In other news, I’m pleased to share the cover for my next fantasy novel:

Artist Brandon Dorman made what was in my head…real. I remain in awe and gratitude of his tremendous talent.

ORDER HERE!

A librarian witch must use her bookish knowledge to track down a dangerous, magical tome, in this enchanting novel from New York Times bestselling author Jenn McKinlay.

Thanks to her training as a librarian and her newfound magical abilities, Zoe Ziakas thinks she has a handle on her job at the Museum of Literature safeguarding the secret collection of enchanted tomes known as the Books of Dubious Origin. But when Jasper Griffin—the colleague she’s been crushing on—reports that their most volatile acquisition, The Book of Shadows, has been stolen, Zoe’s carefully cataloged world unravels.

This isn’t just any magical text. It carries unquestionable power, twisting truth into illusion and turning allies into enemies. Once its power is unleashed, no one can trust what they see or who they are.

To track down the book, Zoe, Jasper, and the rest of the BODO team plunge into a perilous hunt that takes them from shadowy midnight markets to demon-infested streets, all while wrangling an unpredictable hellhound puppy. But when the thief begins to invoke the book’s darkest spells, Zoe faces an impossible challenge: How does she stop a curse that can rewrite reality itself?

If she can’t separate fact from fiction, the story won’t just end—it will be erased.

JENN: Thanks for indulging me. I do love to share a fabulous cover. I can’t wait to share this story with you. I quite literally felt my brain flex its muscles with some of the plots twists. It’s going to be a wild ride!

Read more

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a stuff person. I don’t like clutter. I don’t collect things. My esthetic is definitely a mid-century modern motel — fifties chic in a house that looks like no one lives there. Good thing I have the Hub and too many pets to ruin that by coating everything with hair and covering every surface with books. For clarification, the hair is from the pets and the books are the Hub’s.

All that to explain what was happening with me when Hub found me lying on the floor of my office the other day, clutching a trash bag in one hand while staring at the ceiling. He gave me a side eye and asked, “You all right, darling?”

I sighed. We’ve been dealing with some stuff (sick cat, leaky pool, tax season) and I was lost in the Overwhelm—this is an alternate plane of existence where tying my shoes feel like a Herculean task. Having lived with me for twenty-seven years, Hub knows that I manage time in the Overwhelm by throwing things out/giving things away. The fact that I was supine on the floor and not in tornado mode filling the bag with whatever I deemed expendable, let him know that on this particular visit to the Overwhelm, I was lost in the weeds.

Hub gently took the bag from my hand and suggested a visit to the Phoenix Zoo to bring me back to myself. We live nearby and like to go on Monday afternoons when Hub’s finished with work because it’s the quietest time of the week to visit.

This handsome mandrill is Moja, and he is NOT a good sharer. (This was confirmed by Hooligan 1’s Plus 1 who is an animal ambassador at the zoo).

As Hub and I wandered around the habitats—observed the otter swimming, the flamingos trotting and honking (they sound like geese to me), saw the zebra’s butt from a distance, and visited the mandrill who thought I was trying to take his ball and jumped at the glass, scaring the snot out of me—I felt the many feelings I was navigating start to sort themselves into the appropriate categories of deal with immediately, deal with tomorrow, and deal with whenever. Equilibrium achieved.

It’s so easy to get lost in the Overwhelm with life’s endless have to’s and what feels like an ever increasing list of things to be concerned about that it’s hard to find the way home. This visit to the zoo, spent observing the other amazing beings we share this fabulous blue marble with, made me realize that I need to start giving myself a daily time out in nature where I just shut my cake hole and observe. It reminds me that those things that send me into the Overwhelm are not nearly as important as a mama spider monkey snuggling her little or a tiger with paws the size of my face lying beside his pool while soaking up the sun. Little joys are everywhere and they’re the keys to getting out of the Overwhelm. You just have to look for them.

This morning, I was shocked and delighted to see a hooded oriole in my yard—not once but twice! Also, I found a ladybug on the living room couch, but that’s a cheat because I bought a bunch of ladybugs to protect my grapevine from aphids. I’m not sure how this little guy got in the house, but I’ll consider it lucky, and, yes, I rehomed him back to the grape arbor.

How about you, Readers, how do you manage to escape when you get trapped in the Overwhelm?

CONTEST WINNERS:

In my last newsletter, I offered up three bookmarks to be chosen out of the comments. Those winners are:

CONGRATS!!! Message me your mailing address and I’ll send your bookmark!

Other contests: Dudesday kicks off every Tuesday on my social media pages (more bookmark opportunities), my publisher is offering a SWEEPSTAKES with loads of spring books and they have a GOODREADS giveaway happening as well. I’ll endeavor to share all of this on my Substack as they come up!

BOOK STUFF: Because there’s always book stuff.

We’re 23 days from the release of THE SUMMER SHARE! I had so much fun writing about family secrets, a Great Dane named Dude, sea turtle babies, found family, two oddballs falling in love with the right person at the wrong time, and the glorious Outer Banks, that I hope you’ll love it! Pre-orders are the bomb for authors, so if you’d be so kind, it would be greatly appreciated! Order HERE.

Have an excellent week! Thanks for being the bestest readers ever!!!

XOXO, Jenn

I’m supposed to be doing copy edits, and I will get to them, really I will, but I just looked at the calendar and noticed that it is ONE MONTH until THE SUMMER SHARE is out in the wild (May 26th). I’m so thrilled to share this story with you and I’ll be talking more about it as the release draws closer but for now I wanted to explain where pieces of this story came from that are dear to my heart.

QUICK CONTEST!!! Leave a comment on this newsletter and be entered to win the Dude bookmark (pictured above)! Yes, Dude is also one of the many quirky characters to be found in this “heartwarming and hilarious read”! Three winners will be announced on Friday!!!

PRE-ORDER TODAY!

THE SUMMER SHARE, featuring Hannah and Simon, has a couple of recurring themes about finding your people and being true to yourself. These pop up in my work quite often because as a reader-nerd turned writer, I was always marching to my own drummer, usually on the off beat, so not exactly in lock step with the world around me. I have a weakness for oddballs and screwups so it’s small wonder that this novel, as well as my previous works, are populated with those types of characters.

Sometimes, I feel the pressure to write more mainstream characters but then I look at my people, my non-fictional people, and I just can’t. I’ve always believed in letting my Hooligans figure themselves out and it hasn’t always been easy. When one of the hooligans became enamored with a historical video game where the characters wear jackets that look like they come from the Revolutionary War -- we’re talking brass buttons, wide cuffs, high collars and long tails – I wasn’t surprised that he wanted such a jacket for his birthday. I mean it was super cool.

I was surprised, however, when he proceeded to wear it to school. I was certain this fashion independence would lead to bullying. He assured me that it wouldn’t, but even if it did, he didn’t care. He reminded me that I frequently told him not to let the opinions of others matter more than his own. As it turned out, he was right and everyone at school loved the jacket and it became one of the many “schooling the mom” moments the boys have given me over the years. Excellent.

And then the other hooligan decided he wanted to dye his hair blue. Yes, blue. The bluest blue you ever did see, like Smurf blue or M & M blue and not just a streak or his bangs. Oh, no, we’re talking his whole head was fully committed to an electric shade of blue. Much like the jacket, Hub and I had no problem with this. We’ve always wanted the dudes to create their own identities and express themselves however they choose so long as it’s respectful of others. I did caution him that other people might not be as a-okay with his hair style choice as we were and that he may find himself being teased.

My darling hooligan looked at me with one eyebrow raised higher than the other and said, “Why would I care what anyone else thinks of me? Don’t you always say 'the only opinion that matters is your own'?” Seriously, again with this? Yes, that little gem had come out of my cake hole repeatedly over the years but at the time I had no idea it was going to be put to the test with fancy jackets and blue hair. Oy!

Needless to say, we dyed his hair (and my fingertips -- lousy gloves) and when it was done, it looked super rad. He was happy, I was proud of his independence, and his classmates loved it. Go figure.

Now here’s a funny thing; the only people who tried to make him feel small were adults. A few of his teachers gave him a hard time, some strangers felt the need to comment unkindly, and I asked him how he felt about it. He didn’t care! He was very clear that anyone who judged him by the color of his hair was undoubtedly someone who judges others by where they live, what they drive, the color of their skin, how much money they have, whether they’re pretty or not, etc. and so on. He said they weren’t his kind of people so their opinions did not matter. Smart kid.

Because I am his mom, I, too, received a lot of mixed reactions from adults over the hair. Lucky me! When I met a woman at the grocery store who approached me and asked the hooligan’s age, I prepared myself for yet another lecture about how could I let my boy do that to his hair, why aren’t I a better mother, yada yada yada, because I’ve noticed as a society we have become very judgy and much more likely to tear people down rather than build them up. Good thing this oak is a lot like her acorns and couldn’t care less what people think of me or mine. About this woman, however, I was completely wrong. As I mentally prepared my snappy comeback, she told me about her son. He had been just a little bit older than my boy, he had loved to dye his hair funky colors, and she had encouraged his free spirit.

Tragically, she told me her son had died from a terminal disease the year before. When she caught sight of my son out of the corner of her eye, she had a flash of memory about her son and was hit hard by how much she missed him and his blue hair. Then she started to cry and so did I. I hugged her right there in the middle of the grocery store, because I had no words of comfort. I couldn’t even imagine the pain of such a loss. When we pulled it together, wiped our eyes and blew our noses, she said she was glad I let my son develop his own sense of self. She said when she thought of her boy the one thing that brought her peace was that she had always encouraged him to be true to himself. “It’s so important,” she said.

