3/20/25 – I’m finally on my way to “The Bird Hotel” and I can’t wait to tell you all about it!

Hey there happy reader!

I am putting the last few items in my suitcase and am heading out early tomorrow morning for Guatemala. I know I’ve been talking about this trip for months now, but it’s finally here and I’m excited!

I promise lots of pictures in the next newsletter, but for now, just know that I’ll be working on “The Stones” in every individual writing session and critique hour available to me at Joyce Maynard’s Writer’s Intensive Workshop. 

I can only hope that the time spent there helps me strengthen my work in the best sort of way…

For now, I’m going to leave you with the next part of “The Stones.” 

If you recall, there are two female protagonists, Maya – who lives at Stonehenge at the time of its construction, and Miriam – a PhD student researching her dissertation topic in present day.

Miriam’s trying to prove that it was a matriarchal society on Salisbury Plains and that these women leaders have been forgotten through time. She travels to Oxford to try and find more proof of her theory. Maya is facing challenges of her own as some of the men are about to make a “power grab” and threaten the life her people have always known.

The book flips back and forth between the present and the past. This novel is part historical, part suspense, and a bit of magical realism thrown in for good luck. 

Here’s a little piece of it…

Oxford University
September 2025

Jet-lagged and ravenously hungry, Miriam struggled to find the College Dining Hall on campus. It was already lunch time, and she’d slept past breakfast, even though she didn’t mean to – she made the mistake after arriving from Heathrow of just “resting” on her bed for a moment, and the next thing she knew, the sun was high in the sky.

Miriam pulled her scarf out of her bag and draped it around her neck as she walked across the common, its lush green lawn not yet faded despite the sharp autumn wind that swept across the open space, signaling the abrupt change of season. She couldn’t help but admire the beautiful architecture of the old stone buildings that surrounded the pathway. Oxford was historic – these stones certainly were not as old as the ones she had come here to study, but they had the patina of age, nonetheless. She knew that there were formal dining halls here, she’d read about them in the literature the university had sent her in her welcome packet. One of these halls was apparently the inspiration for JK Rowling’s “Harry Potter” series. No matter. She was headed to The Buttery for a simple lunch. She could find Hogwarts later.

Miriam made her way to the building that housed the canteen style cafeteria and once there, surveyed the offerings, deciding on a toasted cheese sandwich with chips because it felt like the ultimate comfort food. If they’d offered tomato soup, she would have picked up a bowl of that as well, but they didn’t, so instead she decided to be somewhat British and filled up a mug with hot English Breakfast tea. She pushed her tray toward the cashier and did a quick conversion of dollars to pounds in her head; food cost pretty much the same at Oxford as it did in New York. I guess I’ll continue to be a struggling student here as well, she thought. She paid for her lunch and turned to the large space to find a seat. It was crowded, filled almost to capacity. She snaked her way between groups of animated students, clearly pleased to have been reunited with their peers after the summer holidays until she found a single unoccupied chair at a table in one corner. She looked at the man sitting across from the open spot and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

When he looked up from his book, she was struck by the gold flecks in his green eyes.

“No,” he said. “By all means, please, sit.”

“Thanks,” she murmured as she slid into the chair as gracefully as she could while still holding onto the tray. She set it down with a clatter of silverware, her tea sloshing over the side of the mug.

“It’s tight in here today,” the man said. “It seems like all have returned for another year of study at once. It’s not usually this bad, is it?”

His proper British accent sounded musical to her American ear. “I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “It’s my first time here at Oxford.”

“Is it? How wonderful,” he said a broad smile highlighting his features and with what seemed like true enthusiasm. “What will you study while you’re here?”

“History, I guess you’d say,” Miriam told him. “But I’ll be offering a seminar as well. What about you?”

“History, you guess?” he asked with a smirk. “Is that what you’ll be teaching? Are you sure?”

She picked up one half of her sandwich and stared at him for a moment. He’s teasing me, right? she questioned, realizing in the moment that it had been a long time since anyone had done that. Or is he flirting with me? It had been even longer since she’d experienced that sort of behavior from a man. She shook her head and smiled. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m working on my dissertation. I’m here for one semester. From New York.”

