Hey there happy reader,

I’m currently on the west coast, visiting my older grandson (oh yes – my son and daughter-in-law live here too, lol!) and it’s a wonderful respite from the cold temperatures in New York.

It does always seem, however, that when I come to California, it rains! Not that I’m complaining. They absolutely need rain here to prevent the kind of fires that leveled Altadena last winter. But I’m holding out for a little bit of sunshine during my stay…

My older grandson turns three on Monday. 

He loves airplanes, so we’re spending the day on Saturday at a small, regional airport so that he and some of his friends can watch the planes land and take off. It’s amazing the things that toddlers like to do. As an adult, I dread the airport and the expectation that it will be a crowded, germ-filled, chaotic mess. Children have a much better way of looking at life…

This is the book that is being read on repeat while I’m here. We’re all about big trucks and airplanes right now!

Valentine’s Day is Saturday, so I thought that it might be nice to share a little excerpt from my work-in-progress, “From Below the Horizon,” with you! 

As you know, this book moves forward and backward in time. The following piece focuses on our modern-day protagonist, Miriam, and her search for the truth about the people of Stonehenge.

She’s studying at Oxford, trying to establish a link between some of the jewelry found at the site and the women who lived there centuries ago. She’s met a man – a professor – who is linked to the history of the University and has offered her access to a private library filled with rarely viewed papers, stored there for academic research…

Watching Spencer approach, Miriam couldn’t imagine that he could look more like a British college professor. He was wearing thick brown corduroy slacks, a tweed blazer with an open collared, starched white shirt and an oversized Burberry raincoat. She felt severely undressed in her simple black leggings and bulky grey cable-knit sweater, but she didn’t come here to win any fashion awards. As he approached, he smiled broadly.

“How’s the head this morning, Miriam? Feeling well, I hope?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hung over, the answer is no. I was drinking tonic water, remember. I’m not sure how you and your friends did this morning, however.”

“Well, there’s always tonight for you to try that G and T,” he said with a wink.

“There’ll be no tonight if I don’t get some work done today,” she said in a serious tone. “Now, what’s this ‘secret’ library you were telling me about?”

“Secret? I never said it was a secret. I said it was private. You need a key to gain entrance.”

“Can I see your key?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he smirked, causing a blush to rise across her cheeks.

The way he replied sounded more intimate than she expected and she hadn’t been prepared for it. Get a grip, would you please? she admonished herself. She watched as he reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out what looked like an ancient gold key. It was longer than a modern key, with an ornate head of swirls of gold, tapering down to what looked like two weird hooks on the bottom.

“That’s unique,” she quipped. “How many of those are there?”

“A few dozen, I suppose. No matter, though. We have this one, and that’s all we need. Let’s carry on.” He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her further down the path and even through her thick sweater, it heated the skin beneath. It made her feel both uncomfortable and turned on all at the same time.

At the main library steps, he stopped. “By the way,” he said. “If the librarian asks, just say you’re my fiancé. This section of the building that I taking you to is off limits to the public.”

Her eyes widened. “Your fiancé? That’s a stretch.”

“Do you want to see these old books or not?” he asked.

She nodded her head. “Fine. But if she asks when we’re getting married, please do me a favor and tell her we haven’t set a date. I don’t want to feel pressured to walk down the aisle just yet.”

“Oh, so you do have a sense of humor,” he smiled. “I was beginning to think that you were a humorless Manhattanite.”

“I am. I have a deadline, and it can’t be moved. My entire future career depends on me proving this theory I have about Stonehenge. I know that I’m right, that women had an enormous role in that place. I just have to figure out what it was.”

“Oh, so then, an easy task then, right?” he asked sarcastically. “I mean, just because you think it, doesn’t make it true.”

“Alright, if you’re so smart, tell me why recent digs at the site have turned up so many ornate pieces of jewelry. Why would ordinary women own elaborate gemstones?”

“Are you truly basing your entire dissertation argument on the discovery of some jewelry? Please tell me you have more. Here at Oxford the committee would rip you to shreds with that flimsy theory.”

“No, I’m hoping to find more,” she said, her anxiety rising. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Right.” He raised an eyebrow as if to question whether they were wasting their time or not. “Let’s go.”