Later, as I smothered both hooligans in hugs and kisses, I took several moments to be grateful that I was lucky enough to be able to kiss them and hug them. But I was also very glad that they both have a strong sense of who they are and what is really important in life. It is my greatest hope that as adults, they never lose their sense of self, yes, even if it means Revolutionary style jackets, blue hair, or whatever their creative souls come up with next.

As George Bernard Shaw said, "Life isn't about finding yourself; Life is about creating yourself."

So, here’s to creating the very best version of ourselves in whatever form it takes! Thanks for letting me visit with you and, as always, for being the best readers a writer could ever have.
XO, Jenn

There’s so much to talk about: Artemis II, my new favorite recipe for Arizona Sunshine Pie — it uses a whole lemon, peel and all! —or the book I’m reading right now—Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. But as I look at the calendar, I see that I have a trip to visit the film set for Paris is Always a Good Idea, my 2020 romcom, rocketing towards me, and I haven’t even started trying to figure out what to pack. Oy.

So, how did this whole book to streaming series come about? Let’s talk about it.

Read more

Y’all, I have been in a stupor for two weeks. The entire month of March was eaten by a deadline that shouldn’t have been as mental as it was but when I agree to my deadlines a year or two in advance, I never know what’s going to happen in the interim. You know, like our world on fire with the requisite existential dread, every appliance I currently own deciding to hold hands and die at the same time, my computer included, natch, and a deathly ill cat.

FYI, King George is still hanging on but we have to give him a pill every day. Have you ever given a cat a pill? You have to catch them when they decide to poke their head out of their second dimension level hidey hole, pry open their clenched maw, toss the pill to the back of their throat, catch the rejected pill that the cat pitooeys before it disappears behind the sofa, wrap the beast in a towel and kneel on the edges to keep him contained…did I mention the boy is “sickly”? You’d never know it. Get the pill in the back of his throat, again, and then squirt some Churu lickable treat in his mouth so he has to swallow while dodging the paw he has managed to free from the towel. I had no idea a cat could spread their toes like that with claws extended! Yikes! And rinse and repeat the entire process until one of you gives up from sheer exhaustion. So far, in the win column it’s Mama 14 and George 0. Mercy!

In spite of all that, I averaged 1500 words/day during the month of March and turned If Summer Never Ends in on April 1st, as promised. When I looked in the mirror on April 2, I was certain I’d aged ten years in thirty days. All of this is to explain why there was no newsletter in March. which I feel terrible about but it is what it is. My garden went rogue while my back was turned as well and the lettuce grew three feet tall and went to seed…sigh.

So, here’s the latest news, events, and whatnot, and thank you so much for being patient with me as I take a beat to clean my house and regroup as I prepare for the release of The Summer Share while also prepping to go visit the set where they’re currently filming Paris is Always a Good Idea as a streaming series for the Hallmark+ Channel. They’re filming in Spain, so I can barely contain my excitement!

PREORDER NOW

BOOK NEWS: As mentioned, The Summer Share will be released in 40 days!!! And I’m THRILLED to share that it received a starred review from Booklist:

The Summer Share. By Jenn McKinlay May 2026.

After spending the last five years traveling the U.S.in her vintage Volkswagen van known as “Buttercup,” Hannah Spencer and her beloved Great Dane, Dude, now have a permanent place to call home after her beloved grandfather, “Pops,” leaves her his old fishing cottage on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. However, it turns out that Pops only owned one half of the cottage. The other half belonged to “Gramps,” who left his half to his grandson, Simon O’Malley, who is determined to put the cottage up for sale. While both Hannah and Simon agree to a temporary truce as housemates to fulfill the last legal stipulation for them to inherit the cottage, there’s no telling what will happen to the cottage, not to mention their relationship, once summer is over. McKinlay’s (Witches of Dubious Origin, 2025) gift for crafting sneaky sweet yet seriously sexy rom-coms continues on in fine fashion with this sharply humorous and superbly satisfying love story that not only underscores the immeasurable value of love and laughter in life, but also the importance of investing ourselves in the community around us. — John Charles

Seriously chuffed about this review! There are a bajillion giveaways and whatnot happening around this release (even a Dudesday Giveaway) happening every Tuesday, so be sure to follow me on Instagram or FB or BookBub or Goodreads (although I’m not a GR author, my publisher does giveaways there) to tap into the freebies!

EVENTS:

Book signing at the Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale on May 31st at 2PM.

Author talk and signing at the Cragin Memorial Library in Colchester, CT on June 12th at 6PM.

Ashland Mystery Festival in Ashland, OR October 8-10.

Potentially more to come!

Wishing you all good things, Readers!!! As I get up to speed with life, I’ll be posting more frequently. For paid subscribers, I’ll be sharing the scoop on how the Paris book found it’s way to the screen!

XOXO, Jenn

BOOK NEWS:

I am THRILLED to share that my romcom PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA has been optioned for a streaming series on Hallmark+, starring Lacey Chabert and Scott Michael Foster and is currently in production in PARIS! This is the story of my heart and I am just delighted that it’s going to enjoy a second life in this film adaptation. I’ll share more details as they come…

BOOKING FOR TROUBLE has been out for almost two weeks! It’s always a joy to have a book out there and it’s been delightful hearing from readers about this latest Library Lover’s Mystery. Thank you all so much!

LOVE AT FIRST BOOK the e-book is on sale wherever e-books are sold for $2.99 A romcom set in Ireland - a perfect read for St. Patrick’s Day! Deal ends 3/8!

EVENTS:

March 9th at 6 PM - Author talk at the Key West Friends of the Library: https://friendsofthekeywestlibrary.org/event/jenn-mackinlay/

June 12th - Cragin Memorial Library in Colchester, CT: Author Talk, details to follow.

Oct 8th-10th - Mystery Festival in Ashland, OR, details to follow.

CONTESTS:

There are some pretty great giveaways happening on my social media and here. Last newsletter, I offered three signed copies to commenters on the post and here are the three winners (plus an extra from someone who didn’t claim their win last go round): Lynne Stevens, Deborah Dubois, Penny Vick, and Margaret Utsey!

CONGRATULATIONS: Message me your address or just reply to the emailed newsletter with your address and I’ll mail your books!

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

Did you ever get into a beef with someone and even though you knew you were right and they knew you were right, they were still willing to die on the hill of their wrongness?

It reminds me of when youngest Hooligan (H2) decided to runaway. He was five. I was baking cupcakes for dessert and he wanted one about a half hour before dinner. Naturally, I said no that they were for after the meal. Well, boy howdy, did he get angry. He stomped to his room and grabbed his Spiderman backpack, which was entirely too big for him. He packed his most prized stuffed animal and some other bits and bobs that a five-year-old finds essential and headed for the door. I asked him where he thought he was going and he said, “Texas!”

“Well, that’s a long walk and you’ll probably get hungry,” I said. I handed him a Tupperware container with one cupcake in it, thinking this would break him and he’d feel bad for being such a stinker and scrap the running away plan.

He didn’t.

After sending me a blast of stink-eye, H2 slammed out the door, clutching his Tupperware to his chest. Hub and I looked at each other in a “uh oh, this is one of those teachable moments, isn’t it?” way and silently acknowledged to each other that we were in no way prepared for this.

”What do we do?” Hub asked.

“Let him go,” I said much more confidently than I should have. “It’s getting dark. He’s not allowed to cross the street. He’ll turn back.”

He did not turn back.

Hub and I crept out of the house and watched this wee tot stride down the sidewalk with his Spiderman backpack slapping the backs of his knees, while holding his cupcake, his gaze trained on the horizon, fully committed to going to Texas.

When he was nearing the stop sign at the end of our road, Hub looked at me in full panic and said, “We have to stop him.”

“Don’t chase him. Run down the next street over and double back. Cut him off before he reaches the intersection,” I said.

Hub ran. Oldest Hooligan (H1), who had watched his brother depart with horrified eyes was now full on wailing his brother’s name, crying his eyes out, his heart absolutely smashed to bits that he was losing his little brother. Oy.

I paced, trying to decide how to handle this. Surely, H2 would be so happy to see his father that he would rush into his arms with relief that Daddy had come to save him from himself. Yeah, no.

Hub appeared in front of H2 right before the stop sign, preventing H2 from stepping into the road, and H2’s response was to kick his Dad in the shins. That’s gratitude for ya!

Hub picked H2 up and carried him all the way home, still holding his Tupperware. As they approached the house, I noticed the matching expressions of ire on their faces in the tight lips, squinty eyes, and the red flush of their cheeks.

Hub deposited H2 in the family room, where his brother was so relieved by his return he hugged him close and told him to never ever scare him like that again. Once H1 was composed, H2 was sent to his room, without the cupcake, to think upon his behavior. Dinner was ready and we ate without him. I saved him a plate which he was invited to eat by himself when the rest of us were finished.

Did this shunning, for lack of a better word, reach this child? Yes, yes, it did. It took awhile, stubborn is hardwired into our collective DNA, but after dinner and a bath, H2 joined us in the living room for stories. By the end of the third book, I believe he grasped that what he was running away from was everyone and everything he loved. He had an “ah ha” moment of what was I thinking?

