It’s time for more memos, don’t you think? It’s been awhile, June is nearly over, summer has truly started ... it’s time. So, without further ado...

Dear Summer,

Welcome back. The first part of June was as wet and chilly as March and I began to wonder if you were ever going to show up. But you are here ... temps in the 90s next week, hot sunshine, and real Midwest summer weather.

Already sweltering,

Nan

~*~*~*~

Dear People in My Head,

I know you are all waiting anxiously for your storis to be told--and they will be told. But I just wrote THE END on Levi and Zoey’s story, and I will be taking a short break--no more than a week, I promise. Teagan Doyle and Isabella (Isa) Cruz, you’re up next, so step to the front, and I need all the Doyle family lined up behind them, please. You are the next series ...

Shhhhh for just a week, though,

Nan

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Dear Gardens,

Oh, my, how you’ve exploded with color and blooms! Thank you, hydrangea for recovering from whatever your issue was last summer and blooming like crazy now. Your huge pink flowers are stunning, as are the ragged, whimsical red bee balm flowers, the bright sunny heliopsis, the soft white hollyhocks, and the yellow daisies. You all bring such joy.

Enchanted,

Nan

~*~*~*~

Dear RAGT26,

What a rush! I met so many wonderful readers and authors, walked my dogs off, and spent grand time talking to so many terrific folks. Best of all, I got to spend six days with my roomie, who is such a fabulous travel mate. We were so glad for an opportunity to be together and steeped in author life and books!

Recovered with Nice Memories,

Writer Nan

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Dear Husband,

What a lovely way to celebrate 53 years of marriage--dinner on the deck and the most gorgeous roses I’ve ever seen. (I forgot to take pictures, but this pic of us is one of my faves!) So glad to be sharing this life with you.

Happily Ever After,

Your Wife

~*~*~*~

Dearest Grandboy,

It was grand to spend time with you this past week at Camp Nanny & Poppy. You were a big help planting flowers and pruning the peach tree, and didn’t we have a blast at the pool? Drawing and coloring just made my day, too! We are so blessed to have you so close! Love you to the moon and back.

Hugs and More Hugs,

Your Nanny

~*~*~*~

Gratitude for This Week: 53 years married. The hydrangea in my office garden has blooms! Time spent with Grandboy. Was able to surprise Son with his early b-day gift--flowers! A fun trip to Total Wine. Wrote THE END on Levi and Zoey’s story.

Stay well, speak out--it’s more important than ever, maybe even make a donation to a democracy-promoting organization such as Inequality Media Civic Action; always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful.

Y’all, it’s Father’s Day, so I’m posting a Father’s Day message I’ve posted before because honestly, it’s the one that tells it all for me. So... here you go... updated slightly, and with random pics of my two favorite dads stuck in here and there...

~*~*~*~

For many years, Father’s day was an...uncomfortable holiday for me. My dad left our family when I was 6 years old, and was never really in my childhood, except for the occasional times of us going to where he worked to pick up the few dollars he was willing to give us. He rarely paid support and my mom worked her tail off going to school full time to get her nursing degree in addition to being a cashier at a grocery store to keep food on the table. I honestly don’t know how she did it. The woman didn’t sleep for over two years. Mother’s Day was huge, but Father’s Day, well, not so much.

Don’t start crying for me. I had no lack of father figures in my life. My grandfather was a rock after my dad disappeared—he was always there lending a hand, bringing us groceries, picking up the slack Dad left behind. Mom kept us in church, and the men there showed me how real fathers behaved. Loving, gentle men who tousled my hair and gave me a hug, who came to our house to fix broken pipes or repair appliances or who pressed a few dollars in my mother’s hand outside the church when they knew the budget wasn’t going to stretch far enough. One man in particular was Don Mitchell—a kind fellow who had a delightful sense of humor, was a gifted photographer, and worked hard to take care of his family.

Don was married to my mother’s dear friend, who remained one of my dearest friends until the day she died. I used to watch how Don interacted with his sons, loving and yet firm. You could tell he would walk across fire for his boys, and I wished with all my heart that he could be my dad. When he and his kids crossed swords as all kids and parents are wont to do, I had to bite my tongue to keep from scolding his sons. “He’s here,” I wanted to tell them. “He loves you, he wants what’s best for you. He’s fighting for you, how can you not see that?” Of course they didn’t see it then, they were young and self-involved, but they saw it later and always seemed to enjoy a close relationship with their dad as adults.

I remember when I was about 11 years old, the Girl Scouts had a Father-Daughter Sweetheart dance (yes, I was a Girl Scout for a very brief time, until I realized it meant I had to go out in the woods and deal with spiders and snakes and other icky stuff). I wanted to go so badly, but I knew asking my own father was a pointless exercise and my grandfather, as dear as he was, wasn’t interested in dancing with a little girl. Mom suggested I ask Don, so I screwed up my courage and invited him. He agreed and I got to wear a new dress and nylon stockings for the very first time. Don brought me a little corsage and we went to the dance, which was held in the junior high school gym. I remember every moment of the evening—I had a dad, just like all the other girls and he danced with me in that hot sweaty gym. He treated me with such loving kindness that I felt like a cherished child instead of an abandoned one.

Don became the benchmark—and although I met Husband early in my life, I knew immediately that he would be a wonderful father to the children I hoped to have. We only got one, but Husband is a remarkable dad. He fell in love with Son the moment he saw him and the love affair continues to this day. When they are together, the connection between them shines. I have so many fun and terrific stories about Son growing up and I share them here all the time, but for Father’s Day, here’s one of my favorite Husband/Son moments.

Son was around 5 or 6 years old, and he followed Husband around like a puppy, always wanting to do Daddy stuff with him. Husband obliged, always ready to use any moment as a teaching/bonding time. One Saturday, he was changing the oil on the car and the two of them were in the garage. I heard them talking with Husband patiently explaining the process to the kid and answering his endless questions. They had the radio turned on to the local NPR station (Husband is a huge fan of NPR and classical music and opera). It happened that the station was playing a performance of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. When I peeked out into the garage, there they were—two pairs of legs sticking out from under the car—Husband’s adult jeans-clad ones next to Son’s little skinny, knobby-kneed ones. They were both lying on their backs, changing the oil and singing with the baritone opera singer at the top of their lungs, “Ah Patron, Ah, Patron...” I’d have killed for a video camera. It was one of the most touching moments in the raising of Son and lives in my heart to this day.

I admit it, I’m a sucker for a great dad—I love men who are in love with their kids. When I see I father touch his child fondly or pick them up to give them a hug or kneel beside them to offer soothing words, I melt. So watching Son with our grandson has been absolute heaven because he’s already in love. When he held that baby in his arms, the look in his eyes was the exact same look his own father had the first time he saw Son—unadulterated awe and a love so pure, it glows. He still looks at 14-year-old Grandboy with that same look. What joy!

Gratitude for This Week: The loveseat and rocker sold quick and easy; the boat is in the water--ahhh; our gardens are bursting with color; dear neighbors who watered my pots for me while we were at the lake; my two favorite dads--Husband and Son.

Stay well, stay safe, hug a dad today, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful,

Yeah, again, I’ve got nothin’ this morning. Life has been a little bit overwhelming this week as I’ve tried to decompress from RAGT26. We headed to the lake, which always helps because life seems less burdensome here, but I still have to write and work on editing gigs no matter where I open my laptop. So, I’m writing like a fiend trying to finish this book by deadline, as well as editing like crazy on two projects.

Writer bestie Liz says when you have nothing, make a list. I thought about a list, but then I remembered that I have a list--”A Year of Journal Prompts.” Why wouldn’t that work for a blog, too? So I dug it out and found this one: “Pick a movie character you identify with.” Really?

Argh! I was going to skip that, but then I thought--you know, this could be a good exercise. A movie character I identify with... the one I truly identify with, not the one I’d like to be. I think my answer would have to be Jo March in Little Women. I’m not sure that’s a good answer, but Little Women was the first film that came to mind and Jo, the first character about whom I thought, “yeah, I know just how she feels.”

Jo was a good writer who longed to be a great writer... I get that. She was also a restless soul, yet so tied to her home and her family and what was familiar that she stayed close. I get that, too. I have restless times, where I just want to go...but I also cherish home and all that it means.

So, I’m going with Jo March as the film character I most identify with, and I’m going to ease the restless writer by getting busy writing the last few thousand words of book 4 in the Juniper Falls Ranch series. Levi and Zoey have been talking to me like crazy, even during the and then stuff happens middle part of the story. That doesn’t always happen, so I’m grateful.

I’ve got Book 3, Help Wanted, Cowboy coming out next month. It’s available for preorder, but I also have a few ARC e-books left so I’d love you to nab one to read and review if you’re inclined. I’d sure appreciate the support!

Gratitude for This Week: A starry-night walk down to the docks with Grandboy; Adult beverages with Mo on the new deck; Gracious neighbors who are keeping my pots watered back in the city (a million thanks!); Help from pal, Cindy, with putting our loveseat on FB Marketplace; lovely, lovely breezy days.