They continued to climb the stairs, but his doubt was gnawing at her. She really didn’t have much to go on, and she did have a lot to prove. She shook her head as if to clear it of the panic that was beginning to rise. C’mon, Miriam, the voice inside her head said in a shaky voice. You’ve got this. She repeated those words over again in her mind as he led her through the main reading room, with its elaborately carved deep wood bookcases lined with titles, some stamped in gold leaf, to a wrought iron spiral staircase off to one side down an aisle. They stopped in front of an archway with a heavy door at its center. He lifted the key and fit it inside the lock, then turned the handle. With the sound of a latch being undone, Spencer opened the door, leading her into a world that time had seemed to ignore.

The first thing Miriam noticed was the smell; it was a combination of musty paper and worn leather. The entrance was dim, but as her eyes adjusted, she could see an older woman, hair in an elaborate bun on the top of her head, sitting at a large desk in the center of the space. As they approached, she looked up from whatever it was she was reading, removed her cat-eyed shaped glasses and smiled at Spencer.

“Why Mr. Aldworth. I haven’t seen you here in quite some time. How can I help you today?”

“Well, Mrs. Brighamton, I’m here with my fiancé, Miriam. She’s from America, teaching here for Michaelmas and researching the origins of Stonehenge. I was hoping you’d extend her the courtesy of using this section of the library while she’s visiting with us.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, Mr. Aldworth, if you’ll be bringing her by. You know that the key is not transferrable, I’m sure.”

“Of course. I’ll be with her when she’s working.”

Miriam stared at him. She didn’t need a study buddy. And it was too much of a time commitment to expect that he’d accompany her to this place for hours on end. “Oh,” she began. “Thank you, Mrs. Brighamton, but would it be alright if I came in on my own. I don’t want Spencer to have to give up his free time to sit with me.”

The older woman looked at Miriam, as if she was deciding if the American was a security risk. “Well, if he lets you in, I might be able to look the other way if you’re quiet and tidy. And no food in here. It’s a strict policy.”

Miriam nodded, even though she noticed a cup of steaming tea on the woman’s desk. “I promise to be respectful of the materials I use. You won’t have any trouble from me.”

The librarian softened. “When’s the wedding?” she asked, as if she was going to note it on her personal calendar.

Miriam opened her mouth to reply when Spencer chimed in. “We’re looking at a few dates in May and June, Mrs. Brighamton. We’ll let you know once it’s set.”

The woman smiled at that news. “And do tell your father that he’s stayed away too long, Mr. Aldworth. I’d love to see him and catch up.”

“Of course. I will tell him.”

“There’s a quiet corner in the back. I suppose you should sit there, Miss…”

“Buckley. Miriam Buckley.” She put out her hand for the older woman to shake.

“It’s a pleasure,” Mrs. Brighamton said. “Any woman marrying Mr. Aldworth is welcome here. I’ve known his family for a long time. Ask if you need anything.”

Spencer placed his hand in Miriam’s and led her over to the table the librarian had indicated they should use. Once out of hearing distance, Miriam whispered, “May or June? What happened to not mentioning a date?”

He looked directly into her eyes and replied, “A man can dream, can’t he?”

Intrigued? I hope so. Miriam and Spencer’s story gets pretty twisty along the way!

Hey there happy reader!

Brrrrr.

That’s all anyone needs to say. It’s not just chilly here in the northeast. It’s brutally cold!

I cannot remember a winter like this one, with subzero temperatures for days on end. 

Just getting ready to go outside takes forever. Layer upon layer, gloves, hats, scarves… I think I’m ready for it to be over. If the Winter Olympics weren’t starting this week (I do love the figure skating competition) I think I’d consider getting into bed and not coming out until April, lol. But then again, we’ve had snowstorms as late as the onset of spring here. Let’s hope that’s not the case this year!

Here’s an update on my publishing plans with Vinci Books…

After five months of testing the advertising for my “Gypsy Moth Chronicles” series, the marketing department has decided that the new covers aren’t working.

While I love them, I understand what they mean – the cover art doesn’t reflect the content well enough, and they look too “sweet” for my targeted audience, so… we’re heading for a redesign.

Not only will the covers have a new look, but the titles and series name are about to be changed as well. We had a long brainstorming session and have come up with a new approach to these small-town beach books. I’m happy with the result and as soon as the art is available, I’ll post it here first.

The best part about having a publisher to partner with is exactly what I’d hoped it would be. Marketing was never my strong suit, so I’m more than happy to have someone else make the big decisions about how to position my books in the marketplace. I’m excited to see what the art department comes up with next…

It’s almost Galentine’s Day! 