When we tucked him in, he started to cry. He apologized for running away, kicking his dad, and scaring us. He looked fearful that his apology would be rejected and that broke my heart. I wanted to snatch him close and tell him it didn’t matter. It was fine that he’d yelled at us, terrified us, and kicked his dad, that we’d always love him no matter what because of course we would — but I didn’t. Instead, I just opened my arms and let him come to me if he wanted.

H2 threw himself into my arms, and I hugged him tight. Hub was sitting next to me and he joined the hug and then H1 piled on top. H2 started to giggle at all the love raining down upon him, and I could see that he felt all the way down to his bones how precious he was to us and, more importantly on that particular day, he realized how important we were to him. I knew in that moment he’d never run away again.

I’m pleased to report that while stubbornness is still hardwired into our DNA, as a family we all learned that if you make a mistake but apologize with your whole heart, you will be forgiven and there is no need to die on that hill of wrongness not even for a cupcake before dinner.

Wishing you happy reading, Readers, and hoping that you always find extra french fries at the bottom of the bag!

XO, Jenn

EVENTS:

February 24th - book signing at 7 PM at the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale, AZ. If you want to order a signed copy, they can ship to anywhere!

March 9th at 6 PM - Author talk at the Key West Friends of the Library: https://friendsofthekeywestlibrary.org/event/jenn-mackinlay/

June 12th - Cragin Memorial Library in Colchester, CT: Author Talk, details to follow.

Oct 8th-10th - Mystery Festival in Ashland, OR, details to follow.

CONTESTS:

There are some pretty great giveaways happening on my social media and here. This week, to show my appreciation for your support, leave a comment and three randomly chosen subscribers will win a signed copy of BOOKING FOR TROUBLE. Good luck!

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

BOOKING FOR TROUBLE, my 16th and final (maybe, probably, idk, we’ll see) Library Lover’s Mystery is out in TWO DAYS!

Before I talk about this series and what it’s meant to me, I have to acknowledge how gorgeous the covers are! Julia Green has been the artist for this series since book one and I have loved every single cover she has created for this series. I feel truly blessed by the cover gods to have been lucky enough to have her illustrate my world. Thank you, Julia!

Sixteen books ago I introduced librarian Lindsey Norris with a knack for finding bodies and a talent for solving murders in BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING , and somehow that first story turned into the Library Lover’s series. Sixteen books. Which feels a little like saying I raised a child to driving age and now someone has handed her car keys.

Let’s be honest: series fatigue is real. There comes a moment when you look at your beloved fictional town and think, “What fresh havoc can I possibly wreak upon you?” I’ve hunted for treasure, hosted book sales, planned weddings, solved cold cases, and, yes, discovered more bodies than any self-respecting small town should statistically allow.

And yet.

Leaving this world feels less like typing “The End” and more like packing up a house to leave a town you’ve lived in for years. I know which floorboards creak. I know which of my neighbors is a busy body. I know exactly how the light falls through the library windows in autumn. Walking away is practical. It’s smart. It’s probably overdue.

It’s also heartbreaking.

These characters have been my daily companions. They’ve surprised me, comforted me, and occasionally refused to cooperate (looking at you, character who refused to be murdered). Saying goodbye feels like moving away from home—necessary for growth, but oh, the ache.

Still, every good series deserves a final chapter. And if I’ve learned anything from my years as a librarian, it’s this: when one story ends, another is waiting on the shelf.

Thank you, Readers, for joining me on this journey. I’ve loved every second of it.

Hi, Subscribers,

To keep myself from being confused between free newsletters and paid subscriber newsletters, I’m calling the ones I send to y’all paid subscribers “notes.” We’re a smaller community, which I love, because I believe I can go a little deeper and a little more personal here.

This week I want to talk about being STUCK. Like two feet of snow a…

Read more

What’s On My Mind?

Lord a Mercy, what could I possibly have had to say that filled sixty-four volumes? I bet you think I’m talking about the amount of books I’ve written, but I’m not. My fiction is closer to sixty titles.

When I was eleven years old, I read Louisa May Alcott’s ROSE IN BLOOM. The main character, Rose, kept a diary so, naturally, wanting to be as cool as Rose, I did, too. Off and on for the following forty-six years, from 1979 to the present, I’ve kept a journal. Side note: I could never bring myself to call it a “diary.” No idea why. “Journal” just sounded smarter and more serious to my eleven year old mind. Because I declared 2026 “The Year of the Great Declutter”— I declare every year thusly but this year, I mean it!—it was time for me to gather all the scattered journals and make some decisions.

Of course, I randomly picked up journals and scanned a page here or there and most of the early years made me cringe. Eleven year old me was quite dramatic and teenager me devoted volumes to her unrequited crush. And let me note here that if the out-of-my-league upperclassman had noticed me back then, I would not have given him the coquettish smile and hopped into his red Porsche 944 a la Samantha Baker to Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles. Oh no, if the dude had so much as looked at me, I would have imploded into a human black hole of self consciousness with zits, giant mousse encrusted hair, blue eye shadow, and angst as corrosive as a staph infection. Sometimes unrequited is a very good thing and should remain as such.

Thankfully, adolescence passed, although I will likely have to burn the college years as no good decisions were made while on academic probation. Ahem. Once I clawed my way to full adulthood—we’re talking the thirties here, as I am a late bloomer—I’m pleased to report that many of my journal entries made me laugh out loud, such as the Hooligan’s forgotten shenanigans. So many shenanigans. While other entries made my heart hurt with months of pain poured out on the page as I grieved losses.

Did I throw any of them away? No, not yet. Did I ask the Hub to promise to burn them without reading them should I keel over unexpectedly? Yes, I did. Thankfully, he agreed, saying “Yeah, I don’t want to revisit any of the times you were mad at me.” Smart man. I could be pretty salty in my journal when my dander was up. Second sidenote: I love that the expression “dander up” originated in 1825-1835 and means a person was so mad they pulled their hair and set their dandruff loose. Lol and also ew.

So, what’s the plan? As of now, I’m going to try to carve out time to reread them. I’ve never done that before. Much like my fiction, once I write something down, it’s gone from my brain. When readers share something I’ve written, nine times out of ten, I have no recall of writing it but am delighted that they found something that resonated with them. I believe I forget all previous works to free up space in my head for new stories. At least, I hope that’s what’s happening.

Once I’ve reread the journals, I hope to have the fortitude to toss the useless bits where I’m just whining into the void and keep the entries that have deeper meaning or are about a time in my life that I don’t want to forget. I spent an entire afternoon sorting and labeling each volume in chronological order. The librarian in me had to make sense of it all. Would it have been wiser to just chuck them? Probably.

How about you, Readers? Do you keep a journal? Do you ever reread them? What do you plan to do with them?

BOOK NEWS:

We are just three weeks and three days from the release of BOOKING FOR TROUBLE my latest Library Lover’s Mystery with a Romeo and Juliet inspired set up. Needless to say, I had a blast writing it.

EVENTS:

I’ll be signing at the Poisoned Pen bookstore in Scottsdale on February 24th with author Tracy Sierra who is releasing her latest WARNING SIGNS and we’ll be chatting with author Paige Shelton who is our hostess with the mostest.

CONTESTS:

Today’s the last day for this sweepstakes: https://bit.ly/4iTBWfa

And today’s the first day for this sweepstakes: https://bit.ly/3Z5oyf3

There’s also a Goodreads Giveaway for May’s upcoming THE SUMMER SHARE if you need a beach read pronto: bit.ly/summershare-gr

GOOD LUCK!

WHAT’S ON MY MIND?

Mid-January, already? Daaaaang, where do the days go? When I was in the trenches, raising Hooligans—or as I called it, “the toughest job you’ll ever love,” because, yes, there are times parents deserve combat pay—the days felt like eternity. I remember I kept a “captain’s log” one day to remind myself what a typical day entailed. It went something like this:

Woke up at 5:00 AM, wrote for one hour before baby woke up.

Fed baby. Toddler woke up. Fed Toddler.

Baby pooped — right out of his diaper, up his back and through his onesie.

Cleaned and changed baby. Ran a load of laundry, because there’s always laundry.

Toddler dropped entire strawberry yogurt onto his pajamas. Cleaned and changed toddler. Did more laundry.

Fed dog. Did breakfast dishes.

Toddler scribbled all over baby in washable marker. Gah! I only looked away for a second!

Cleaned and changed baby. Helped toddler work through meltdown because his “art” was being washed away. Had toddler help me so he wouldn’t draw on his brother again (please, Lord).

Dressed Hooligans in coats for outside, whether they liked it or not. They did not.

Grabbed the stroller. Realized I was still in pajamas. Dressed myself.

Loaded up the stroller and took the dog and the Hooligans for a walk to the park (where more mayhem ensued) and so on…

This was just the first two hours of a regular day so you can see why it felt like eternity, despite the laughs and cuddles and fussing and fits, the days were full. A few years into the parenting gig, I read a quote that said, “The days are long but the years are short.” I don’t think I’ve ever read a truer statement. It felt like one moment we’d never be done with diapers and the next our house reeked of Axe body spray.

Now that the Hooligans have been launched and my life is not filled with endless teachable moments, I have discovered that because I am not always looking at life through the lens of a hooligan who is seeing his first ladybug or learning to drive a car, the days have started hauling ass, quite frankly. Some days, after I read the news, I’m okay with this (ahem) but most days when the sun is warm and the breeze is cool, I want to savor the very limited time I get to play on this tiny blue marble spinning in this vast universe.