Stay well, speak out when you can--it’s the only way to save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all mes amis, stay grateful,

Okay, so that’s not exactly true. I’m here, but I’m crazy busy getting ready to not be here.

On Tuesday, I’m headed to RAGT26--the annual Reader Author Get Together in Cincinnati. Pal, fellow Tule author, and fab travel buddy, Carol Light and I are both participating in this event, which is a huge author/reader ... well, get-together. About 50 authors and around 350 readers connect for a three-day book lovefest. There are events scheduled for darn near every moment, including a luncheon that Carol and I are hosting (pal and fellow Tule author J.C. Kenney is also sponsoring, but is unable to attend). We are also going to be hosting a “boardroom”--a smaller session where readers and authors can get to know each other, ask questions, and just generally connect.

Dozens of events are planned including themed dinners and parties and book signings and moments for readers to meet their favorite authors and find new favorite authors. It’s a pretty big deal because readers have to buy a ticket to attend, plus drive to the venue and get a room in the hotel to be able to be there for all three days. This is my first time to attend.

I’m nervous and excited and worried that I’ll forget something vital or I won’t bring enough books or I’ll bring too many... sigh. That’s always a concern at any book signing, really. You never know how many books you’re going to need because book signings, like life, are a crap shoot. You might get dozens of folks interested in and buying your books or you might sit for hours and not sell a single title. I always feel like it’s better to have too few books than to cart home most of what you brought with you, because if you run out of books you can always hand folks a rack card and tell them your books are available at all book retailers. Hopefully, I won’t be bringing home any books--send good book-selling energy, okay?

In other news, our deck at the cottage is done and looks fabulous! Can’t wait to get back up there and set up our table and chairs and umbrella and start using it! Take a look. We have to wait a year for it dry and cure before we stain it, but man, I love it!

That’s all the news from here--I don’t have FB on my phone, but I’ll pop into Instagram this week, to share some fun stuff from RAGT26, so watch for me there at @NanReinhardt.

Gratitude for This Week: Our primroses and daisies are so lovely! I signed a new contract with Tule Publishing for another 4-book series set in Montana! More cowboys! Time with the kids at the lake. The deck is done. My little yellow miniature rosebush (Katie Rose) is blooming up at the lake!

Whoops, there IS more news! Carol’s novel, Room for Suspicion, a Windy City Mystery is just 99 cents for a couple of more days, so don’t miss this deal!

Stay well, never stop speaking out when you can--it’s the only way to save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all mes amis, stay grateful!

The older I get, the more I crave community—like-minded people who enjoy the same things I do, who believe in the same things I believe in, who want the same things I want. Not just in the social sense, but in all areas of my life. It’s why I joined the newest chapter of Romance Writers of America last year, and why I belong to the Editorial Freelancers Association, why I meet up with my Lovelies for lunch, why I go on retreats with Lizzie twice a year, and why I read the blogs I read and participate with comments. It’s why I stay on Facebook and Instagram and Bluesky, despite the trolls and nasty stuff I see posted in those venues.

It was this craving that brought me to our lake community 15 years ago. When we began our search, we had something definite in mind—a place to kick back and relax, where we could enjoy the water and boating, a small house that might one day become our retirement home because we truly believed that we’d be moving away from the big city once Husband retired. We’d set parameters and came armed with a list of what we wanted. We were looking for a cottage like the one he’d grown up in, like the ones we’d rented for vacations each summer when Son was a kid. At the top of the list was this, “NO MOBILE HOMES, NO MOBILE HOME PARKS.”

In the winter and Spring of 2011, Husband and I spent almost six months with our realtor, looking at lake cottage after lake cottage. We toured the insides of 35 places and drove past at least 50 or 60 before we found our perfect place. And where we ended up was so far from what we’d planned, I can’t even begin to describe it. I’ve heard, “Man plans, God laughs” so many times and in the case of our lake home adventure, nothing could be truer. We bought exactly what I told the realtor we did not want when we began our journey.

We were pretty down that first time we drove through the little mobile home community, thinking we were never going to find the perfect place. It was on a Memorial Day weekend, and I was impressed with how beautiful it was—big shady trees, lush grass around the homes, and a tidy dock area filled with colorful boats and other water craft. The lake sparkled in the May sunshine that day, and as it happened, it was a part of the lake that we’d visited many times in previous years of renting. We’d frequently taken our little runabout into that very wide expanse of water and dreamed about one day buying a home there on that clear quiet bay.

But what sold me wasn’t the pretty little homes or the lovely location or even being on a bay we knew and already loved. As we drove around the horseshoe road that is the park’s only street, we passed a charming home with a covered front porch. The porch was filled with folks enjoying the holiday weekend together and their chatter and laughter drifted into our open car windows. When they saw us drive slowly by, they all smiled and waved and shouted, “Hi” and How are you?”

We waved back and in that moment, it hit me. I realized what I’d been looking for the past six months. It wasn’t a getaway, it wasn’t a retirement home on a lake, it wasn’t even a weekend vacation spot—it was a community. I was as drawn to those folks on that pretty veranda as I’d ever been to anything anywhere...ever. I turned to Husband and said, “There! That’s what I want. Right there. I want to be on that porch with those people, drinking wine and laughing and sharing each other’s lives. We should be here.”

Two weeks later, we were moving into our mobile and those folks on the porch were appearing in our driveway on their golf welcoming us. They all became good friends. Now over 15 years later, I can’t imagine lake life any other way. It is peaceful and lovely and our little home is snug and comfortable. Our boat is fun and we love having friends and family come visit us—we are in the perfect place for a weekend getaway. But the best part of life on the lake has nothing to do with our beautiful bay or boating on the big lake. It is the feeling of community.

Now the community has changed drastically over the years, people have died, moved away, aged, and new people have come into our little lake community, including Son, DIL, and Grandboy, who bought a place only steps away from ours when they moved back home. But even as changes have happened, the warm sense of community still envelopes me. When I sit on our deck now, sipping wine and laughing and sharing stories and news with whomever happens to be there, I know how very blessed I am to be surrounded with good friends and family in a place that I love.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend. No matter what your plans are, I hope you are enjoying this weekend and honoring the memories of those who fought and died for our freedom and to protect the Constitution of the United States. We all must continue to fight for our democracy.

Gratitude for this Week: Got words written; a quick drop-by from sister PJ--so good to see her! The new deck on the cottage is almost done; Lunch with my Lovelies; and I think I might be close to being ready for RAGT26--a book event that is happening in just a week!

Stay well, keep speaking out, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

When Husband and I got home from a week at the lake yesterday, we both sucked in a breath of awe--our primroses and daisies are blooming! The front gardens look glorious and lush with flowers and ferns and hostas--we are a festival of color and greenery! Take a look!

I am not, as I have told you on more than one occasion, a gardener. I don’t like yardwork, I find weeding tedious and annoying, and watering and trimming a wicked necessity. But wow, doing the work is so worth the effort! My gardens are nothing compared to my lovely neighbors who work in theirs every day and their work shows in gorgeous abundant flowers. They are such good gardeners and I confess, I envy their dedication and skills. That said, I’m feeling pretty good about my little corner of the ‘hood this week, especially now that the primroses and daisies are blooming. This week, I’ll go get flowers for pots and feel very accomplished that I managed to dress up my stoop and driveway.

Now the snippet I promised you. A quick scene to intrigue you and make you long to grab your copy of Help Wanted, Cowboy, which releases July 7 and is currently available for pre-order. (See what I did there--a little shameless self-promotion in a link to the book.)

Help Wanted, Cowboy

“Do you have a girlfriend?” The words fell out of her mouth and surprised her as much as it obviously surprised him. She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out. It was on a list of things she’d written out late last night in her room—stuff she thought she should know if she was going to ask for his help. When he gaped at her, she stuttered. “I mean … I-I was just curious. Do you? I mean … do you date at all?” Dammit, this was getting more awkward by the second because he was looking at her all suspicious. “You know what? Never mind. None of my business.”

“I’m not lookin’ for a bachelor pad, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” He pulled the foil off the casseroles. “And if I were, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the bunkhouse on the ranch where I work.”

If the floor had opened up at that moment, Millie would’ve happily dropped into the hole. Heat filled her cheeks and she knew she was probably twelve shades of red. “N-no, of course not. I wasn’t thinking— I mean … I was … just curious,” she said again.

The oven dinged that it had reached temperature and Rory shoved the two dishes in and set the timer on the microwave. Then he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest in a rather forbidding stance. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m straight, I date, but I haven’t been in relationship in a few years. Rodeo doesn’t really leave much time for that. And for the last year, I’ve been taking care of my mom. I’ve never been in love, at least not that I know of, and I’m guessin’ I’d know if I were.

“Got a high school diploma. I read a lot when I’m out on the circuit, ’cause unless you’re bar-hopping from town to town, there isn’t much else to do. I like fiction and history. Country music is fine if it’s not twangy. I watch the Food Network and the History Channel, and just about any kind of movies except horror. I’m five foot nine, weigh 179 pounds, which is up from my fighting weight because I’ve been off the circuit for a while. I was hopin’ to drop the extra weight workin’ this ranch, and here I am in the kitchen. Go figure.