Time to grab your bestie and do something fun. For me, February 14th has become a celebration of my female friendships. I have so many strong women in my life and I couldn’t live without any of them.

What about you? What will you do this year?

I highly recommend calling a few of your gal pals and getting together for a coffee, a glass of wine, or a piece of delicious chocolate cake! Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be about romantic love… it can be the one day a year we let our nearest and dearest know how much we value their presence in our lives! And in the spirit of that idea, let me remind you that I appreciate each one of you…

Hey there happy reader,

What a crazy week I’ve had. I was in Los Angeles to stay with my older grandson while his parents traveled to Salt Lake City. My son produced the short film, “The Oracle,” which opened this year’s Sundance Film Festival. It was exciting for the team that made this wonderful short movie and even more exciting for me to have my grandson to myself for a few days.

We went to the playground, we baked blueberry muffins, and we played endless games concocted from our imaginations. A good time was had by all…

However, the warning bells had been rung about the snowstorm that was gathering strength in the mid-Atlantic states and was aiming for the northeast. 

Being the seasoned and proactive traveler I’ve become, I immediately rebooked by flight to go home twelve hours earlier than I had originally planned. I was relieved to get a seat on Jet Blue’s red-eye flight back to JFK and happily paid the change fee.

Then things got strange…

I got to LAX and immediately noticed that I was the only person being dropped off by an Uber outside the terminal. Once inside, it was like a ghost town… I could hear the sound of my heels reverberate against the floor as I made my way to security. There was no line. As a matter of fact, I WAS THE ONLY ONE THERE!

So many flights had been cancelled, but mine was leaving on time – a miracle! 

I think the main reason my plane was going to fly was because Jet Blue had to move their crews to their hub in New York. It seemed like every other seat was occupied by a Jet Blue employee, which turned out to be a good thing.

As we made our descent into JFK, the weather had picked up and ice pelted the plane. When I realized that the employees weren’t concerned, it went a long way toward keeping me calm. When our wheels touched down on the runway, a large cheer went up – the pilot’s co-workers were rooting for him!

Mission accomplished… but then of course, I had to take a car service home on an untreated highway. We slid all the way to my house, Thankfully, there were very few other cars on the road and we made the trip unscathed!

We ended up with over a foot and a half of snow and with the brutally cold air that is expected to hang around until mid-February, we’re going to be living with this frozen cover for quite a while longer. 

And of course, we’re gearing up for yet another snow storm this weekend. Winter is certainly making a statement this year!

I don’t mind being inside writing and I am recovering from some minor oral surgery, so I guess it’s a good time for me to spend an afternoon binging something on television. I’m sure there’s a rom-com or two I’ve missed…

For today, stay warm! Curl up with a good book and a cup of tea and read! Winter offers us the perfect opportunity to take a few hours for ourselves – and we deserve it!

Hey there happy reader!

Brrrr! That’s all I can say about the weather here in the northeast. It’s been so cold and icy that I’m happy to stay indoors and hibernate.

Luckily for me, I’m about to escape to the west coast this weekend. 

Our older son is a film producer and has a short film entered in the Sundance Film Festival. It’s exciting for him, the director and his producing partner, but it’s also exciting for us! My husband and I get to go to LA and spend some time with our older grandson while my son and daughter-in-law head to Utah. Nothing better!

And these are going along with me in my suitcase. 

Our grandson loves books and is starting to recognize words on the page. Nothing is more thrilling to me than having grandchildren who love to read. He loves to sit and read by himself – he’s got so many books to choose from!

Hopefully we’ll get a small break from the cold for a few days in California. 

I think that sixty degrees will feel like a heat wave! And I always take my work with me. That’s the beauty of being a writer… all you need is pen, paper, and your imagination to get the job done. Speaking of which, we’re inching closer to me sending off my completed manuscript for “Below the Horizon” to my editor.

One of the women in my writer’s group – I couldn’t live without this invaluable and talented bunch – suggested I should call this book “From Below the Horizon.” I’ve been giving that a lot of thought. The simple addition of the word “from” does add a bit of depth. Plus, “From Below the Horizon” is the direction of the sunrise, which, if you think about Stonehenge, makes sense. Thousands of people still gather there for both the winter and summer solstice to experience that event and to watch the sun peek along the horizon and then shine brightly as it rises between the stones. I think it’s more visual with the extra word.

Do you agree? Reply to this email and let me know!

This is the perfect time of year to hunker down with a good book. 