I recently read a great piece about how to slow down time. I can’t remember the title or who wrote it—super helpful, I know—but the gist of it was if you want to rewire your sense of time passing, you must be fully present and engaged much like a child learning something new.

Scrolling through our phones evaporates time but learning a new skill like painting or fixing up an old car makes time slow down because our brain is giddy with processing all this brand-new information. So instead of glossing over the details of a chore we’ve done a million times, the brain is taking everything in so the memory is expansive and, yes, this is one way to slow down our perception of time.

To that end, I’m adding a bunch of new activities to my days to help me pump the brakes and have time move at a more leisurely pace and give myself something else to think about when the world is just too much. Basically, I’ll be touching a lot of grass as the young ones say.

What are my new ventures? I’m so glad you asked! Last year, it was running 5Ks, planting a garden, and studying Japanese. I am keeping those and adding a weekly class in Tai Chi —Hub is going with me! — joining a women’s investment group to learn about finance, and (hopefully) learning how to bake sourdough bread. If bread baking doesn’t stop time, I don’t know what will. And, yes, there’s the day job of writing that I’ll be keeping as well. I have to pay for those Tai Chi classes after all.

What about you, Readers? What new things do you want to see, do, learn, or experience? And if anyone can give me the 411 on sourdough starter, that’d be great!

XO, Jenn

BOOK NEWS:

My latest library lover’s mystery Booking for Trouble drops on February 24th. I’ll be signing at the Poisoned Pen Bookstore on February 24th with Tracy Sierra, author of Nightwatching, which was chosen as Jimmy Fallon’s Book Club read in Spring 2024. She’ll be signing her latest thriller Warning Signs. Exciting!

CONTESTS:

The Summer Share, which drops on May 26th, was described by the Kristan Higgins as: “A perfect summer romance! Jenn McKinlay writes with charm, humor and heart.”

Isn’t that lovely? Made my day!

Anyway, copies are up for grabs on Goodreads! Enter here: Goodreads Giveaway!

HAPPY READING!

What’s On My Mind: Reframing

You’ll note this newsletter was not sent on December 31st or January 1st because I was, as ever, completely unprepared for a day that I knew was coming 364 days in advance. Every single New Year’s Day, as far back as I can remember, I immediately scan the upcoming calendar for the start of Lunar New Year, knowing that I can usually get my end of year tasks done with the additional weeks this buys me.

For those of you, like me, who need a little more time to close out 2025, we will celebrate the new year by welcoming the rare year of the Fire Horse (last here in 1966) on February 17th 2026. You’re welcome.

Despite being chronically late to the party, I always enjoy the clean slate of a new year. Yes, it’s mostly mental, but I look forward to a blank calendar hanging on my wall and a clean house after the holiday tchotchkes have been sent back to their storage bins. I love the idea of a fresh start, new beginnings, and a reinvention of myself if I have the stamina. Admittedly, after fifty plus years I have come to realize that I like the idea of all this more than the reality. Change is hard, y’all!

Also, I think micro changes can be even more transformational than the big changes we optimistically hurl ourselves at as if we suddenly had a personality transplant and think mixed greens will make our soul sing the way chocolate cake does. Spoiler: they won’t.

I used to set the bar really high for the new year. Lists of goals, expectations, wants, dreams, and a carefully selected word acted as my north star in the coming year and covered the white board in my office. These things were great and probably did assist to keep me on track for much of the year. Unfortunately, life has a way of jamming a stick in the spokes just when you’re getting the momentum to climb a hill and usually it toppled me, sending my lists into the wind like scattered leaves and leaving me with scraped knees and a broken spirit. I limped through the remainder of the calendar year, looking forward to the new year when I could start over…again.

But then one day, during the height of the recession, I had a chat with the newest teller at my local bank. Now “newest teller” means she was promoted from working the lobby with a clipboard to working behind the big counter, making transactions. “Newest” in this description does not mean “youngest”. This lovely woman, with a charm bracelet of saints around her wrist, permed white hair, sensible shoes, and vintage business wear was seventy if she was a minute.

Making the usual customer service chit chat, she asked how I was. Reader, I was not great. It was peak recession, my PT library gig had been cut in half, I wasn’t published yet, the Hub’s newspaper had folded (he was the music editor) and he was now working in academia (read: does not pay well). We had two young Hooligans, a mortgage, and our minivan had just required $1K in repairs which was the last of our emergency fund that I was withdrawing that very moment.

I confessed all of this to her (bet she was sorry she asked) and she nodded. Clearly, starting a new job in her golden years during a national economic crisis, she understood the direness of my situation. But instead of clucking with sympathy, she gave me an empathetic yet steely stare and said, “At least, you have it.” I wanted to wail, “Yes, but when I give it to my mechanic, I won’t anymore.” Instead, I looked at this woman who had likely not thought she’d be starting over as a bank teller in her seventies and I nodded and said, “You’re right.”

I thought about her and that interaction a lot over the years. She reminded me so much of my pragmatic mom. When I was a child and would cry, “Why me?” at whatever tragedy I was suffering, my mom would hit me with a similar sympathetic yet hard stare and ask, “Why not you? Do you think you’re so special that bad things won’t happen to you?” It sounds harsh but guess what I asked the Hooligans when they were being entitled snots? Yup. The same thing. Frankly, I know a lot of adults who would have benefited from this sort of benevolent ego checking, but I digress.

What does any of this have to do with the new year and micro changes? Simply this— after that encounter, I started reframing everything in my life with an attitude of gratitude. It was a struggle at first. Writing is a brutal occupation. You can get obsessed with other author’s successes, wounded by mean spirited reviews, and self doubt sits on your shoulder with every word you write. But you can reframe all of it.

For me, when I see another author’s success — especially if we share a publisher and it feels as if the publisher only has heart eyes and publicity money (ahem!) for them — I remind myself that I am grateful for that author’s success because now our publisher has enough money to pay me. Yay! As for the mean reviews, frankly, I don’t read them. There’s nothing to be gained there and I refuse to give a stranger’s cruelty any oxygen. As for self-doubt, I am thankful for it because it makes me careful with my words. I don’t take lightly my responsibility to tell a compelling story and if self doubt forces me to improve my skills to craft a better story, that’s win for us all.

I even reframe the small stuff, which can take a lot of practice. I am appreciative that my old dog walks so slowly on our daily stroll because it reminds me to listen to the birds sing and live in the moment. Also, he’s still here with me and that’s amazing. I am thankful for the mistakes I make while knitting because ripping out stitches gives me the opportunity to practice patience and recommit to doing the pattern correctly. I am grateful for traffic because I get to listen to NPR and I have gotten loads of story ideas from their programs over the years. I could go on but I don’t want to bore you. Suffice to say, I practice the attitude of gratitude A LOT and with mixed success but thankfully (see what I did there?) there’s always another day to try and try again. And honestly, I have been a much happier person despite the casual cruelty of the world since I started reframing my days as much as I can.

Of course, it’s hard to reframe with gratitude devastating losses or health struggles, and I would never suggest that you can. But I will say this, suffering immense loss of my own has made me much more compassionate about other people’s suffering. I used to think that showing up with a hot dish and a sympathy card made me a caring soul. I now know that being present in someone’s grief or struggle in whatever capacity they require is how it’s done and I am grateful to have learned how to be more present for others and, yes, I still bring a hot dish.

Happy Year of the Fire Horse to all who celebrate or who need six more weeks to get it together! You’ve got this!

Ah, the holidays, a time of Norman Rockwell expectations and Married with Children reality. Every year, without fail, it seems we all gear up for some mythical idea of what the holidays should be as if we haven’t been members of our families our entire lives. We consistently labor under the delusion that this will be the year that the turkey comes out perfectly, everyone gets along and we’ll all randomly burst into song because we are so full of holiday joy.

The heck with that, I say. Embrace the chaos! You see I, too, suffered from an idyllic holiday delusion that was beaten out of me several years ago. It was Christmas. I was hosting, and I spent weeks planning and prepping to make sure everything was Better Homes and Gardens perfect. And it was…until the guests arrived.

It started with my sister-in-law’s dog, who managed to clear whole rooms as he slyly trotted through the house emitting a purple fog that was so noxious it had everyone checking the bottoms of their shoes to see if they’d stepped in something foul.

The turkey came out so under cooked we had to catch it before it made a run for it. The sweet potato balls exploded. The person charged with saying grace took a beer fueled power nap halfway through the blessing until they were snapped out of it by a well placed under the table kick.

The children brawled, the adults imbibed, and the eccentric neighbors dropped in, wearing the decorations that had been previously been hanging on my front porch. They then made themselves at home to the remaining desserts while they took over the living room to watch a Simpsons marathon.

As I surveyed the wreckage of my expectations in complete bewilderment, I had to laugh. Had there ever been a more chaotic holiday? No. This was a catastrophe that not even Martha Stewart could resuscitate with thumps to the chest and mouth to mouth.

Now here’s the take away, this is far and away my favorite holiday memory. Why? Because in the end, this is the Christmas that the Hub and I remember and chuckle about the most.

Now that our holidays are quieter, the children are grown and there are empty seats at the table where dear ones used to sit, I’m grateful to have the memory of that mother cluster of a Christmas. And I realize as long as I have those memories, the people who have walked on are still with me. And truly, if the holiday hadn’t been an utter disaster would my memory of them be as clear? Probably, not. So, embrace the chaos! You really will laugh about it...someday.