“I brush my teeth a couple times a day, never met a shower I didn’t like, and Hemingway’s my favorite author although I can’t rightly explain why.” He was ticking the items off on his fingers as he named them, practically without taking a breath. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

Millie was pretty sure she’d turned another couple of shades of red as he ended his little speech—more words in a row than she’d heard him say since they’d met. And practically all the information she’d been looking for and had expected to have to drag out of him over the next few days while he was manning the Juniper Falls kitchen. She was too aware that she was sitting there with her mouth agape, but she had no idea how to respond. “I-I …”

He smiled then and lit up the whole kitchen with his soft laughter. “Ya know, you can find all this information and more online on my FindaCowboy profile.”

Millie damn near choked. “There … there’s a dating site called FindaCowboy?”

Rory opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of oranges and looked at her askance, but gave her a grin. “Wouldn’t be surprised, but I’m not on it.” He set the oranges on the table in front of her, along with a knife, bowls, and some paper towels. “Wanna learn how to section an orange?”

His guileless grin made her decision right then and there. Why wait? But she had to know one more thing. She pushed her chair back and stood. “Yeah, I’d like to, but first …” She framed his face with her hands. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

So, there you are--a little taste of Rory Pearson and Millie Sparks...

Gratitude for This Week: A few days at the lake--it was lovely. A spring storm turned everything even greener. Primroses and daisies. Got words written on book 4 of the Juniper Falls Ranch series. Watched Remarkably Bright Creatures on Netflix--excellent. Highly recommend!

Stay well, stay informed and continue to speak out when you can, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

I was just in the kitchen putting baked beans together and it occurred to me how much of my Mom’s way of doing things I’ve brought to my own adulthood. Like, for instance, baked beans. Mother was always horrified at the idea of dumping a can of baked beans into a pot and warming it up right from the can. Instead, she drained the beans, put them in a casserole dish, added barbecue sauce, mustard, a chopped onion, and brown sugar. Then she placed two strips of bacon across the top in an X and put them in the oven. She baked them until they were dry enough that when you spooned them up, they didn’t drip. I can smell those beans right now because that’s exactly what I just did a few minutes ago, and the scent of brown sugar and bacon and tomato-y bean deliciousness is filling my house as I write.

When I iron shirts, I start with the collars and sleeves because that’s the way Mom did it. When I make iced tea, I use four Constant Comment tea bags and four regular tea bags—guess where I learned that little trick. Mom. I make boiling water pie crust rather than ice water pie crust because that’s what Mom did and it’s much better that way. And Mom always poured milk over hot cereal, so when I got married and realized that my husband didn’t use milk on oatmeal, my first thought was, “how weird.” Because wasn’t Mom’s way the right way to eat oatmeal?

But, it’s not just household things that I brought from Mom, I also brought some of my parenting stuff—like reading aloud to Son practically from the day he was conceived until well after he learned to read himself, and teaching him to play Scrabble almost before he learned the alphabet. Hey, it’s a great way to learn to spell, right? Mom always made us try three bites of anything new on our plate—my kid had to do the same. When he was irritated or frustrated or just plain pissed, I’d send him to his room for ten minutes of pouting, then he had to talk it out. “Ten minutes to pout, then talk it out.” It was Mom’s best technique for keeping four kids from each other’s throats, and it kept my only child from becoming distant and closed up.

Some of my own pleasure preferences were also hers. I’m a huge fan of board games. So was Mom. I’d rather be on Lake Michigan than almost anywhere else on the planet—that love of the lake is from Mom. And along with that, give me a lake to swim in over a pool any day—Mom taught all of us to swim in Lake Michigan. Also, she could sing all the lyrics to every musical ever produced on Broadway from 1949 to 1979. I’m embarrassed to confess, so can I. Camelot, My Fair Lady, West Side Story--name a Lerner/Lowe or a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical, and I’ll sing you a song from it. You’ll be sorry because I can’t sing worth a damn, but by golly, I know all the lyrics.

In some ways I’m not at all like her—I’m not very outspoken, I’m not very bold, but I’m trying. I’m more tightly wound and I need more structure in my life than she did. I’m a much better money manager. And I don’t have her frustrating ability to make the most unreasonable thing sound perfectly reasonable. I can’t tell you how many times I walked away after trying to best her in an argument, then realized, “Hey, wait a minute! That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” I can almost see her smirking now... But I think she’d be proud of who I’ve come to be since her passing, the small business owner, the mom, the grandmother, and probably most important, the writer. Mom always believed I would be a famous writer one day, but I think she’d be pleased with my mid-list author status.

Several years ago, I would have been appalled if someone had said to me, “Wow, you remind me so much of your mother.” I didn’t want to be like her because she was different and different scared me. But now, a little wiser, a little more aware, I see what a treasure she was and how much she influenced every area of my life. And you know, once in a while, I look in a mirror and there she is... and you know what else? It’s not so bad... as a matter of fact, it’s kind of comforting.

I love and miss you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

Gratitude for This Week: Tule Publishing cut an audio book deal for the Weaver Sisters series! I’m nearly ready for RAGT26. I got the front gardens mulched. Breakfast with pal Connie--pancakes, what else? Time with Grandboy on Tuesday while DIL worked the polls. (Oh, and I voted, of course!)

Stay well, speak out when you can--it’s so very important, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

This morning during my daily meditation, the guide asked us to consider that question: “Who am I when I’m at my best?”

Who am I when I’m at my best?

Wow, what a question. I think we, okay I, don’t stop my life to consider who I am, who I want to be, who I should be. I just push through...working, writing, doing laundry, making meals, being horrified by the state of our government, yet loving my family and friends and just trying to get through each day. Always behind everything I do or think or say is the knowledge that my heart isn’t working as well as other hearts my age and that I am on borrowed time.

I don’t say that to be dramatic--it is what is real. I know that people can live a long time in heart failure--years even. Perhaps I will live to be a very old lady. I hope so. I’d like to be that old woman who’s unpredictable in a good way, whom people are happy to see and talk to, who’s interesting and vital and has fun. Who’s still writing romance at the age of ninety-six. But the reality is my heart tries harder.

But that wasn’t the question, was it? The question was Who am I when I’m at my best...now?

The very first thought that hit me was I am a writer when I’m at my best. As I’ve often said, quoting my writer friend, Anne Stuart, “Everything in my life is filtered through my writing. There is no me without it.” That is very true. When I look at all the other things that I believe make me the best Nan I can be, words are always a part.

I am Wife when I am at my best, but in the background, love stories grind. I am Mom when I am at my best, but I love talking story and plot with Son and basking in and drawing energy from his creativity. (He’s a musician.) I am Grandmother when I’m at my best, but I’m always storing away little tidbits of conversations or situations with Grandboy, knowing that pieces of him will be in the kids in my books. I am Sister when I’m at my best, but conversations with PJ and brother Bud are also stored for writing sibling relationships--not to quote, but to draw from when I’m writing families. I am Friend when I’m at my best, but so many of my dearest friends are also writers and/or avid readers.

Who am I when I’m at my best? I think I’m a writer when I’m at my best and the rest of me gets filtered through that one fact ... and always has. I don’t think it’s something I want to change, even though there are days when I worry that I don’t have another word in me, another story to tell. When the people in my head are ominously quiet and I fear that they’ve left me. But then, suddenly, in the midst of the rest of my life--being a wife, weeding a garden, floating on the lake, hanging with my kids, washing the dishes, folding towels--one of them speaks. Tell my story. Or two of them begin a conversation, and I listen. I know with all that is inside me that I’m a writer when I’m at my best. And that’s a good thing.

Gratitude for this week: The daisies are blooming! I’ve been sleeping better. Went over to the kids’ house to help Son fix a little household issue--always a treat to see them on the fly; Husband fixed the dryer--yay! The shot in my knee seems to be working. The capri pant I ordered fit perfectly.

Stay well, If your state is having primary elections, Vote! Always choose kindness, most of all, mes amis, stay grateful.

Okay, so maybe not ALL things, but I’ve got little to say today, I’m going to share some beauties from my yard (and my neighbor’s yard) with you. It’s been a long week. We spent most of it up at the lake getting ready for the contractor to come and tear out our old deck and start building the new one. That involved a lot of raking of old wet leaves and picking up sticks and brooming off the old deck of maple twirly things. I know we’ll be doing the twirly thing again next time we go up, but it was a noble effort on our part. I weeded, too, and our hostas are looking just fine up there.

We toddled over to Son and DIL’s cottage and gave their yard a quick once-over, too, since they won’t be up for a couple of weeks and for some weird reason, spring came early to the lake this year. I hope that means the water in the bay will warm up faster than usual and Grandboy and I can get in and swim sooner. We’re all looking quite tidy and ready for summer.

Here at our city house, things are a-blooming--the irises look fabulous, the baptisia (Blue Wild Indigo) is just starting to bloom and is absolutely gorgeous (it’s the one on the left in the collage below). It gets more beautiful every season. I wish it bloomed all summer but it doesn’t, sadly. Our lilies of the valley are already just about done, but I did have a few on my desk a couple of weeks ago when they were at their best. Now, the onyx desk vase has forget-me-nots. Aren’t they delicate and sweet?