I just finished “Queen Esther” by John Irving. It’s about a young girl, Esther Nacht, who is dropped off at the orphanage at St. Cloud, which was the setting of “The Cider House Rules.” It tells the story of this child’s life and her fight against antisemitism. I found it compelling and extremely relevant…

Hey there happy reader,

I hope that you are enjoying this short winter warm-up that seems to be happening across the country. Here in the northeast, the sun is shining and it’s over forty degrees, a vast improvement from last month’s frozen temperatures!

And I’m happy to report that things are beginning to move at a rapid pace for me with Vinci Books. 

They’ve redesigned the last cover of my existing titles, “Question Everything.”

Here it is:

It resembles my original concept, which makes me happy, because that cover truly captured the story on the page. 

This update, with its bigger car, feels even more ominous. I like it – I hope you do as well.

Plus, my marketing team has told me that my series, “The Gypsy Moth Chronicles” will be featured in a Valentine’s Day promotion, so I’ll be sure to update you on what that is once I know!

It was great to hear from so many of you after I shared the excerpt from my work-in-progress, “Below the Horizon.” 

Vinci has let me know that they are anxious to bring this book to market and it will be a very different experience for me to let someone else handle all the details with that process. I’m happy to not have to worry about the cover design and the marketing, but I’m somewhat anxious at the same time.

I think it’s like when your first child goes off to kindergarten. You know that they need to go, but you can’t imagine letting them leave home without you. I’m going to put my faith and trust into this new experience. My horoscope says to trust my instinct and prepare to meet with success… I’m going with that!

I’m starting to feel the need for one more trip to Stonehenge as I close the chapter on writing this novel. This one took a long time, lots of research and multiple drafts and revisions. It all started back in 2022 when I first stood before the monument and felt such a strong female presence all around me. As I finish, complete with my own theory on what happened all those centuries ago on Salisbury Plain, I’d like to stand there once more. I’ll keep you posted as to when that might happen…

I hope that you’re finding the time to read a good book! I’m listening to Laura Dave’s new novel, “The First Time I Saw Him.” It’s the sequel to “The Last Thing He Told Me.” It’s keeping me guessing, but let me just say that Owen, the male protagonist, better have a good reason for sending his wife around the world looking for him. I really don’t want to be disappointed at the end of this one!

Hey there happy reader and happy 2026!

It’s hard to believe that we’ve turned the page and stepped into a new year. 

With the festivities of the holidays behind us, it’s time to get back to some serious work! I’ve been busy writing and rewriting my historical novel, “Below the Horizon” for months now. It’s a grueling process to try and get the ideas in my head down on the page, but I’m happy with the story as it’s revealed itself to me – this book is set in two different times, which makes it complicated.

I know you’ve heard me say this before, but generally an idea for a novel comes to me, and I start to hear the characters voices in my head. I just write down whatever they say!

This time I’ve had to keep a close watch on the smallest of details, because what happens in the past has an impact on the modern-day story. I’ve done an extensive re-write of this book; it’s gone through multiple drafts. I’m finally ready to share the new opening with you – I hope you like it.

The first chapter introduces you to the two female protagonists, Maya and Miriam. These two women live in different times but have a lot in common…

Salisbury Plain, England

1000 BC

The sun was rising over the stones in a riot of color; lavender, pink, and strawberry; bold orange streaks painted the sky outside the open flap of Maya’s tent. She sat cross-legged on the earthen floor; palms open to accept the familiar comfort of the vibrations humming just beneath her fingertips. She gratefully accepted the energy that flowed into her body, preparing her for what was to come. The day ahead would be a difficult one. There were storm clouds on the horizon, but not the kind that brought the much-needed harvest rains. Rather, these clouds were gathering within the groups of men in her community who wanted a larger voice in what would come next for her people. She had heard the rumblings of a revolt; she just didn’t know exactly when it would occur. She was waiting for a sign from those who’d come before her, a vision of the future to guide her on the shaky road ahead.

Clothed in her finely embroidered white linen caftan, adorned in a dozen bronze bracelets on one arm, hammered gold earrings hanging from each lobe and rings with topaz and quartz stones on her fingers, her eyes were fixed on the expansive view in front of her. Maya’s long, braided, silver hair was wrapped tightly around her head like a crown; her unlined skin masked her true age, which only she knew and kept as a closely guarded secret. She was old now, having lived long past fifty years on Mother Earth, and each day that she still woke she considered a gift from her benefactor. She was grateful for the chance to do the work she’d been charged with; for most of her life she had led her people in the massive building project that her ancestors had set forth for them. The stones stood, proud and mighty in the middle of the field and she drew in a deep breath, hoping to draw strength from their strength. The responsibility was staggering, the tasks never-ending, yet she at no time considered a different path. Maya believed in the importance of fulfilling one’s truest destiny, and this monument and protecting the lives of these people was hers.