Glad tidings to you all, and if you have a holiday disaster story to share, well, I’m all ears.

XO, Jenn

The Winter Solstice Gift

by Jenn McKinlay

“What do you know about Winter Solstice, Zoe?” Miles Lowenstein asked me. He was my boss at the Museum of Literature in New York City and oversaw the Books of Dubious Origin collection where I’d recently taken a job as a librarian.

“Astronomically, it’s when the sun reaches its lowest arc in the sky. Magically, it’s when thresholds thin between endings and beginnings, rest and resolve,” I said. “At least according to The Solstitial Axis: A Treatise on Celestial Lows and Magical Highs by Heidi Starling.”

“You’ve been reading up.” Miles’s bushy white eyebrows rose from behind his dark framed glasses. “Impressive.”

I shrugged, trying to look casual while feeling secretly pleased. I was still fitting in at the Books of Dubious Origin collection and any time Miles was impressed with me, I felt the ground beneath my feet get firmer.

“Is it?” Olive Prendergast drawled. A Fae witch of immense power, Olive was Miles’s righthand and to say she hadn’t warmed up to me over the past few months was a dramatic understatement. I suspected I would need a fire as potent as that of the yule log to thaw her attitude towards me.

“If you’d like the less pedestrian version, Zoe, look in the index of Hector Wexlar’s Things Humans Have Feared Since Fire Was Invented under Yule, Midwinter, Sol Invictus. Those sections are most informative. It’s on the third floor. Restricted section. Bring gloves. The book gets a bit tetchy around this time of year.” Olive glanced at me and her one eyebrow with the scar running through it, lifted as if she was daring me to go read it.

I glanced up at the open shelving that towered three stories above us to the ceiling that was painted blue with fluffy white clouds as if to distract us from the reality that we were housed several floors below ground in the basement of the Museum of Literature. Our location was for the protection of both the dubious materials we maintained but also for our own safety. Only a handful of librarians were allowed access to the mysterious materials that had been gathered over the millennia. It was our job in the BODO, as we called it, to determine just how dangerous each and every magical grimoire, cursed stone tablet, or enchanted papyri was.

“Now Olive—” Miles began but I interrupted.

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks,” I said. Tonight was going to be my first winter solstice ceremony and I didn’t want anyone’s toxic vibe to taint it for me. Technically, as a born witch, I should have been celebrating the day all my life. But for reasons I hadn’t understood until quite recently, my mother had made me vow that I would never practice the craft and I’d never been invited to participate in a winter solstice ceremony until now.

“I have the Yule log,” Jasper Griffin, our British colleague, and the man I had been dating on the regular for the past month, strolled into the room, with a large section of tree slung over his shoulder. He was a mage, a male witch like Miles, and he worked for the department as well. Although Jasper’s position was that of containment specialist, meaning that when things went wrong with magical books out in the world, he was sent in to right things.

His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, making his pale blue eyes appear even brighter. When his gaze met mine, I felt my heart flutter in my chest. We’d agreed to a late-night dinner at his place after the solstice ceremony and I was equally excited and terrified. I liked Jasper, really liked him, and I desperately didn’t want my inexperience at long term situationships to doom us before we even had a chance.

“Tariq is preparing the ceremony, shall we join him?” Miles asked. He gestured to one of the two spiral staircases that led to the floors above.

“After you, love.” Jasper tipped his head and I fell into line behind Miles and Olive with Jasper behind me. We wound our way up to the third floor and then walked to the far corner where a hidden staircase led to the roof.

Our colleague Tariq Silver had put a greenhouse on the roof to grow the rare and not so rare herbs he needed for his many spells and potions. His patch of rosemary, the most common herb used in magic and the best for use as a substitution, was the thickest, most vibrant bed of rosemary I’d ever seen.

I glanced back to see how Jasper was doing with the yule log and he shouldered it without breaking a sweat and, yes, this did make him even more swoon worthy. I held the door open for him when we reached the top and he stepped out onto the flat snow-covered rooftop.

Our museum was built by steel industrialist Thomas Stewart and was one of the original gilded age mansions. It sat along Museum Mile, offering a view of Central Park and the reservoir as well as mid-town Manhattan. Several garden beds, now vacant for winter, filled the roof, including Olive’s poison garden.

I followed Jasper to an open part of the roof where Miles and Olive stood with Tariq. We were all bundled in coats, hats, and scarves. I stomped my feet, trying to warm them.

“Don’t worry, Zoe, once the yule log is lit, you’ll be infused with the light and warmth of its magic,” Tariq said, his Nigerian accent making the words sound lyrical over the noise of sirens wailing and taxi horns honking in the city below.

“I thought solstice ceremonies were to be held out in nature,” I said. My bonus mom Agatha Lively, who became my guardian when my mother had to leave me, was a kitchen witch. She and her coven always spent the winter solstice out in the wild. I’d never gone with her because of the promise I’d made to my mother even though I knew Agatha would’ve welcomed me. Now that I was stepping into my witchy power, I regretted missing out on those ceremonies.

“Olive will manage that,” Tariq said. “The log, Jasper.”

I stood with Miles while Olive, dressed head to toe in black as usual, strolled around the circle Tariq had cleared, scattering seeds as she softly spoke a spell I couldn’t make out. Jasper carefully set the yule log into the large metal firepit which sat in front of an ornately carved wooden altar covered in pine boughs, dried orange slices, cinnamon sticks, bay leaves, holly berries, and several white pillar candles of varying heights.

“How did you choose the yule log?” I asked Jasper when he joined Miles and me.

“I have a system.” He smiled. “My mother taught me to look for a fallen tree as you don’t want to cut one down as it’s disrespectful and green wood won’t burn. Also, different types of trees mean different things. I chose birch this year.”

“Excellent choice,” Miles approved. “Birch signifies renewal, new beginnings, and purification.”

“New beginnings?” I turned to Jasper.

“Seemed appropriate.” His gaze was full of teasing affection, and I felt my face heat in response.

“The knot in the center of this piece is a wonderful anchor for hope.” Tariq patted the yule log with approval.

“It is done.” Olive stepped into the circle with us and spread her arms wide. Her voice was deep and echoed across the rooftop as she said, “This place stands between what has been and what will be.”

I didn’t know what to expect, one never did with Olive, but even with that knowledge, I was completely unprepared for the forest that started to sprout around us. My jaw dropped in wonder as beautiful evergreen trees shot up from the flat roof, their lush branches unfurling and shielding our circle from the relentless chilly wind that cut through our outer layers. In a matter of moments, we were nestled in a cozy circle of woodsy warmth.

“And now we light the altar,” Tariq said. He lifted a lantern from beside the fire pit. It’s yellow glow illuminated the circle and gave our space an old timey Victorian feel, which felt appropriate. Out of a small velvet pouch, he removed a charred piece of wood and lit it with the flame of the lantern.

“That’s a piece from last year’s yule log,” Jasper whispered. “Using it to light this year’s symbolizes continuity through darkness.”

I nodded. I could feel my own magic stirring inside of me, like calling to like, as the circle began to thrum with power.

Tariq used the old ember to light the candles on the altar and then turned to the yule log. He placed his free hand on it and said, “I have a hope to carry forward of good health for my yaya Adaoma Silver.”

He retreated and Miles stepped forward and put his hand on the log. “I release the fear that I am not strong enough or wise enough to protect the BODO collection from those who would do it harm.”

My eyes went wide. I knew Miles was still processing what had happened a month ago, we all were, and I was in awe of his raw honesty. I wondered if I could ever be that vulnerable.

Olive went next. She put her hand on the log but didn’t speak. Whatever she was sending out there, she kept to herself.

Jasper moved forward and placed his hand just above the knot. He closed his eyes and said, “I send a hope going forward that our newest librarian Zoe Ziakas finds peace and purpose in her new life.”

Well, shoot, if that wasn’t the nicest thing a guy had ever done. Using the solstice to put forth a hope for me. If I wasn’t already charmed stupid by his accent and ridiculous good looks this would do me in.

Jasper stepped aside and they all looked at me expectantly. I had no idea what to say. I pondered it for a beat. My life had changed so much over the past weeks, I barely recognized myself. I had too many fears to release to start down that path. We’d be here all night. And same for the hope to send forward, there was simply too much to hope for in this time of uncertainty.

I placed my hand on the yule log and thought about my childhood and the woman who had made every moment of my childhood magical until tragedy had struck and she’d lost herself to her grief. My mom who had sacrificed herself trying to save me.

I felt the cold log beneath my fingers and the bark curls under my palm. “I offer a name to remember. Juliet Donadieu.”

There was a pulse beneath my fingers as if the log acknowledged my request. I turned and found Jasper watching me with a tender smile that made my throat grow tight. I swallowed past it.

Tariq stepped forward, holding his smoking ember and he held it to the yule log, blowing gently on the glowing end to encourage the fire which darted from the ember to the dry bark, setting the yule log ablaze in a matter of moments. He tucked the ember beneath the log and stepped back, holding his arms wide, he said, “From the dark, the spark. From the spark, the flame. From the flame, the promise of returning light.”

We stood silently watching the log burn. There was a pop, a crackle, and the smoke drifted up through the trees surrounding us into the night sky.

Miles nodded and said, “That’s a good sign that our words have been well received. Shall we sit?”

He gestured behind us where five velvet upholstered armchairs had appeared. I was certain they hadn’t been here when we arrived. I glanced at Jasper and said, “Is this it?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “You’re welcome to sing or recite poetry—”

“If you must,” Olive interrupted, giving me no doubt as to how she felt about my doing either of those things.