Funny story about forget-me-nots. When Husband and I were married, we chose ivory wedding china (It was a thing in 1973--we were registered and everything!) with a blue forget-me-not border around the rim. It was really pretty. But we never got any of it as gifts because after we married in June, the company discontinued the pattern in September of that same year. When I told Husband, he asked, “Does that mean we have to be discontinued too? Do we have to get a divorce?” He was joking, of course, and we’re still here, still going strong 53 years later, but I thought it was funny how much stock we put in things like wedding china and silver and crystal back then. We didn’t choose another pattern. We used his grandmother’s old Currier & Ives grocery-store giveaway dishes for years before replacing them with the white stoneware we’re still using today.

Back to the gardens... Allium are blooming, so are the irises, and the lilacs. The peonies will be bursting with color by the end of this week. My neighbor’s clematis is gorgeous and we love looking at her yard while we eat breakfast. Pretty soon the primroses and ferns and daisies and bee balm will be up and I’ll plant my annual pots. Even more color will abound. We’ll do another flowers edition of the Snippet when that happens, okay? I do love sharing all the Midwest spring beauty with you. Enjoy!

Gratitude for This Week: The grocery store has a sale on peppers and avocados--I stocked up. Flowers everywhere! Book 4 is coming along. Carol and I are nearly ready for RAGT26. Got to see Son play guitar last night--he was amazing. Time with Sis last night as well--she and BIL and sweet pal Minnie all came to hear Son play, too. We loved seeing folks dancing to the live music--Son is the handsome guy on the left wearing the bowler and playing the green guitar, but you knew that, right?

Stay well, keep speaking out--this week early primary voting opens in a lot of states. Vote, vote, vote! Always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

Anyway, yesterday, we drove up to the lake and opened up our cottage for the season. We don’t always open this early, but we’re having our deck replaced and are meeting the contractor on Sunday, so we decided, what the heck, we’ll just get opened up. The boat won’t go in until after the deck gets finished, which put us at late May for boating, but that’s fine. We still enjoy being here for the fellowship, the walks down to the docks to check out the bay, and the peace of our little slice of heaven.

I had to make lists this past week before we left the city—a list of stuff I was taking from the house, a list of stuff I needed to buy when we got to the cottage (we take everything home when we close up in the fall, so every spring, I replace bathroom supplies, kitchen stuff, pantry staples, fridge staples, etc.), a list of what we need to do to get the place open and usable again—you know, lists. They’re important, particularly since as we are aging, remembering everything is a tiny bit more of a challenge.

We’ve been doing this for 15 years now, though, so we’re pretty good at it. That said, the lists help us stay on track, do things in the right order (I’m married to an engineer—of course there’s a process), and make sure we’re all set up and cozy. He does the water stuff—blowing out the antifreeze, filling the water heater, setting up the water softener, and making sure nothing nested in the dryer vent while we were away. I do the checking of the cupboards and drawers for signs of mice who might have overwintered (none this year!), wiping down countertops, cleaning bathrooms, removing and storing furniture dust covers, and the most fun job—restocking the pantry, fridge, and bathrooms.

That means a trip to the local Walmart, which is the only choice in this little town—well, that and the Kroger. But Walmart’s prices are better for a restocking trip, so off I went. Now, when Walmart is the only game in town, going there on a Friday afternoon can be…well, an adventure. But this particular Friday, it wasn’t too crowded, mainly, I think because the summer people (those darn summer folks!) haven’t arrived yet. Try hitting the Walmart on any Friday afternoon after Memorial Day and you’ll see what I mean.

I got through all the aisles without incident, starting with the far side where the hair products, soaps, toothpastes/toothbrushes, OTC drugs, etc. are kept, then slipped back to the paper goods for napkins, TP, and paper towels before hitting the grocery aisles. When your cupboards and fridge are completely bare, you are going to fill a cart damn fast. But I had my trusty list, so I ticked off items as I dropped them into the cart (not the eggs, obviously—I set them carefully on the child seat) and got through the store in what felt like record time. (Turns out it was about 2.5 hours, but who besides Husband was counting? He worries when things take longer than it seems like they should, and I do adore him for that. That’s another aging thing, by the way. We both tend to stew just a bit when the other is taking longer than expected, although now the fear is a heart attack or stroke, not a car accident.)

But I was safe and smiling at the sunshine as I left the store with my overflowing cart. Interestingly, the checkout clerk had noted correctly, “You must be opening up your summer place.” “Yup,” I responded, and she smiled. “Yeah, I’ve actually had several carts like yours today.” Life in a lake community…

Anyway, the forgetting part of this tale (besides all the lists, I mean): I stood at the entrance to Walmart, scanning the parking lot for my car. I knew I’d parked it far out—I do that to get steps in, so I’m on tiptoe, holding onto my cart handle, gazing around the now-getting-crowded lot for Gigi—my GMC SUV. (Yes, I name my vehicles--it’s so I can talk to them, which is probably another post for another day.) Finally, I tapped the horn button on my remote because dammit, I didn’t see her anywhere, even though I’d have sworn I parked at the end of that aisle right there… but not a sound from any car. Hmmmm… I narrowed my gaze and peered down the row of cars, figuring I’d just start heading that direction and maybe hit the button again. If I got closer, she might chirp.

Six cars in, I had a revelation. I wasn’t going to find Gigi in this particular parking lot because she was 100 miles away in the driveway of our city house. We drove Husband’s car to the lake and thus, I’d driven Husband’s car to the Walmart. And sure enough, there was his SUV just down there, right where I’d parked it 2.5 hours earlier. Sigh.

So … forgetting… we all do it. And we all do it more as we get older. But the most important thing is that I did eventually remember that I’d driven a different car, and I didn’t have to call Husband and tell him my car had been stolen, which had crossed my mind as I was searching the parking lot. There’s no moral to this story or really even any kind of happily-ever-after ending, except that I loaded the car and drove back to the cottage, put away the items I’d purchased, and we are now ready for summer… Ah, lake life!

Gratitude for This Week: We’re open at the lake; a beer-30 bonfire with lake pals; gardens are greening and blooming like crazy; no mice got in the cottage over the winter; my ladies helped me get all 40 centerpieces done for RAGT26--yay!! What a blessing they are!

Stay well, stay engaged and speak out when you can, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

We’ve been yard focused this weekend--weeding, cutting back old fall stuff, etc. You know, spring cleaning the yard. Son and Grandboy came over and helped us out with edging and weeding and checking gutters because I’ve declared a moratorium on Husband being on ladders. Grandboy even reset some of the garden edging blocks for me--freezing and thawing cause them to get out of alignment. He also helped me put the hoops around the peonies, which is a study in frustration for one person, but he zipped right through it. We haven’t done everything--there’s still mulching to do, and today, Husband and I will do the weed-and-feed--a lot of walking back and forth with the spreader.

In the midst of all this yard work, we’ve been in deep discussions about getting a new deck put on the lake cottage. A huge decision because there are more factors to consider than one might think. I’m not going into all of it here because honestly, I’m tired of thinking about it. Suffice to say, we’ve pretty much made our decision about the route we want to take. So heavy stuff happening at Casa Reinhardt or should I say Las Casas Reinhardt?

I’m also working more than usual--scheduled editing gigs are coming in, I have a book to finish by mid-June, a proposal to get written, and preparations for a huge book event coming up in early June continue. Sometimes, I think maybe I’m getting too old for such a full plate, but what would I shove off my piled-up plate? If you know the answer to that question, I’m listening.

All this to say, topics for the Sunday Snippet are scarce today. So you get a snippet from my upcoming cowboy romance--Help Wanted, Cowboy, book 3 in my Juniper Falls Ranch series. The book releases July 7 and I can hardly wait to share this one with y’all. Here’s the blurb and I gotta tell you, I really love these characters. Nurse/Midwife Millie is sharp and funny and yet a little lost in some significant ways. Bull rider Rory is a sweetheart, smart, kind, a true renaissance man who suddenly falls head over heels with a woman who isn’t looking for love. Plus, there’s a little mystery for them to solve together.

A Montana bull rider temporarily working as a ranch hand. An OB nurse who wants “a favor.” Two opposites thrown together. A treasure hunt adds to autumn magic.

When a family emergency brings cowboy Rory Pearson home to Marietta, he hires on to Juniper Falls Ranch for seasonal work. He’s hoping to explore an intriguing family legend. Armed with research and his grandfather’s stories, Rory thinks he’s ready, but nothing goes as planned. Then a sweetly sexy nurse propositions him.

Nurse Millie Sparks is tired of playing it safe. She’s been too focused on her education and career and romance and adventure have passed her by. Staying on the ranch to care for a patient with a tricky pregnancy, Millie’s interest in Rory is immediate. He offers to teach her to ride, and she wonders if the lessons could extend to something else she’s been hiding.

It’s a game of flirtation and fun. Feelings can’t be serious. But as the clock ticks down, hearts interfere, and saying goodbye just got way more complicated.