She had spent today’s pre-dawn hours meditating after a particularly difficult night filled with disturbing dreams. She was attempting to avoid one of the powerful headaches that seemed to plague her, but she realized that it was a losing battle. The pain at the base of her skull was building and she knew better than to fight it. It would consume her for several hours and then fade away as it always did. This was a pattern that she was familiar with, as it had been happening to her all her life. Like her mother and her mother’s mother before her, all great women and powerful leaders, they suffered the same affliction. But a woman’s pain was the very thing that gave her the will to lead; women understood better than men that out of great discomfort came the wisest decisions.

Maya’s oldest daughter Marah suffered as well, and in her heart, Maya knew the great burden her child would shoulder in the future – that was, if her people still had a future, if she could find a way to quell the uprising that was simmering on the edges of their community. The pain in her head was building now in its predictable pattern, mimicking the vibrations under her the earth beneath her. Perhaps, she thought, with it would come the vision she desperately needed. She closed her eyes and thought about the generations of her people who had worked to fulfill the mission of their predecessors, as the stones they had placed in the wide-open field before her stood tall in the brightening sunlight. These boulders, carried on the backs of multiple men from a distance most would never travel in a lifetime, were a testament to the will of those who came before her. Many had died in the building process, some crushed to death under a falling piece of rock, others fatally sliced in half by sharp tools, and Maya knew that these brave soul’s ultimate sacrifice for the collective good was not in vain. While there was still much to be done moving forward, Maya had a premonition that her own time here in this place was now limited.

More pressing on this day, however, was this knowledge that there was a certain unrest building among some of the men in their community. Marah had confided in her mother, telling her of an overheard conversation at the fire pit, the angry words a group of the men had expressed in their secret meetings along the rim of the cornfields. But even without Marah’s words, Maya had known in her heart that this day was coming. She heard it in the late-night whispers beyond her tent and in the shadowy remembrances of her dreams. She knew that it was up to her to find a way forward and that she had limited time to complete this enormous task. For the first time in her life, Maya felt a chill of fear that kept her skating along the surface of her nerve endings, constantly waiting for the inevitable end of times to appear.

“There are rumblings, mother, Marah had said one morning after meditations. “I heard the one named Jason say that it was time the men had more of a say in what we are doing here. That it isn’t right to allow the women to decide the fate of the project.”

“Doesn’t he know that it’s the will of the ancestors? That we’re only following the teachings left to us by the ones who have come before?”

“He doesn’t care. He’s spreading these words throughout the community, and he’s convinced a good number of the men that he’s right. I’m afraid of what he’ll do next.”

Maya knew that she’d need to help Marah confront this problem sooner rather than later, but for now, it would have to wait.

The waves of pain had begun to build in intensity, traveling from the base of her neck upward toward her temples. She sat back and allowed them their due, all the while knowing that what she was experiencing should not be feared, but instead, respected. It was the only way to make it through to the other side of the pain, to her recovery. Maya let the pounding rhythm in her head wash over her and waited for the visions that often accompanied this terrible ache to reveal themselves to her. Perhaps the answers she desired would make themselves known to her today. If that were to happen, it would make this discomfort much more tolerable. If that were to happen, her sacrifice would be worth any amount of pain she was forced to endure to ensure a path forward, to guide Marah with a way to lead their people into the future. At least that was her hope. Perhaps at the other end of her pain, she’d know what was to come next. But for now, she closed her eyes and did the only thing she knew to do; she allowed the headache to have its way with her.

Graduate Housing, Columbia University

August 2025

Miriam Buckley slowly opened one eye and then the other, narrowing them and squinting in the direction of the lone window in her bedroom. A seam of light separated night from day at the horizon. She knew that it was early, but once she was awake, there was never the chance that she’d fall back to sleep. At least last evening she’d been spared the bizarre dreams she’d been experiencing for months, shadowy figures crossing great expanses of open fields, seemingly searching for something she couldn’t place. She almost felt as though she belonged there, that’s how real it felt. There were tents surrounding a large plain, each with a fire pit, food simmering in clay pots above the flames. She could smell the spices in the air – cumin, rosemary, thyme, and the pungent scent of garlic mixed with the unmistakable aroma of roasted root vegetables. Women moved with purpose, each with a job to do. And, of course, the massive stones towered over all of it, set in a circle, heavy and commanding. She felt very much a part of this sisterhood, in fact, she had a sense that she sat at its center. It’s the research, she thought. It’s slowly driving me mad.