“Or you can enjoy some spiced wine.” Miles held up a bottle.

“That works,” I said.

Miles poured each of us a glass and we sat and watched the yule log burn. There was magic in the stillness and I felt a feeling of calm come over me that I wished I could bottle and carry around with me when life got to be too much.

I settled back in my chair and sipped my wine, pondering the flames. Olive set down her empty glass and strolled through her forest, stopping occasionally to whisper to the trees. I wondered what she was saying even though I knew it was none of my business. Tariq tended the flame, adding a pinecone here or there as he saw fit. A soft snore blended with the crackling fire and I glanced over to see Miles with his eyes shut and his head tipped back.

“He falls asleep every year.” Tariq chuckled.

“It wouldn’t be winter solstice if he didn’t.” Jasper smiled.

“Mind the fire for me?” Tariq asked. “I’m going to send a message across the veil.”

“Of course.” Jasper and I answered together. We watched him step into the words and assume a meditation position at the base of one of the trees.

“What’s your best winter solstice memory?” I whispered to Jasper.

“Other than being here with you?”

“Charmer,” I accused, feeling my face grow warm.

He grinned and my heart fluttered in response. Then his eyes took on a faraway look. “Probably, when I would go home to Sweden to celebrate with my mum.”

“Was it like this?” I asked.

Jasper took my hand in his, lacing our fingers together as he settled back in his chair. I glanced up through the branches of Olive’s forest and noticed the sky had gone that particular shade of deep solstice blue.

“No, it wasn’t as calm as this,” Jasper said, staring into the fire as if conjuring the memories. “My mother would take me to her childhood home outside Landskrona every winter. The family vacation home was a red house with white trim, and the snow piled up so high against the windows you felt like you were living inside a cake.”

I smiled. “That sounds…perfect.”

“It was chaotic,” he said fondly. “My aunts drank too much wine, my cousins ran feral, and being the youngest, I always had to sleep on the floor swaddled in quilts. But on the longest night, we’d hike out into the woods and the aunties would tell us the old stories and someone would recite the poem “The Tomten” by Viktor Rydberg. As we drank hot chocolate and ate sweets, the aunties would speak of how the veil was thin enough that the spirits could walk the snow to make sure people were kind to one another when the dark felt endless.”

He glanced at me then, his gaze full of affection. “Mum said winter solstice wasn’t about hoping for light. It was about trusting it would come back.”

My breath hitched, just a little, as I remembered my own childhood. “My mom had stories, too. I remember there was this children’s book she loved full of stories about the fairies of winter solstice. They were tiny things with ice-bright wings who mended the broken places in the world while everyone slept.”

Jasper turned fully toward me.

“She read it to me every year on the solstice,” I said, my voice was just a whisper not wanting to wake Miles. “After my dad died… everything changed. Magic frightened her, and Mom made me swear I’d never learn to use it. The book disappeared and we never celebrated the solstice again.”

The yule log popped, like an exclamation point on my sadness.

Jasper’s fingers tightened around mine. “I’m sorry, love.”

I nodded, appreciating the sympathy. The fire was no longer blazing, the log now just a glowing ember.

Miles abruptly sat up as if he’d been startled awake. He adjusted his glasses and stood, striding toward the yule log.

“What is it, Miles?” Jasper asked.

“A message,” Miles answered.

Jasper and I stood and joined him in front of the firepit. Miles swept the slate in front of the yule log clean and reached into the firepit. I yelped, thinking he’d burn himself. Instead, he swiped some ashes from the metal base and sprinkled them across the cleared slate. Taking one of the candles from the altar, he waved the flame over the ashes.

“What does it say?” Olive asked as she and Tariq stepped out of the trees and joined us. Clearly, getting messages from the ashes of the yule log was no biggie. Who knew?

“Liber Umbrarum,” Tariq read the words over Miles’s shoulder. He turned to Jasper, his eyes wide.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“The Book of Shadows,” Jasper translated. The glowing ember cracked in half and sparks shot into the sky. Jasper tipped his head back and watched them and then he turned to me. “I have to go.”

“Go?” I repeated. “Where? For how long?”

“I’ll know when I get there,” he said.

I did not like that at all.

“Come,” Miles said. “It’s imperative that we move quickly. Tariq and Zoe, gather the ashes when the yule log is spent. We’ll want them for protection spells and to bless the garden soil in spring. Olive, Jasper, meet me in my office.”

Olive was already striding for the door and Miles followed. Tariq patted Jasper on the shoulder. “Good luck. I’ll keep an eye on…” He paused and sent a quick glance my way before he said, “…things here for you.” As if sensing we needed a moment, he disappeared back into the trees.

Jasper looked at me with an expression of regret, as if leaving physically pained him. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wanted tonight to be—”

“I know.” I forced a smile, refusing to let him see any disappointment. He was the containment specialist for the Books of Dubious Origin department. Clearly this was a book emergency of some sort that required his specific skills. It was his job and I wasn’t going to make him feel bad about it.

Jasper cupped my face with his hands, his fingers cool against my skin. Then he kissed me. It was slow and soft as if he was taking as much time as he could to imprint the memory of this moment on his mind. I grabbed him by the front of his coat and kissed him back just as intentionally, making certain he wouldn’t forget me while he was away.

He pulled back and held my gaze for a moment. Then with another quick kiss on my forehead he was gone.

I arrived back at my Connecticut cottage in the early hours of the morning. By the time Tariq and I had finished preserving an ember for lighting next year’s yule log and stored the ashes for future use, it had been just past midnight.

I told myself that the quiet of my home was peaceful, not hollow. Knowing I wasn’t likely to sleep, I built a fire, changed into my favorite flannel pajamas with books flying all over them, wrapped myself in a blanket, and opened my well-worn copy of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. It was a comfort read for me this time of year.

I tried not to think about Jasper, where he was going or what situation he would find himself in, or when—potentially, if—I would ever see him again. It was a challenge.

The tapping on my front door came just before dawn. Sharp. Deliberate.

My heart leapt into my throat. Strange beings turning up at my door had not gone well for me in the past. I set aside my book and blanket and crept to the door. The window had a coating of frost on it that I couldn’t see through. The tapping started again. Insistent.

The metal door handle was cold beneath my fingers. I held my breath and opened it just a crack. A raven sat on the doormat, his glossy black feathers as dark as night.

“Oh,” I whispered my heart hammering in my chest. Jasper was a mage with the extraordinary gift of aviankinesis. He could merge his consciousness with a bird’s, any bird, but he preferred ravens.

The bird tilted its head, then hopped back, revealing a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine. He tapped it with his beak and made a warbling sound with his throat. I hadn’t known ravens could do that.

I laughed, feeling breathless. “Hi, Jasper.”

I held out my hand and the bird pressed his head into my palm before winging a retreat to the porch railing. I picked up the parcel, cradling it to my chest. The raven gave me a side eye and a nod. With a sharp caw, he launched into the air and disappeared into the deep violet sky.

Back inside with shaking hands, I unwrapped the gift. It was an old book. The blue leather softened with use, clearly well-loved. The Fairies of Winter Solstice.

Tears blurred the words as memories of my mother reading this book to me filled my mind. The lavender scent of her and how her long hair tickled my cheek when she rested her head on mine filled my senses. It was so real, it felt as if she was actually there with me. My throat got tight and a warmth I hadn’t felt since I was a little girl filled my heart. I curled back up under my blanket and read the stories I hadn’t heard in decades.

Outside, the longest night eased its grip, and I knew as the last of the darkness faded that the light was already on its way back.

Happy Winter Solstice, Readers! Wishing you all good things in the coming season. XO, Jenn

If you enjoyed this cozy holiday tale, you can read more about this world in Book 1, WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN, available now, and Book 2, WITCHES OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT, dropping next year!

BOOK NEWS: Nothing you haven’t seen in previous posts.

CONTESTS: Let’s play “Blind Date with a Book!” Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be automatically entered in a random drawing to win a signed book of mine. I have no idea which one as I stuffed a bunch in envelopes and sealed them just waiting for an address to send them to! I’ll choose three winners and announce the names on Wednesday the 17th. If you win, you’ll have to let me know what you get.

SALES: My romcom caper novella IT HAPPENED ONE CHRISTMAS EVE is on sale for 99 cents wherever e-books are sold! Don’t miss out. Click the title to order NOW!

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

Temporary insanity and holiday traditions. Seriously!

It all started when I was thirty-nine and caught up in a holy-bananas-I’m-going-to-be-forty craziness the like of which I have not suffered since, well, I turned forty. This was the same year I took up skateboarding again after a fifteen year hiatus, went to Italy just because…forty!, and ended the year by picking out “the tree.”

My mom, bless her heart, decided we needed a new Christmas tree since I refused to buy a cut tree for my own environmental reasons and the fake tree we had was a fiber optic outdoor tree that didn’t reside well indoors, meaning it made a lot of noise. We live in the desert so planting a live pine tree is not impossible as much as just odd. So, there we were standing in the department store, looking over the artificial trees when my eyes were dazzled by this ethereal beauty in pure white.

I pointed it out to Mom and she squinted at it and then me in horrified disbelief. If I’d picked a pink tree with purple polka dots her Connecticut Yankee sensibilities could not have been more offended. She wandered off to look at the green trees, convinced she could find one that would make me change my mind.