Here’s a quick snippet from the opening scene of Help Wanted, Cowboy:

Bo led him into the big kitchen that was obviously just renovated. Somehow they’d managed to bring everything up-to-date and yet maintain a very early 1900s feel with a wide-plank floor, a big farmhouse scrubbed-top pine table that seated at least ten people, and a huge old-fashioned stove like ones Rory had seen in the old westerns that his mom watched endlessly. “Sit.”

Rory started to sit when a woman, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, came into the kitchen. No, not beautiful—that wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t enough. She was … ravishing. Petite, but curvaceous with a body that would make strong men go weak in the knees—as he was now, so he sat. But he couldn’t stop staring. Clad in a crisp white shirt tucked into form-fitting black trousers that showed off her shapely curves, she stopped dead, head tipped to one side in clear curiosity. Her dark-brown ringlets fell well below her shoulders, but were held off her face by a pair of glasses pushed up on her head. The kitchen light gave an almost mahogany sheen to the thick tresses. He took in everything about her features—whiskey-brown eyes fringed with even darker lashes, tanned and rosy cheeks, and plump full lips that would tempt a saint. Which he wasn’t.

She gave the three of them a quick appraising glance. “What?”

“Medical emergency,” Bo said and tilted his head toward Rory, who hadn’t taken a breath since she’d appeared.

He opened his mouth to speak, but at first, nothing came out. Finally, he choked out. “I-I hurt my leg.”

Bo frowned but added, “Fence wire broke and hit his shin.” He crooked a finger. “Can you take a look and see if we need to take him down to the ER?”

She walked briskly to where he sat and Rory’s heart sped up as the scent of flowers and citrus and something indefinable, but enticing, assaulted his senses. She pointed to a chair next to him. “Stick your leg up here.”

He couldn’t even lift his leg. He was gobsmacked, bowled over, utterly mesmerized. “I’m Rory.”

~*~*~*~

Millie furrowed her brow at the young man with the bloody bandanna wrapped around his left calf. I’m Rory? Was he also suffering from a concussion? “I’m sorry?”

She didn’t recognize him—not a surprise. She’d only been at Juniper Falls for a couple of weeks, and she hadn’t met all the hands yet. A couple of them were day workers who went home at the end of the day. “Will you let me look at it?”

He blinked and gave a little nod when she knelt down in front of him. “I’m going to take this bandanna off. Okay, Rory?” Oh, God, she was talking to him like he was a child and he wasn’t a child. The man was probably older than he looked, although right then, except for the neatly trimmed beard he wore, he looked like dazed teenager...

...“You okay?” Millie snapped on the gloves and tried again to roll up his pant leg.

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound at all convincing. “Here, I can roll it up.” But he didn’t. Instead he lowered his eyes, which Millie had already noted were green—emerald green. That made sense. The hair peeking out from under his Resistol was dark red, and he had an Irishman’s fair skin with a smattering of freckles on his very handsome face. He was a damn good-looking man, even when slightly ill.

“Rory, put your head down between your knees for a minute.” Millie glanced up at Bo, who just shook his head.

“This guy delivered a calf last night and was covered in all kinds of bodily fluids,” he commented. “But he can’t take the sight of his own blood?”

“That’s not unusual. Del’s the same way. He can handle any blood but his own,” Beth commiserated and got up, got a bottle of water from the fridge, and set it on the table beside Rory.

Millie kept a gentle hand on the back of the cowboy’s neck until he took a deep breath and raised his head. “I’m okay now, thanks.” He opened the bottle of water and took a long drink.

“Good,” Millie said, “because you’re going to have to stand up and drop your pants.”

His green eyes widened. “What?”

She rose from where she was stooped next to his knees. “Yeah, we’re not going to get those jeans rolled up from the bottom.” She held out a hand. “Here, stand up and—”

He set the bottle on the table and raised both palms. “I’m not dropping trou. I’ll drive myself to the hospital.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Millie sighed and blew a breath into her bangs. “Everybody out. Beth, scoot.” She turned to Bo and Gus, both of whom were trying very hard not to laugh, and jerked her head toward the back door.

Rory sat quietly in his chair as they left, a look of grim determination on his face.

When everyone was gone, she set her hands on her hips and gazed at him. “Okay, it’s just you and me, cowboy. You can either bleed out or unzip and let me fix your damn leg.”

When he still hesitated, she smiled at him. “I’ve seen plenty of guys in their underwear. I’m guessing you don’t have anything going on that I haven’t seen before.”

He rose and slowly unbuckled his belt and opened the five buttons on his jeans to reveal a pair of tight, black, knit boxer briefs. Staring at something above her head, Rory lowered his pants, hissing a breath as he pushed them carefully past the wound. It was still bleeding, but not as profusely.

Millie put one hand on his chest. “Sit.”

He sat and allowed her to clean the wound with betadine wipes from the first-aid kit and examine the slice across his shin. “Like I thought. Mostly bluster.”

“Bluster?”

“Not as bad as the bleeding made it seem. Shins bleed a lot, like mouths and scalps. But this can’t be stitched, the skin over your shin is too thin for that. So I’m going to close it with steri-strips, smear it up with antibiotic ointment, and cover with a light bandage. Or you can go to the ER and let them do it and charge you a thousand dollars. Your call.”

“No.” He shook his head and looked a little less nauseated. “You do it, if you don’t mind. I gotta get back to work.”

Just the beginning of Rory and Millie--she’s doing him a favor fixing his cut leg, but she needs a much bigger favor from him... Stay tuned! Book releases July 7, but in another couple of weeks I’ll have ARCs to share!

Gratitude for This Week: Son and Grandboy came to help us with some outdoor work; things are greening up like crazy; got two Boston ferns for the planters on the back deck and we got out the outdoor furniture; had lunch on the deck for the first time; Sunshine, sunshine!

Stay well, stay engaged--I know the news is exhausting, but find good, honest sources so you’ll know the truth about what’s happening, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

Right off, happy Easter and happy Passover to all who celebrate. Yesterday, when Mary and I went for our daily walk, we headed north toward the pool and clubhouse of our neighborhood. We have a great pool and really nice clubhouse--it’s where we do yoga every Wednesday evening and where we spend summer afternoons after I’m done writing and working. It’s truly one of the best blessings of living in “The Nest.”

Anyway, to add to our step count, we walked, as we always do, around the parking lot to the tennis/basketball courts and then back out to the street. On the way, we stopped for a moment at the little library box there by the clubhouse. We often find something fun to read, I pop my books into the library every so often, and frequently I find things that I think might interest Husband. Yesterday, I discovered a copy of Margery Williams’ The Velveteen Rabbit.

A 1994 edition of Williams’ 1922 classic tale, the book is absolutely pristine, as though no one had ever even opened it before. The pages are crisp and perfect and the illustrations, by an artist named Monique Felix, are quite lovely. The book said “Take me home,” in the way that a little library book often does for me, although this desire was particularly intense. It doesn’t always mean that I’ll keep it forever, sometimes I take a book from the box and give it to Husband to read, he does, then we return it. Or it’s something that I read and return. I’ll probably return this title when I’ve had a chance to savor it, to bask in the memories of my Aunt Alice reading it to me and my sisters and brother and memories of me reading it to Son. But maybe not.

I don’t know what happened to the copy that was part of a little collection of books that lived in the window seat at my grandparents’ big apartment where I spent a considerable part of my childhood. I have no idea where the copy of Son’s is--he may have it because I brought some of his childhood books to him when Grandboy was born--the ones that didn’t get donated to the church nursery library or given away as Son got too old for them.

There’s a chance that taking a children’s book from the little library box when I don’t have any children in my life anymore was a bad thing to do, but I’m hoping there is forgiveness for the choice because that book called to me. My first thought was that I’d read it to Grandboy, oh, how he loves to read! Until I remembered that Grandboy is thirteen and way into to video games and music and art, riding his bike and hanging out with his buds, and acting... Ah, I thought, acting! Maybe he’d have fun reading it with me--we could do all the voices just like my mom used to do when she read to us. He’s coming for supper with Son and DIL today. I think I might ask him. And to tell you the truth, he such a kindhearted sweet kid, he’ll do it with me, just because I’m his Nanny and he loves me.

So, spring is here at The Nest, with long walks and blooming tulips and greening trees and grass and bunnies... all kinds of bunnies, including the velveteen kind.

Gratitude for This Week: Floors scrubbed and rugs washed; We removed the canopy from the bed to allow the spring breeze to touch us at night; lunch with my Lovelies; Books, always books; rewatching Grantchester with Husband.

Stay well, speak out when you have the chance--it’s the only way we can save our democracy; always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

Speaking of books: Make It Real is on sale for 99 cents for just one more week. (Man, I love this cover!) If you haven’t been to River’s Edge yet, this a good opportunity to discover my little Indiana !town on the Ohio River. Enjoy!

They were only faking it….

A landscape designer for his family’s construction firm, Joe Walker, is nearing completion on one of the most important projects of his career—gardens for spec homes that if they wow, Walker Construction will survive. When a freak accident sidelines him with a broken leg, the firm hires a competitor. Her ideas are radically different, but his stalker ex arrives to play nurse, and Joe needs more than gardening help.