He grinned broadly. “I could have guessed that, given the chance. You look like a New Yorker.”

“What?” she asked, shocked that he’d pegged her so quickly. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Your clothing. It’s all black,” he answered. “I find most women from Manhattan tend to dress monochromatically.”

It was Miriam’s turn to smile. “Okay, you’ve got me there. I do wear a lot of black. But sometimes I wear grey.”

“Why is it that you New Yorkers do that, anyway? I’ve always wondered,” he said with sincerity.

“It’s just a whole lot easier than trying to color coordinate your outfit when you’ve got more important things to do, I guess.”

“And history. That’s more important, I would guess?” He paused, then added, “I’m Spencer, by the way.” He offered his hand for her to shake. “But my friends call me Spence.”

Miriam rested her sandwich back on her plate, quickly wiped her hand with a paper napkin, then reached across the table and slipped her hand into his. When he tightened his grip a bit in greeting, she felt the strength of his fingers as they wrapped around her palm. She liked the feel of the warmth that transferred from his hand to her own.

“I’m Miriam. And what shall I call you, Spencer or Spence?” she asked.

“Well, now that we’ve met, I hope we can be friends as well.”

“Spence it is, then,” she responded. She reached for a chip and popped it into her mouth. The salt was sharp on her tongue. “What are you studying?”

“Not studying. Finished that years ago. I teach Economics.”

“Oh,” Miriam said, suddenly feeling foolish. He was dressed casually, in a short-sleeved, powder blue polo shirt and khaki shorts. She never would have guessed that he was faculty – he looked too young and good looking in a way that reflected a practiced ease.

“Are you surprised to find that I’m a professor, not a student?” he asked her.

She tried to cover her reaction by mopping up the spilled tea with the same paper napkin she’d just used on her hand. “Um, no, no. I mean, you don’t have to be some old stodgy person to teach here, right? I’m probably close to your age, so no matter.”

“That depends, Miriam.” Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “How old are you, exactly?”

She could feel herself blush. “Old enough to know that you shouldn’t be asking me that question. It could be construed as harassment.”

“No, not really. I just wanted to be sure that you were old enough to visit my favorite pub with me tonight. If you’re not from here, you probably don’t know where to get a proper G and T.”

“A what? What’s a G and T?”

“A gin and tonic. You know… Hendricks, a lime, a splash of tonic…or don’t you drink in Manhattan as you wear all black or sometimes grey?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“I drink on occasion, but not tonight. I just arrived here this morning, and I probably will fall asleep before you even leave to go to your pub. And I need to prepare for my first class tomorrow.”

“Well then. Hand over your mobile. I’ll put my number into your contacts and when you do feel like a drink, you can call me.”

She gazed at him, stunned for the moment at his brazen approach, but then unlocked her screen and handed her phone to him anyway. After all, he didn’t take her number, but instead, gave her his. This certainly was not New York City, and in the moment, Miriam was glad that she made the decision to cross the ocean, if only for the semester. She watched as he quickly added his number to her list of contacts. Then he stood.

“I’ve got to get on, I have a department meeting in ten minutes,” he said as he stood. “But it was nice to meet you, Miriam. I do hope you’ll ring me for that drink.” When he smiled at her she noticed that his two bottom teeth were just a bit crooked, which seemed to lend to his charm.

“It was nice to meet you, too. I’ll keep your offer in mind,” she said with a smile, not wanting to tell him that she never drank alcohol because it often triggered a migraine. No need to put him off, she thought to herself. It might be a good idea to get out every now and then, if I can make the time. She watched him walk out of the canteen and then turned her attention to her sandwich, now cold and not as appealing as it was when she purchased it. Make the time, she reflected on the concept of having a spare minute to socialize. Who are you kidding? It will never happen…

But then again, she mused, I’ve never met anyone named Spence before, either.

There will be more when I’m back…

I hope you’re enjoying the longer days and warmer weather. Time for a walk around the block to look for some spring daffodils, peeking up at you on your way. Take a minute to smell the flowers… it will change your whole day!