Think of this as the mixtape for Thirteen Weeks in Digby. I’ve always “heard” music in the back of my head as I read (weird quirk, I know), so I put together 16 tracks that capture everything from gusty storm vibes to those quiet, “just us” moments and the big, messy warmth of found family.

Inviting beta readers opened a window onto fresh perspectives I never saw on my own. In this post, I share how I crafted a guided Google Form, started weaving early feedback into the manuscript, and am gearing up for a second full developmental pass.

Meet Emmett, Paige’s teenage son. Sharp, guarded, and learning who he is. At fifteen, his silence says more than he lets on, and every edge feels like part of growing up.

When I first finished my novel’s first draft, I felt…weird. Proud yet conflicted, excited and uneasy to step away from my characters. In this post I share how I discovered developmental editing—why it’s the vital “zoom-out” pass after drafting and how I map every scene in a simple spreadsheet.

Duck is easy to underestimate — laid-back, offbeat, and more insightful than anyone realizes. He’s the janitor at the community center (and might even live in the basement).

Susie and Jim are the kind of people who hold everyone else up — steady, warm, and full of quiet strength. She makes the plans, he fixes what’s broken, and there’s always room for one more at their table.

Laney is sharp, funny, and fiercely independent. With her love of music, her quick wit, and her hidden tenderness, she’s learning what it means to let her walls down.

Jenson is clean-cut, thoughtful, and full of quiet questions. Raised in a faith that taught him what to believe, he’s learning what it means to decide for himself. A coming-of-age story told in glances, hesitations, and quiet courage.

What do personality tests have to do with writing fiction? A lot, actually. In this post, I explore how being a Type 9 INFJ impacts my creative process, my characters, and even the scenes I avoid writing. (Spoiler: it’s conflict.)

Alonzo is everyone’s best friend — the one you call when you need to laugh, when you need to eat, when you need to feel seen. He dreams of bigger things, but here in this little town, he and his restaurant, Fickle, are already unforgettable.

Digby may be fictional, but it’s built with the heart of a real Midwestern town. Here’s why I created it, and some of my favorite places within its streets.

Lupita is warmth wrapped in quiet strength. The kind of person who keeps everyone together without asking for anything in return. She’s weathered storms—inside and out—but her love for others never wavers. You may not always understand exactly what she says, but you’ll always feel what she means.

Guy never stops trying… to fix things, to rally people, to make it all work (somehow). He’s a tangle of good intentions with a coffee in one hand and a plan that’s already falling apart in the other. And he means every word.

At the center of this story is Paige: a little lost, a little fierce, and impossible not to root for. She keeps moving to outrun the things that hurt, but somehow the unexpected—and connection—find her anyway. If you’re the kind of reader who loves characters who feel real, messy, and full of heart, you’ll want to meet her.

Several years ago, my husband and I decided on a whim to visit the Unitarian Universalist church in our town. We didn’t know what to expect. Inside, a man looked up and asked, “Are you here for directions?”

What we found was a small, big-hearted group full of kindness, quirks, and an eagerness to help. On the way home, I told my husband, “There could be a TV show about that group. And I’d watch it.”

The world has felt impossibly heavy lately. My stomach’s been in knots. But even with that weight, there are lunches to make, sprinklers to run through, and stories to tell. The guilt of holding joy while others suffer is real. It’s also part of why I started writing again. Not to ignore the hard things, but to make space for what’s still good. In this post, I’m reflecting on what it means to parent, feel deeply, and keep creating in a world that’s on fire.

I truly believe that what we read steers what we write. Some books become blueprints, others become whispers, and then there are those rare ones that crack something open.
As I write Thirteen Weeks in Digby, I keep returning to the stories that shaped its voice, heart, and humor.