After six-years working in English manor gardens, horticulturist Kara Sudbury returns to River’s Edge to help in her grandparents’ struggling garden center. She’s thrilled when Jackson Walker hires her to execute his injured cousin’s designs. Ignoring Joe is difficult because he’s as sexy now as he was in high school and even more stubborn. But when Joe asks Kara to play the role of girlfriend, they strike a deal that will help Joe handle his tenacious ex and put Sudbury’s Nursery back in the black. Kara’s up for the subterfuge…for a price, but then the pretense feels real, and Kara is reminded that every rose has its thorns.

I think I’ve mentioned it before but in case you don’t know, I’ve become a world-class procrastinator—I can do something else better than anyone anywhere. I’ve passed amateur status and have just recently gotten my professional standing. Don’t even try to take me on this one, I’ll beat the socks off you every time.

For instance, yesterday, after we drove home from the lake, I procrastinated beautifully about cutting back the last of the pampas grass. I found something more important to do (read “sat on the sofa reading for pleasure” here) until it was time to start supper. The to-do list I made while we drove home was really pretty short since we didn’t get home until after lunch—quick yard work, cleaning the two and half bathrooms in my house, scrub the kitchen floor, start laundry. Did any of those chores get done? Nope… well, I did start laundry, but most of the afternoon, I was reading, or as my dear friend, Lani Diane Rich puts it—absorbing narrative. It’s something we writers must do.

Years ago, beds were made, floors were scrubbed, furniture was dusted, cupboards were filled with healthy food, and the house was always tidy. Husband never came home to a living room cluttered with Son’s toys—nope, we had clean-up time every afternoon at 4:30 p.m., complete with a cutesy little song that I used to encourage the kid to help me put away the playthings. Son’s little freckled face was scrubbed, supper was on the table, and I was put together, hair done, make-up applied. All that was missing were the apron and the pearls. Reading and writing were rewards for getting all those other things completed.

These days, with a retired Husband, who enjoys being retired more than just about any one I know, the sense of urgency about much of any kind of chores in my house is pretty darn low. Sometimes the breakfast dishes are still in the sink when I go out to the kitchen to think about supper. I’m often still in my jammies and a sweater at noon, unshowered, disheveled from running my fingers through my hair as I write, because it seems that the writing is taking so much of my attention and time right now.

I run dialogue in my head while I do other tasks—talking to myself while I work in the yard or cook or do dishes or dust. Well, not actually talking to myself, my characters are talking to each other. And you know, that’s what’s really at the root of the procrastination about the rest of my life—the novels. Writing.

Lately, it seems that on days I don’t have an editing gig going (I never procrastinate about work), everything takes a back seat to writing—laundry, cleaning, yard work, grocery shopping—all the things I’d taken such pride in once upon a time have been set aside as I release the people in my head. Now, I sit at the computer for hours, forgetting to eat lunch, ignoring texts, typing furiously as those insistent characters pound at the door of my mind.

So here’s the question, mes amies. Is it okay to blame the need to write for not getting anything else accomplished during the day? Should I wear the badge proudly? Have the t-shirt made: Writer = Procrastinator? Tell folks who ask what I’m doing, “I’m writing, as in I’m not doing [fill in the blank here, weeding, cleaning, laundry…}”? Or do I allow myself to feel guilty because the world in my head often takes precedence over the world I actually live in? Discuss…

Gratitude for This Week: A fabulous writing retreat with Liz; Some days of sunshine; Time at the lake with Mo; tulips are popping up--soon they’ll be blooming; Huge No Kings turnout yesterday!

Stay well, speak out when you are able--it’s how we’ll save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful,

Oh, btw, Make It Real is still just 99 cents everywhere e-books are sold! If you love a fake dating romance that turns into true love, nab your copy before April 14!

Liz and I are headed out this morning for our twice yearly writing retreat. She’s allergy sniffly, I’m at the end of a wicked sinus infection that still shows up as a headache now and again. We should be delightful company for one another. Fortunately, we’re both pretty hardy souls and we’ll make it just fine.

Retreats are our time for writing, processing out loud, sharing story, and giving opinions. I can count on Liz to tell me if something is going to work or if I’ve gotten completely off-track. I do the same for her. It’s our sister-writer time and we’re pretty protective of it.

This spring we’re going to New Harmony in southern Indiana, a historic town on the Indiana/Illinois line. We’ve never been there before, and we are making a real effort to expand our retreat location choices. Michigan is always wonderful and Brown County has been our go-to for several years as well, but it’s time to explore just a little bit. So we’ll see lots of history, the beautiful Wabash River, and the hills of southern Indiana.

But mostly, we’ll write. Usually, I set a goal every retreat--how many words I want to get written in the four days or week we’re away. This time, I’m foregoing goal setting. I’m simply going to write on both my current work in progress and a proposal for a new series that I’m working on for my publisher. What gets written, gets written. No pressure. Just the joy of storytelling. Hold a good thought, okay?

Gratitude for This Week: antibiotics helped my sinus infection so I feel better. No pain after yoga class. My brother is doing better after a bout with pneumonia. Mani/pedi this week--ahhh, such luxury. A couple of warm and lovely days.

Stay well, speak out--we absolutely must if we want to save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful.

When I’ve got nothing, which is the situation as I sit here in front of my computer this morning, pal Liz always recommends doing a list or two. I figure why not? I was thinking maybe favorites books lists would be fun. What do you think? I’ll start.

Five Favorite Childhood Books (Too easy, but also fun to think about):

• The Bobbsey Twins books by Laura Lee Hope--I often pretended I was Nan, the oldest girl twin.

• The Nancy Drew books by Carolyn Keene--I loved her sporty little convertible and dreamed about a boyfriend like Ned (FYI, he’s fiction).

• The Jennifer Wish by Eunice Young Smith--amazing stories about a family who leaves the city in the early 1900s and moves to a farm. I was always so envious. I wanted to feed the chickens and ride the horse.

• Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery--from the moment Mom read the first Anne book to us, I knew that one day I would visit Prince Edward Island. I haven’t yet, but it’s out there, waiting for me.

• The Boxcar Children by Gertrude C. Warner--Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Bennie’s adventures fascinated me. I was too young to understand they were homeless... not sure how I’d feel about those stories today.

~*~*~*~

Five Favorite Romance Novels

• The Harvester by Gene Stratton Porter--Mom read all of Gene Stratton-Porter’s novels to us, and although she might not be considered a romance novelist by today’s standards, David Langston is and always will be the ultimate romance hero to me.

• Class Ring by Rosamond Du Jardin--one of the first “teen romances” I read. I think I was maybe ten or eleven when my older sister brought it home from the library. I devoured every one of Du Jardin’s books the summer I turned eleven. I wanted to be a cool teenager so badly then, yet even as a real teenager, I was never cool.

• The Seagulls Woke Me by Mary Stolz--Even with all the angst, Jean Campbell, who was spending a summer working at a Maine resort, was living my fantasy.

• Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie--It’s hard to pick a favorite Jennifer Crusie novel because I love every last one of them, but Minerva Dobbs was the first time I read about a curvy heroine and the first time I ever thought my own curves as lush. Crusie is the master of quippy dialogue as well as yummy love scenes.

• One More Summer by Liz Flaherty--I don’t include this one because Liz is a bestie, although she is, y’all already know that. This novel is not only the book that told me she and I already had a magical connection, but it is and always will be my go-to comfort read. Grace and Dillon’s story pulls you in and hangs on tight to the very last kiss.

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Five Books that Left a Lasting Impression

• All This and Heaven, Too by Rachel Field--This book brought it all, a love story, a mystery, Paris, intrigue, a voyager plopped down in a foreign country, Paris... I read it in high school and loved it so much, I bought it from the Purdue library sale when I was a freshman there. I reread every few years. I think it was part of the beginning of my love affair with France. (FYI--The film with Charles Boyer and Bette Davis, not so much. The book lived my heart too closely and when I watched the film I was disappointed.)

• Little Women by Louisa May Alcott--A coming-of-age novel that showed me how to believe in myself as a writer. There have been several film made from this book, but none of them beat Denise Di Novi’s 1992 version with Susan Sarandon, Wynona Ryder, and Christian Bale. I watch it at least twice a year and still reread the book when I need an anchor.

• The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain--This one was my first introduction to the world of slavery and racism. It was eye-opening.

• Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell--I think I was fifteen when Mom handed me this books. It was the first time I’d ever read such a long novel and I read it straight through barely stopping to eat or sleep. It started my love of American history. I’ve reread it several times since and the film, although well done, didn’t do it justice. How could it?

• The Scapegoat by Daphne du Maurier--I was pretty young when I discovered Daphne du Maurier--maybe eighth grade or so and her themes were often over my head. Mom never kept me from reading content that was probably too mature for me and I will always be grateful to her. This book intrigued me because it showed the budding writer in me that a simple idea--stolen identity--can take a character on an unexpected journey into someone else’s life.

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What Am I Reading Now?

