something loose in his brain. Nothing a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure.

He walked through the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. The moon provided the only light. Devin passed the bed and stood before the window, the pulsing in his chest relentless. It didn’t hurt, so there was no point in going the pain reliever route. He threw open the window and sat cross-legged in a nest of blankets on the floor, wrapping himself in the comfort of coarse wool.

The fabric made him think of Nascha again, the feel of her skin. She wasn’t slippery smooth, like most women. Her skin had texture—the kind you wanted to touch again and again to explore all the different sensations. More proof he must have imagined her.
Devin squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths to clear his head. In a matter of minutes, he fell asleep.

He’d had the same dream since he was a child. He body-surfed across the sky, dipping in and out of the jet stream, arms extended, his feet—like rudders—controlling his direction. But this time the dream was different. He wasn’t flying alone. 

What do you think?