I stared at the white tree completely entranced but torn because as the tree was to be a gift from my mom, I didn’t want to disappoint her with my choice. As I waffled, my friend Travis, a tall, lean, ginger haired fella, just happened to wander by. I explained my dilemma to him and confessed to my inexplicable love of the white tree. He flung his arms wide and said, “Sweetie, it’s Christmas, go crazy!” So, I did!

When we got my new love home and set it up, it became quickly apparent that while under the department store’s fluorescent lights, the snow white tree was simply dazzling but in the confines of our much smaller and darker living room, the white glow was more like the floodlights in a football stadium at a nighttime game. BOOM! To look at it directly sunglasses were required. We thought loading it with ornaments might tone it down. Not so much. This sucker shined so bright, we could shut off all the lights in the house and read by it. So, yeah, kind of awesome.

Over the years, some of the bulbs have burnt out. We haven’t replaced them as it’s not really necessary. I still love this crazy tree and what’s funny is the rest of my family does, too. With its retina searing glow, it signals the holidays to us like nothing else and from miles away, too! I once offered up the possibility of getting a more traditional tree to the Hooligans and they looked at me as if I’d gone…wait for it…temporarily insane. Suffice to say, my mid-life nuttiness with picking the atomic tree created a tradition for our family that I cherish even while donning my sunglasses to bask in its radioactive glow.

Here’s wishing you and yours some ridiculous holiday traditions, a happy new year, peace on Earth and good will toward, well, everyone, but most especially my readers. Love you all!!!

XO, Jenn

As this drops into your email or as a notification or whatever, I will be running a 5K but only because it is the HOT CHOCOLATE RUN and they hand you a mug of chocolate fondue at the finish line. Of course, I just got over a nasty case of the crud so it’s going to be a slow run but chocolate is a motivator!

BOOK NEWS:

WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN has been out in the wild for a little over a month. Much thanks to everyone who has let me know how much they enjoyed it. I appreciate you! I will be dropping a holiday short story—with our favorite characters in the Books of Dubious Origin collection—in an upcoming newsletter, so keep an eye out for that!

We’re gearing up for the release of BOOKING FOR TROUBLE in February 2026! There is no way for me to express how much I love the covers for this series. The artist, Julia Green, is a genius.

Lastly, I’m currently working on the page proofs for THE SUMMER SHARE coming in May 2026. We’re headed to the Outer Banks and I can’t wait!

CONTESTS:

Three newsletter subscribers will WIN a signed copy of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN with an exclusive bookmark and sticker! How do you win? Leave a comment! That’s it! Winners will be chosen out of the comments on Wednesday the 10th. Good luck!

Also, if you follow me on the socials, I’m giving away signed books every week this month to help declutter my office. You can find the contests on my Instagram or Facebook and enter on either or both locations!

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

There is no evidence, at least none that I’ve found, to support my theory that people spike the eggnog during the holidays to get through the arduous process of gift giving and receiving, but I’m pretty sure that’s why they do it. Okay, why I do it. Unless you’re a miserable curmudgeon who refuses to buy anyone any gift ever, and here I pause to raise my nog to you, odds are you’re going to have to confront the reality of living in consumer nation and pony up some gifts.

Children make it so easy. I like shopping for kids. You get an itemized list of what they want and if you have a real overachiever on your hands, they’ve already price checked the retailers and will give you a detailed map of the layout of the best store with arrows walking you right to the coveted item. Teens are nice, too. You have to love their clear cut need and desire for cold hard cash. Nothing says “I love you” to them more clearly than a new wallet with cash already deposited inside.

It’s adults who make the whole gifting venture tricky, and unless you’re lucky enough to have only people who collect troll dolls or beer cans on your list, you have now entered the dance of “Do you think they would like this or that or these?”, which is as painful and repetitive as an eighties dance party where they keep playing the Electric Slide.

Gift giving is great if you happen to be the sort of person who enjoys finding the perfect gift for everyone on your list and then revel wrapping it in festive paper, decorating it with a snazzy cloth ribbon that you tie yourself and finish the whole thing off with the gift tag you hand stamped. You know who you are, and I can’t even be mad at you for setting the bar too high for me to reach, because, yeah, you just gave me the perfect gift.

The rest of us poor saps struggle through the gifting ritual, and it’s not because we don’t care. We’re just truly flummoxed when we walk into a store and get a Three Stooges double-eye poke at all the sparkly gee-gaws in front of us. Honestly, if you’re not a shopper, it’s a bit like being a diabetic in a candy store.

Neither the Hub nor I excel in the gift giving arts. Early in our marriage, I tried to help him out. An offhand comment, about as subtle as a brick to the temple, of “I like earrings,” turned into me getting earrings for Valentine’s Day, my birthday, our anniversary, and so forth until he was redirected to small home appliances. I just heard someone smack their forehead and say, “Honey, no, not appliances!” It’s okay. I’m over fifty and appliances are cool again, besides I have enough earrings now.

So, why is it, gift giving is such an anxiety maker? I figured it out when the Hooligans were middle-schoolers. While doing time in the Providence airport during Thanksgiving, I eavesdropped on a father lecturing his five children. Don’t judge me; it’s an occupational hazard…really.

He said, “Last year, we gave you everything you wanted and it was the worst Christmas ever. This year you get four things; something you want, something you need, something to wear and something to read.” It was a revelation! What a brilliant way to handle gift giving! I wanted to go over and hug him for his genius but feared that it might be awkward. Instead, I decided to implement his plan with my own hooligans much to their horror.

It goes without saying that much debate ensued, as in “Isn’t something to wear and something you need the same thing?” For the record, no, it is not. That particular year, it turned out the much needed item was a duvet to cover up the rather well-loved Batman comforter that was too dear to be parted with but also too embarrassing to have in its tattered state on the bed anymore.

When one of my hooligans opened this “something you need” gift, I fully expected a bored look or a groan of disappointment. Instead, the boy went wide-eyed and said, “Oh, wow, I really needed this. Thank you so much!” He beamed at me, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. In that moment, I understood the responsibility of the gift receiver. It is that person who makes or breaks the entire gift giving deal with their authentic gratitude.

Maybe you’re like me and gift giving makes you reach for the nog. That’s okay. You can excel in the art of gift receiving. Yes, this means you have to dig deep and be expressively pleased by all the gifts you receive even the ones where you’re not quite certain of what exactly it is. Look at is this way, those are awesome because the whole family can contribute to the debate as you try to figure out whether it’s a valuable piece of American Civil War memorabilia or an actual declaration of war from a relative who is trying to tell you something. Yes, this actually happened in my family. We’re still unclear. Oh, and for those passive-aggressive goodies, like gym memberships and self-help books for issues you don’t have, well I say re-gift their oh-so-thoughtful presents right back at them – on their birthday. Ha!

Whether you shine at giving or receiving or neither, I hope you enjoy a wonderful holiday season. And, as always, thanks for being the best readers a writer could have! ~ Jenn

BUY NOW!!!

Happy Book Release Day, Readers!

Since you’ve all been listening to me talk about this book for months, I feel as if this release day is for all of us! Finally, finally, finally WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN is out in the wild. The vibes are very much baby’s first day of school around here. After 60 books, I should be used to it. Judging by my stress eating, I’m not.

My timing is epic, however, as the Halloween candy is beginning to get marked down — very convenient! Right now I’m mainlining Reese’s peanut butter cup pumpkins and fun size Milky Ways. Although, they’d be a lot more “fun” if they were bigger — just sayin’!

Full disclosure: Stepping into a new genre is TERRIFYING. In the past 72 hours, I have managed to sleep for a total 15 hours. I keep pondering whether I’ve done everything I could possibly do to promote WITCHES and even when I’m certain I have, the brain won’t let it go.

Should I have put up billboards all over town? Bank account says no.

Bought a huge magnet of the book cover to stick on my car? Family says no.

Organized a character themed flash mob? Yeah, no. These characters don’t flash or mob.

I mentioned that I’m not sleeping, right? Truly, the Hub loves it when I nudge him awake at 2:00 AM and ask if he thinks producing a Hollywood level book trailer is too over the top and if our film major Hooligan would be willing to do it? Good Times! Luckily, he’s been married to me long enough to know that this, too, shall pass.

Of course, after all this hyper focusing on the book’s release, I then chastise myself because people have real problems and struggles and I’m being a selfish dope, consumed by a silly book release for pity’s sake. Mercifully, I’m on deadline and will have to hunker down and finish writing WITCHES OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT in the next couple of weeks so all thoughts of promotion will fade as deadline panic kicks in.

I’m not going to bog down this newsletter by begging you to buy the book. I think we’ve covered that - ha! - but I do want to take a second to thank you all for your orders through your local bookstore or library or online retailer or wherever. An author lives to write stories to entertain readers - it is literally the sole purpose of the gig. You have allowed me that privilege and I want to say THANK YOU!!! with my whole chest. I would be nothing without my readers and I am grateful for each and every one of you.

CONTEST WINNER!!!

The newsletter subscriber who won the 513 piece jigsaw puzzle is…Leanne Frownfelter @librarianleanne02 !!!! Congats, Leanne!!! Please send your mailing address to booktalkcoordinator@gmail.com by 11/4/25 to claim your prize!