Okay, confession time. Currently, I’m rereading Diana Gabaldon’s last two Outlander books--well, I’m working on An Echo in the Bone and will shortly begin rereading Go Tell the Bees That I am Gone. I do this when a new season of Outlander comes out on Starz just so I’m caught up on the story, and because I love these books. Editor Nan thinks they could be shorter, but reader Nan adores falling into Claire and Jamie’s love story and adventures.

What can I say? Gabaldon drew me in when I first discovered the Outlander books in 1998 and read all four of the first books in three weeks while I was in Florida helping my dad after his cancer surgery. Claire and Jamie kept me sane in the hottest September of my life as Dad was healing grumpily, the air conditioning went out in his condo, and I found out that in Florida they may call those giant cockroaches palmetto bugs, but they were still freakin’ cockroaches. Between the little lizards that jump across the bushes in front of your face, the humidity that damn near melted me to a puddle as I walked to the Publix, and those awful palmetto bugs living in the mulch in the gardens, it was a trying three weeks. But Jamie and Claire gave me a place to hide.

So tell me your favorites--childhood reads, romance novels, books that made a lasting impression, and what you’re reading right now. I’ve got a couple of e-books of your choice to give away to two commenters who join me. Let’s talk books!

Gratitude for This Week: Doc gave me some relief for the sinus infection I’ve been trying to ignore for the last week (ignoring didn’t work); Finished and invoiced my last editing gig for March; Found the perfect birthday gift for Husband (it’s tomorrow!); Only a week until Liz and I head out on writing retreat; Book 4 is started, new series proposal for Tule is brewing--I am a writer!

Stay well, keep speaking out--No Kings Day is March 28, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

I don’t know if this is true or not, but I read that Ernest Hemingway was once bet he couldn’t write a short story in only six words. He accepted the challenge and wrote:

“For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”

Wow. What a powerful story! When words are your stock-in-trade, writing fewer of them is hard. I just finished revisions on Help Wanted, Cowboy, book 3 of my Juniper Falls Ranch series. It’s going back to my editor tomorrow after I go through it one more time. I took out words and added words, ending up with a net gain of 1,453 words. I’ll tell you the truth, that’s unusual for me. I don’t add words in revisions, generally, I take them out. Go figure.

As an editor, I am a ruthless word cutter. I can slash passivity, ponderous adverbial modifiers, dialogue tags that appear too frequently, and filter words with all the precision of a samurai. Those things aren’t author voice issues, those are what drag a story down. Every author has their “word”--the one they repeat without even knowing it. We call them echoes. Mine is little, although I do have a list that I check for with every manuscript, including still, so, well, when, then, even, and another biggie, just. I once edited a book and when I ran it through my checklist of repeated words, the word then showed up 893 times in a 256-page book. That means the word then appeared on each page at least three times. I stripped out 627 of them. Whew!

Do readers appreciate brevity? I have no idea. Look at all the people who love the Outlander books, every single one of which is over 259,000 to nearly 500,000 words. I loved the Outlander books, although I confess, the editor in me thought the stories could’ve been told with fewer words. That said, I‘ve read every damn word of all nine books and would do it again in a heartbeat because Diana Gabaldon’s world-building draws me in and I’m stuck there until the last page.

So... words. Do you skim long books? Do you read every word? Does word count or page count play into your decision whether to read a story? What about your favorite authors? Confess now, have you ever read a book by an author who is an auto-buy for you and thought, “This book could be shorter.” (No names, please!)

Here’s a fun little exercise for you, whether you’re a reader or a writer. Let’s do the Hemingway challenge. Write me a six-word story down in the comments. I’ll choose one at random and send that person a $10 Amazon gift card so they can buy more words.

Here’s mine (I’m no Ernest Hemingway!): Yellow crocuses, endless rain, it’s spring.

Gratitude for This Week: Grandboy as the Chairman in Mary Poppins Junior-- what joy to see him onstage again. The kid is quite an actor! Tulips are peeking up; A walk with Husband, Revisions are done; New Outlander has started, I’m already all in!

Stay well, speak out when you can--it’s the only way we can save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

Mes amis, get ready. This is pure look at me.

I don’t talk a lot about my first foray into book publishing a lot because my focus, naturally enough, is on my current releases with Tule Publishing. But I do have a whole other series that I love--one of the books--Once More From the Top-- is the novel that put me on the USA Today Bestseller List. I published the books as an indie because at the time, my agent and I couldn’t get anyone interested in reading romance with characters in their, oh heavens! forties and fifties. Now seasoned romance is a real thing and readers of a certain age are loving stories about people they can relate to. The books are little spicier than my River’s Edge or cowboy novels, but they have the same kind of gentle beta heroes and spunky heroines.

The Women of Willow Bay is a series of four books about four remarkable women in their prime. In our youth-crazed society, it’s easy to forget that romance is not the exclusive property of twenty- or even thirty-somethings. The Women of Willow Bay series presents love stories for grown-ups, because love can happen to anyone at any age, women only grow more interesting, and you’re never too old for a little sexy romance.

This week, March 1 through 7, Smashwords is sponsoring Read an Ebook Week-- a week that encourages readers to pick up the digital device of their choice and download a new book to read.

I’m excited to announce that my Women of Willow Bay books, Once More from the Top, Sex and the Widow Miles, The Summer of Second Chances, and Saving Sarah, will all be available as part of a promotion on Smashwords to celebrate Read an Ebook Week! This is a chance to get my books, along with books from many other great authors, at a 25% discount so you can get right to reading.

Here’s the link to the sale: https://www.smashwords.com/sale

Here’s a link to the Women of Willow Bay series with all the details about each story as well as some bonus material you might get a kick out of after you’ve read the books.

I’d love it if you’d share this promo with your friends and family, so I’m going to offer a little bit of a bonus. I’m giving two e-book copies of Once More from The Top to two lucky commenters here. I’ll draw names at random on Tuesday, so tell me below if you like your books closed door or with a little extra spice.

Thank you for your help and support! Happy reading!

Gratitude for this week: A couple of lovely warm days, a long walk with Grandboy and the granddogs, yoga class started, Husband got a good report from the oncologist--two more years and we’re at five years cancer-free! We got the pampas grass cut back for in anticipation of spring.

Stay well, stay strong and speak out when you are able--it’s the only way we can save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

A good-hearted woman. That would be me, mes amies … well, sort of. I had an appointment with my cardiologist on Monday last week. The first one in a year because I had been doing well and the every-three-months checkups seemed excessive. This time, though, I had some concerns—I’ve been more tired than usual, I’m getting breathless again when I walk with the ladies, and my blood pressure is consistently in the hypotension (low blood pressure) category. Dr. B, who is the best-ever cardiologist, and I talked about all my concerns. I was prepared for drastic measures to fix what I thought could be my worsening HFrEF.

The good news is she felt we could fix things with a medicine switch—changing up the beta blocker that is part of the 4-drug protocol keeping me alive for the past three years. (Yeah, it’s been three years since I was diagnosed with Heart Failure with reduced Ejection Fraction.) We made the switch and even after only six days, I feel more energetic. My daily BP checks are in the normal range—and okay, it’s very low normal, but it’s normal. I’ll take it.

The best part is otherwise (and I know this is ironic given that my heart is failing), I am healthy. Very healthy. All my bloodwork came out perfect. Dr. B even pointed to my bloodwork results on the computer screen and said to the student she had with her on Monday, “Want to see perfect numbers?” The student was impressed, and probably surprised because I am a 72-year-old round woman in heart failure.

Oh, and we talked a little about the weight thing, which is down 10 pounds from my last visit. Dr. B. reinforced that my size is fine, as long I take care of myself. I eat right, I exercise, we’re starting yoga classes on Wednesday, and I’m drinking lots of water. Yes, my butt is round and bodacious, but it’s okay. I’m strong, my heart is beating, and the meds are doing their job, plus I’m kinda cute and sexy (think red cowboy boots!). So all in all, I left the visit feeling like things are going to be okay. I see her again in three months and I’m supposed to call in a couple of weeks with a report about how I’m feeling since the med switch-up. So far, so good.

The weight thing preys on my mind sometimes, even though at this point, I’m pretty much average size for a women of my age. I occasionally wonder if I should try the whole GLP-1 micro-dosing thing that nearly every woman I know is doing, but I’m not a good candidate for it, as Dr. B has emphasized that more than once. Besides, I’m not sure I’m want the “food noise” to go away--I like the food noise. I like the anticipation, the cooking, The ordering of and the thinking about the taste of good food. And frankly, since I had Covid in August, I eat way, way less anyway. And I’m tired, so unholy tired of counting every calorie I consume. Tired of labeling foods good or bad. Food is neutral--neither good nor bad. I want to make my eating choices based on “Does it sound tasty?” rather than “Where will this end up on my body?” I know how much the GLP1s are helping friends who need/want them and I wish them every good thing, but for me--I'm going to try to make peace with food and my body. Hold a good thought.

One of my Facebook friends posted this little story a couple of years ago and I saved it because it spoke to me about my constant battle with weight…

A while back, at the entrance of a gym, there was a picture of a very thin and beautiful woman. The caption was “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”

The story goes, a woman (of clothing size unknown) answered the following way:

“Dear people, whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, seals, curious humans), they are sexually active and raise their children with great tenderness.