She rubbed her cheek against the scratchy pillowcase, waiting to feel that familiar ache at the base of her skull, dreading the hours she might need to spend in a dark room with a cold washcloth over her eyes. Thankfully, it wasn’t there today. At least not yet. Her migraines were unpredictable. While she had some warning before one struck, she never understood what caused them in the first place, only knowing that they seemed to plague the women of her family. Miriam’s earliest childhood memory was being shushed by her father during one of her mother’s bouts. She and her younger brother Henry would need to play in absolute silence until the headache passed and her mother would finally emerge from her bedroom, pale and shaky, her nightgown drenched in sweat. All would be fine again, or at least until the next headache struck and the pattern repeated. Her mother had tried some of the prescription migraine medicines, but they made her feel worse; dizzy, nauseous and loopy for hours.

Miriam shifted into a sitting position, reminding herself that this single bed in her sparse dorm room didn’t leave much space for movement. She longed for the day when she’d finally have her own apartment again but as a graduate fellow living on a tiny grant, that wouldn’t be anytime soon. She was doing important research and had made some headway toward her dissertation, but she was not yet close to being financially independent. And after her disastrous break up with her long-time boyfriend and almost fiancé Brendan, she made a promise to herself that there would be no more living with another man; as a whole, men were needy and brought another set of troubles to her door. She shuddered at the thought of the mistake she’d almost made, marrying someone who didn’t respect her work, who expected her to support his research and only humored her as she plodded her way through her own reams of papers, textbooks and historical documents. While it was true that she spent hours lost in thought, sifting through a myriad of ancient artifacts, mired in a lost time before there was any written history, it was her passion. Her work was as important for her as it was for Brendan’s study of the Industrial Revolution. They shared a passion for history, but as it turned out, that was the extent of their common ground. She was relieved when an opening came up in graduate housing and she was able to move out of his tiny railroad-style apartment in Brooklyn that past winter. She would miss the sex, but that was about all.

She had bigger problems to deal with. Every time Miriam felt like she was just about to breakthrough and uncover the one missing piece that would snap the puzzle into place, she hit a wall. She had postponed her defense twice now. She shuddered at the memory of the very tough conversation she recently had with her mentor and chair of the dissertation committee, Dr. Matthias Solomon.

“This is it, Ms. Buckley,” he had told her in his cramped office, dusty books lining the shelves and sitting on every available surface. “You have one last shot at getting your degree. This is the last extension I can grant you,” he had told her plainly.

Without meeting her current deadline date, Miriam would no longer be a PhD candidate at Columbia University. She had been given all the leeway possible; there were no more extensions to be had. The pressure she felt was enormous, and the debilitating headaches she suffered as a byproduct did not help.

Standing now on unsteady feet, Miriam thought about the place that was currently the center of it all — Stonehenge. She had been mesmerized by the ancient structure when she had first visited the site as an undergrad and had based her entire academic career on the theory that the massive monument on Salisbury Plain was engineered by women. It was almost blasphemy, her supposition, but she felt deep down in her soul that she was right. She still hadn’t found the proof to substantiate her theory, and everything pointed away from what she believed to be true. Her male counterparts had argued that she was not dealing with the basic facts — how could women have moved those enormously heavy stones? Were they some sort of freakishly strong aliens? Had they come up with a mathematical equation to engineer a way to hoist the massive boulders up, to secure them deep within the ground that was lost to time? And most importantly, and what she couldn’t figure out yet, but what she was trying to uncover, was why these women seemed to be erased from the history of the place.

She’d been back countless times and was about to head off to England again, this time to Oxford, to study some of the documents in their extensive library. She had applied for a grant that would allow her to teach a seminar on her findings to date in exchange for room and board for a semester, and luckily, she had been permitted that request. She had to find the key as her final dissertation defense date was set and was now only six months away. Miriam still had more questions than answers, plus, she owed her grandmother a visit. While Miriam had grown up in the United States, her maternal grandmother Marjory still lived in the Cotswolds, in a small village not far from the fabled university, and Miriam had promised her mother that she’d check in on the older woman during her stay there. That was, if she could find the time. The clock was ticking, and she had not a moment to waste.