EVENTS:

• November 2, 5:00 p.m. (SOLD OUT)
  Greenwood Public Library
  310 S. Meridian St
  Greenwood, IN

• November 13, 7:00 pm (Ticketed Event – *ticket is the cost of a book — yes, it includes the book)

  The Ripped Bodice Bookstore

  3806 Main St.

  Culver City, CA 90232

  Learn more

Thank you to everyone who came to the Poisoned Pen on Sunday for the release party! It was wonderful to see so many smiling faces! Happy Reading, All!!!

Poisoned Pen Bookstore: Bookseller John Charles, author Jill Beissel, and me.

BOOK NEWS:

We are just 10 days away from the release of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN! Because my local indie bookseller The Poisoned Pen is the absolute best, they’re including a bookmark and sticker with the pre-order of a signed copy of the book! Not for nothing but pre-orders save author’s lives (i.e. careers) so feel free to help a gal out and pre-order this cozy fantasy TODAY! Click on the title above to pre-order.

WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN has been the recipient of two starred reviews!!! I have never gotten two starred reviews for the same book before, so when I’m freaking out about my debut fantasy novel on the daily, I tell myself the professional book reviewers know what they’re talking about. Right? Right?! Ugh.

CONTESTS:

As a thank you for subscribing to the newsletter, one lucky reader will win an exclusive jigsaw puzzle, because you’re here, you’re already entered. Winner will be announced in the newsletter on release day! The picture below is just one section of the 500 piece challenge!

EVENTS:

• October 26, 2:00 p.m. (No Ticket Required)
  Poisoned Pen Bookstore
  4014 N Goldwater Blvd
  Scottsdale, AZ
  Learn more

• November 2, 5:00 p.m. (SOLD OUT)
  Greenwood Public Library
  310 S. Meridian St
  Greenwood, IN

• November 13, 7:00 pm (Ticketed Event – *ticket is the cost of a book)

  The Ripped Bodice Bookstore

  3806 Main St.

  Culver City, CA 90232

  Learn more

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

Inspiration. I’m currently working on book two in the Books of Dubious Origin Series tentatively entitled WITCHES OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT. Having already built the world in WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN, one would think this would be easier. Yeah, not so much.

As a writer, I pull so much of my foundational material from the people and the world around me that I need to be constantly learning, exploring, and meeting new people and hearing their stories to keep the creative well full. Although, my local NPR station does provide a lot of human interest stories, for which I am ever grateful.

When I first started writing, a friend gave me this shirt:

My family can testify that this is true. The Hub will read my books and say, “Hey, we had that conversation” or “I made that joke” and I respond, “We did” and “You did but I made it funnier.” Hub understands the cost of being married to a writer. It’s all material.

When a cab driver in Dublin gave me this stellar advice for driving “Remember, you want to keep your passenger safe, so they should always be on the curbside of the road or as we say it ‘keep the bitch in the ditch’.” Yeah, that went right into LOVE AT FIRST BOOK, my romcom set in Ireland—obviously.

When he was a lad, youngest Hooligan had the misfortune of bumping into a dear senior lady in London, to which she cried, “Oh, my little sausage, are you all right?” He was. He was also left to deal with his situation on his own as I had to pause and write down the interaction for my London Hat Shop Mysteries.

And just so we’re clear nothing is sacred. When oldest Hooligan went rogue and got himself a sweet set of raven tattoos, I was a bit taken aback (they’re huge)! But then, when I started writing WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN, a character named Jasper Griffin appeared and he has a relationship with birds (no spoilers) and those raven tattoos were PERFECT. So, I stole them for Jasper! I did get oldest’s blessing — but it might have been after the fact, as in it’s easier to get forgiveness than permission.

My boy and his Hugin and Munin tattoos. How could I not use them? When my Swedish bestie told me she had a school teacher who would step out of the classroom for smoke breaks but only after after saying, “Remember Hugin and Munin see and hear all” — well, that went into the book, too.

Occasionally, I worry that I’ll run out of inspiration that the stories won’t come or they won’t be as creative as I’d like and I pause and reflect on all of the random bits and bobs that have happened in my life and listen to the conversations of the people around me, and I realize I’ve barely scratched the surface of stories that need telling and I’m going to be just fine.

Tell me, Readers, where do you get your life inspiration from?

XO, JENN

Welcome to all the new subscribers who joined up through the sweepstakes and giveaways! I’m sooooo happy that you’re here. We have loads more giveaways coming up as we near the release of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN, so keep checking in and joining the fun!

BOOK NEWS:

The big news this week is the COVER REVEAL for the next Library Lover’s Mystery BOOKING FOR TROUBLE. Artist Julia Green has outdone herself once again!

I love this cover so much! Heathcliff the dog, the open window, the shade of pink!!! Love, love, love! It’s dropping on February 24, 2026! Feel free to pre-order HERE!

Also, there is an E-BOOK SALE happening for the month of October! The romcom omnibus BOOKED is on sale for $1.99!!! Little known fact: WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN my first fantasy was born out of these romcoms — you can pick it up and meet the world of the Books of Dubious Origin department wherever ebooks are sold. Amazon-KINDLE BN -NOOK Other - EBOOK SELLERS

CONTESTS:

Mercy, there are a lot of contests and sweepstakes to share this week, making this a wonderful start to autumn! First, the winner of 12 books from our Enchanted September Giveaway is…

Caroline Naito! Congrats, Caroline!!!

Next we have a super fun giveaway where you’ll win an exclusive WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN puzzle just for being a subscriber to this newsletter so you’re already entered! The winner will be announced on release day 10-28-25! Good luck!

Next up ACE BOOKS is offering a sweepstakes where…magic is only a page away. Enter for a chance to win a copy of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN! https://bit.ly/witch-sweeps

Ends 10/15. See official rules for details.

Lastly, my bestie Kate Carlisle is having an epic mystery giveaway called the How it Started Giveaway (you can win a signed first in series mystery)!

Secrets, suspects, and gasp-worthy reveals abound in these twisty mystery books – which *fifteen* lucky readers will win! ENTER NOW for a chance to win the first book of one of these #bestselling #mysteryseries ★ bit.ly/start-a-series ★

EVENTS:

• October 26, 2:00 p.m. (No Ticket Required)
  Poisoned Pen Bookstore
  4014 N Goldwater Blvd
  Scottsdale, AZ
  Learn more

• November 2, 5:00 p.m. (SOLD OUT)
  Greenwood Public Library
  310 S. Meridian St
  Greenwood, IN

• November 13, 7:00 pm (To Be Confirmed)

  The Ripped Bodice Bookstore

  3806 Main St.

  Culver City, CA 90232

WHAT’S ON MY MIND:

I do not need people to like me. If I did, I could never be a writer. Seriously, I’ve had readers do the equivalent of a CIA reconnaissance mission to locate me online just to share their criticisms and one star reviews of my work. So fun!

Y’all, after scores of rejections from publishers when I was starting out and sixty plus books out there in the wild getting all kinds of reviews, I have the hide of rhinoceros, so good luck trying to hurt me. I have crossed over into the “your opinion is none of my business” phase of my existence.

That being said, over this past summer, I executed a slow siege on the old curmudgeon who works at my pool store. Why? I don’t know. Hub and I have been going to same pool store since we bought our house a lifetime ago. This guy, we’ll call him Bill to protect his identity, has worked there for all these years and he is a cantankerous codger of the first order.

For years, I never really noticed. They have a popcorn machine in the lobby for customers to help themselves and, yes, I can admit it my attention was elsewhere when interacting with this man. FREE POPCORN with two young hooligans in tow — do I need to say more?

Anyway, several months ago our pool started acting up, as they do, so I found myself frequenting the shop more than ever before and I finally noticed Bill was a bit salty. Huh.

This is where my years as a PT librarian kicked in. When I worked the reference desk, my focus was always on our patrons. Side note: the best part of being a librarian is you never know what someone is going to ask you. From what to read, gardening info, how to repair their ancient car, or legal cases because they were going to represent themself in court, it’s never a dull moment. I always took these inquiries as a personal challenge. I never wanted a patron to leave me without the information they needed or an actionable step to get the information.

Back to Bill. Several weeks in a row this summer, I entered the shop and put down the empty recyclable chlorine container wherever. Every single time, Bill would bark at me to put it somewhere else, even when I put it in the spot he had directed me to on my previous visit. I’m a pretty low maintenance customer, so it was fine, but that’s also when I decided Bill was going to be my buddy because I’m contrary like that.

The next time I entered the shop, I stood there holding my empty container and I asked him where he wanted me to put it. He looked absolutely stunned that I had asked before setting it down. And I know this sounds nuts, but it changed EVERYTHING! In a tiny little way, I was respecting him, his shop, and his years of service and it mattered.

Bill pushed back his ballcap and scratched his tuft of white hair and for the first time, I think he really saw me, too. He took the empties from me, we chatted about the crazy storms we’d had, and then he carried the new refills out to my car. Next time I popped in, we smiled at each other like old friends. I asked him for his expertise on sand filters and Bill taught me quite a lot. He also caught me when I fainted at how expensive this fix was going to be — just kidding, I didn’t faint, but I did get woozy — the free popcorn he gave me helped. Anyway, it’s funny how one little moment of courtesy was the beginning of a solid friendship.

It makes me wonder if most people are grumpy just because they don’t feel seen or heard or valued. Bill was a good reminder for me, since I’ve been out of public service for over a decade, that it takes very little to make someone feel respected. I think in the end we all just want to be seen and not in a pervy way but in a we’re-all-in-this-together sort of way.

How about you, Readers? Have you ever worked in a service industry? What were your best interactions? Favorite customers? Or your worst?