They entertain like crazy with dolphins and eat lots of prawns. They swim all day and travel to fantastic places like Patagonia, the Barents Sea or the coral reefs of Polynesia.

They sing incredibly well and sometimes even are on cds. They are impressive and dearly loved animals, which everyone defend and admires.

Mermaids do not exist.

But if they existed, they would line up to see a psychologist because of a problem of split personality: woman or fish?

They would have no sex life and could not bear children.

Yes, they would be lovely, but lonely and sad.

And, who wants a girl that smells like fish by his side?

Without a doubt, I’d rather be a whale.

At a time when the media tells us that only thin is beautiful, I prefer to eat ice cream with my kids, to have dinner with my husband, to eat and drink and have fun with my friends.

We women, we gain weight because we accumulate so much wisdom and knowledge that there isn’t enough space in our heads, and it spreads all over our bodies.

We are not fat, we are greatly cultivated.

Every time I see my curves in the mirror, I ask myself: “How amazing am I?!”

~~originated with a Facebook post by Delphine Fieberg

Yup, that’s my new mantra whenever I pass a mirror... How amazing am I?!

News & a Giveaway! On Friday, N.N. Light’s Book Heaven is featuring The Cowboy’s Comeback as a New & Upcoming Bookish Event pick! I soooo appreciate N.N. Light’s support and the support of all my readers! Thank you! Let’s give away a couple of e-book copies of The Cowboy’s Comeback to celebrate. Just tell me in the comments what you’re grateful for this week. I’ll draw a winner on Tuesday.

Gratitude for This Week: Dr. B. changed my beta blocker--seems to be helping; Took a quick trip up to the lake to check on the cottage--all is well; Several good long walks around the hood this week; Sent book 3 to my editor; Started book 4--Levi and Zoe are talking.

Stay well, stay safe, but speak out when you are able; always choose kindness; and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

What a wonderful feeling to be able to type “The End” at the finish line of a long arduous writing experience. I have another novel done—really, truly done! And my critique partners are on-board, one even said, “I love this story!” That is high praise indeed from a person whose writing I’ve admired for years. Help Wanted, Cowboy is out to betas right now, and I’ve been going through it in preparation for sending it to my editor next week.

Since I got to THE END, how about I do a cover reveal for this book? The amazing Lee Hyat has given me another wonderful cover for Help Wanted Cowboy, book 3 in my Juniper Falls Ranch series. It releases July 7, 2026. She has captured my MCs just perfectly--bull rider Rory Pearson and OB Nurse/Midwife Millie Sparks. I’m not going to give you the blurb right now, just the cover, but I will tell you that this story has a treasure hunt, a lost heirloom, and a heroine who needs a big favor from the hero. So here it is--what do you think?

Honestly, this one wasn’t quite as arduous as others have been--this story flowed easier, which gives me pause because now I’m worrying about what my editor will say. But the thing is, I have another novel done— well, at least a first draft. That rush never diminishes. Even after 21 books, the thrill is there every time I type, THE END.

Most times, the rush is combined with stomach-knotting nervousness about sending it on to my editor and wondering what revisions will be needed. It’s always so hard to send your babies off to be taken apart by your development editor. I do the revisions, though. I always do them because she is the guru of development editing and nearly 100% of the time, her advice and edits are spot on.

Even as I've got ideas simmering for book 4 in the Juniper Falls Ranch series, I've also got this day job that takes up an incredible amount of my time. I love editing, I love my freelance life, but it's not always so "free." Deadlines beckon and clients need their projects. That old "gotta make a living" sometimes gets in the way of creative energy.

That’s a theme in the Simple Abundance path, by the way—not letting life block our creative urges. I’m not doing Sarah Ban Breathnach’s daybook again this year--I go through it every couple of years because it brings me peace and joy, and last year was a Simple Abundance year. But the lessons there stick. Sarah speaks often of allowing our creative energy to flow, of being receptive to inspiration, of believing our yearnings are blessings. Finishing this book brought all those feelings to the surface. It’s done and I believe that it’s good and will be even better with my editor’s revisions.

There is no Nan without the writing and probably even without the editing... both define me better than any words I could find to tell you who I am.

Gratitude for This Week: I wrote THE END. Got to take a walk with pal, Mary--it was lovely. Made time for a massage--such deliciousness. Saw Grandboy, Son, and DIL on Friday night--always a treat. I made Ina Garten’s meatloaf recipe last night for Valentine’s Day supper--it was superb and I’ll be making meatloaf that way from now on.

Stay well, speak out when you can--it’s the only way to save our democracy, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!

I’ve been working on becoming more confident and seeing myself in a new way. Clothes are part of this very slow transformation--wearing them, buying them, choosing them... knowing what best suits me. In the daybook Simple Abundance, Sarah Ban Breathnach talks about finding clothes that fit your lifestyle.

That assumes I have a lifestyle, which I’m not entirely sure I really do. I’m a writer and editor. I pretty much live in comfort clothes--yoga pants, T-shirts with a sweater tugged over the top of them or a sweatshirt if it’s really cold outside. Slippers or socks and I’m good to go for the day. There are even days, I confess, where I’ll add a bra to whatever pjs I woke up in, toss a sweater on, and I’m at my desk... so... finding my style feels almost laughable.

I grew up in the blue jeans era--we wore jeans everywhere, all the time. Pair them with a sweatshirt or a T-shirt and you’ve got that casual look. Put them with strappy sandals and a pretty top or a white T-shirt and a blazer and you are good to go anywhere for a night out. Dresses? What’s a dress? And frankly, from what I’ve seen online in the way of dresses for 2026, I’m not seeing me. I’m not even seeing anyone I know in the styles on the runway.

So... my style? I wear a lot of black, but I look good in black--the whole blonde hair thing. However, this year, I’m going to try for more color. I just need to figure out how. My main motivation when I shop for clothes is covering up round old Nan, but I’ve lost weight this winter and even though I’m still round, I’m not as round, so maybe I’ll try some more colorful fitted tops.

Since I’ve been writing cowboy romance, I’ve tried to fit some of my clothes to being a western romance writer. Last month, I bought new jeans and wonderful sweater with a cowboy theme that will pair well with a crisp white blouse. I got a cowboy hat and I have fun wearing it for bookish events.

I also bought red cowboy boots. Not the one in last week’s Snippet--those were boots I saw in Montana that I thought were way cool, but they were also way expensive. No, I got my red cowboy boots online and I almost had second thoughts when I tried them. Ummm ... could round old Nan pull this off? I hadn’t worn cowboy boots in over 20 years and never red ones! Yesterday, I put them on and wore them around the house all day. (Yes, tacky with yoga pants, but it was a fashion experiment, so no judgment!) Wow--I’d forgotten how comfortable well-fitting cowboy boots are. The heels made me stand up straighter and I felt tall and ... well, strong. I can’t wait to add them to the jeans and sweater for my upcoming book signing on Tuesday. Best part? My neighbor Renee sent me a text last night to tell me that she has red cowboy boots, too, and she’s coming to the book signing and wearing them! How cool is that?

I realized as I was writing this that I don’t write much about clothes in my stories. Oh there are scenes where clothes are the topic, but they’re rare. In my River’s Edge book, The Baby Contract, the girlfriends all go to a bridal shop to pick up their bridesmaids’ dresses for Holly’s wedding and Tierney, the heroine, worries that her dress will make her look like a fire plug in chiffon. It was one of the few scenes I’ve written where fashion was the topic and believe it or not, it took about forty minutes worth of looking at bride websites to figure out how I should dress the women. I’m not very creative when it comes to fashion. One might almost say I am fashion-challenged.

Tierney couldn’t help chuckling as she, Fran, Megan, and Sam stood together in front of the long wall of mirrors, all of them in chiffon gowns of the palest lilac, although Karyn said the color was called wisteria. Each dress was a different style, suited to each woman’s shape—Fran’s empire-waist with the wide crisscross straps in the back showed off the tan she’d gotten in Florida a week earlier. Sam’s one-shoulder sheath design with pleating at the bodice and waist emphasized her willowy height, while Megan’s A-line with flirty cap sleeves flattered her generous curves.

As for her own dress… well, at five feet four inches of solid muscle, she’d been worried the design would make her look like a squat little fireplug. She was floored and delighted at how the strapless sweetheart neckline accentuated her strong shoulders and arms while the slit A-line skirt made her seem almost… sexy.

See what research will do for you? It almost sounds as though I know what I’m talking about. So ... clothes ... talk to me. Are you a fashionista? Do you dress trendy? Classic? Comfortable? And writers, talk to me about writing fashion in your stories. Do you do it? How much are trendy clothes a part of your characters’ personas?

Gratitude for This Week: Seeing my neighbor’s party lights from my kitchen window reminds me spring will come; Son came by to help us with a job that required younger stronger arms and oh, how thankful we were; Grandboy is enjoying play rehearsal at school--can’t wait to see him in Mary Poppins! I’m nearing the finish line on the first draft book 3 in the Juniper Falls Ranch series; candlelit breakfast with Husband.

Stay well, speak out when you are able--it’s how we’ll save our democracy, most of all, mes amies, stay grateful!