Hey there happy reader!

I’m dropping in today to wish you a peaceful and healthy 2026! Lots of good things are coming this year, including my new book…

I want to take this moment to let you know just how grateful I am to each of you for showing up here to catch up on all my news. Let’s walk into the future together – it’s going to be great!

I’m back at work next week… look for an excerpt from “Below the Horizon” when we meet again!

Hey there happy reader!

Sometimes I am awestruck by the number of creative scams that litter my inbox daily. This holiday season, however, the record has been broken – multiple times!

It all started with what seemed like innocent fan mail. 

The writer would reference a title of mine and invite me to join their book club for a discussion (something I’ve done hundreds of times with legit groups!) The next email would offer me a slot to speak for a fee. No thanks!

The next scheme offered lovely words about my writing journey, only to offer promotional services that I don’t need. Sheesh!

But the last straw was a series of letters from well-known authors (including Liane Moriarty – she wrote “Big Little Lies”) asking me to join her in a cross promotion. 

Now, while you might think that this is very flattering, what really is behind this scam is an attempt to steal my mailing list! I take this very seriously and have reached out to Ms. Moriarty’s agent to let them know that this happened. I’ve also learned how to block a sender from ever mailing me again.

My promise to you has always been that I won’t share your email address with anyone, and I intend to honor that pledge. I plan on being ever vigilant as AI becomes more of a threat to all our privacy and keep your names under lock and key!

And speaking of AI, let me assure you that I never use it in my writing. 

Did you know that you now need to disclose if you’ve included AI passages before you can publish a book on Amazon? As a reader, you need to read a book’s description to know if the author has used this technology and you can decide what to read based on how you feel about it. I personally don’t want to read a book written by a robot, but that’s me!

The above just about sums up my mood. 

How about you? Any annoying emails littering your inbox? Stay safe out there!!

Hey there happy reader,

The holiday season is in full swing. Are you keeping your head above water? I’m feeling frazzled and frenzied — how about you? The only saving grace has been lots of time with both of my assistants…

These two rascals have kept us all on our toes of late. 

They are adorable together but double the trouble as well. It’s almost as if they know that as soon as an adult turns their back it’s time to reach for something a little bit dangerous! I can’t say it hasn’t been fun, though. They are awfully cute!

And as a bonus, I have the “Bluey” theme song stuck in my head forever now, lol!

Between the family visiting and the meal preparation ongoing, I haven’t had a concentrated amount of writing time. I’m feeling unsettled by that – I have a story to finish and only a certain number of hours in the day!

Everyone will be leaving here tomorrow, so it’s back down to my office with the door closed until I’m done. I feel like the end is in reach… I just need to reach out and grab on to it!

My gift to you in the coming months will be (hopefully) a new novel for you to read and enjoy.

As a matter of fact, I’m going to try and grab a few moments now to get back to it!

Hey there happy reader!

I hope your Thanksgiving celebration was fun and stress-free! We had a great time with family and friends… and I was happy to not have to cook the next day at all!

On the Friday after the feast we braved a very cold and windy New York City afternoon and took both of our grandsons to a special performance of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” 

I’m sure most of you are familiar with this wonderful storybook by Eric Carle. This show was geared toward a young audience, with large puppets and masterful puppeteers who truly brought the story to life.

Our almost three-year-old grandson was glued to his chair, enthralled by the entire experience. Our almost two-year-old grandson enjoyed dancing in front of his seat and participating in the antics of the caterpillar as the performers encouraged the children to interact with them. A good time was had by all!

For me, I’m thrilled that both of our grandsons have fallen in love with books. 

One doesn’t need to follow the multiple studies on reading to children to know that storytelling is an important component of early education. But storytelling serves multiple purposes…

In my work-in-progress, “Below the Horizon,” storytelling plays a key role in my plotline. 

Since the people who lived on Salisbury Plain had no written language, it was the oral history that gave historians a clue as to what happened there.

Storytelling is important; it links generations, offers a window into the past, and helps us understand where we’ve come from. I’ve developed a healthy respect for storytelling during my time researching this novel – and that’s a good thing!

I hope that you have the chance in this busy holiday season to spend time with family and tell the younger generation some of your own experiences growing up.