Miles of marsh, stretching as far inland as you can see. Beyond that awaits a dense forest of palmetto trees and huge oaks dripping with Spanish moss. The insects are buzzing so loudly you don’t think you’ll ever be able to ignore the sound. The air is thick with humidity, even in early spring, and by the time your flatboat descends and you’re rowing through the maze of pluff mud islands your back is drenched with sweat. And the smell! It’s like sulfur! The whole place seems to be teeming with disease, and you wonder if any water around here is fit to drink. Once you reach the shore and get a good look at the jungle awaiting you, you find yourself thinking, a la Gob Bluth: “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

That single image, of a redcoat arriving on South Carolina shores, is what set the tone for Octavia Hall. It first hit me last spring on the trip home from visiting relatives on Fripp Island. I’d finished The Turncoat in Carrington Park a few months prior and was toying with the idea of a sequel. I’d started writing it, actually, but I wasn’t quite sure I really liked it yet. Then, while crossing the bridge from Lady’s Island to Beaufort, I found myself gazing across the marsh at low tide, wondering how intimidating that would have looked to some half-hearted recruit in the later years of the American Revolution. I imagine even the seasoned veterans sailing down from their posts in New York felt a little clammy at the first sight of that coastline.

During May and June 2026, I spent some time on a few barrier islands in South Carolina, taking pictures and making notes on the setting that I wanted to share with my readers. As I said in my author’s note, Cinder Island, where Octavia Hall begins, is itself fictional, though the islands that inspired it are very, very real. So let’s go visit some.

All images are mine, unless otherwise noted.

The islands

I am going to write mostly about Edisto, because it’s the one I’m most familiar with. Edisto Beach is one of those places where you either love it, or you think it’s the most boring beach on earth. I am of the former opinion. There are no hotels, no impressive shops, the restaurants change names every 5-10 years but otherwise stay the same, and there is only one grocery store. If you want a quiet, peaceful beach vacation where the only drama is the annoyance of trying to safely pass the golf carts driving too slow on Jungle Road, Edisto is the perfect place for you.

Edisto is also part of the ACE Basin, a protected wetland that sits squarely in the Lowcountry. One thing that is crucial to remember if you aren’t familiar with barrier islands in general, is that the travel between them can be…interesting.

Eyeballing it, these islands are about ten miles apart. And it takes two hours to get from one beach to the other. There is literally no other road. I realize two hours in the car is child’s play compared to hauling out to somewhere like the Outer Banks, but my point is distances on the map can be deceiving. This is partly because of the positioning of the islands themselves, and partly the fact that they are often comprised of protected land. I am in no way complaining about this. Just the opposite. I think it’s cool that much of the undeveloped land looks the same as it would have during the colonial years.

The flora

First, a note on Spanish moss. For my entire life, I have heard it’s illegal to pull Spanish moss from trees in South Carolina. Yes, illegal. This has come up on every beach trip I can remember. It’s okay to pick pieces off the ground, but don’t you dare pull it off the trees! While working on this essay I decided to look up if that’s actually true. I could not find an answer, which makes me think it’s not a law, but it is most definitely frowned upon. (Correct me if I’m wrong, please.) If you’re in a public place in the Lowcountry and start yanking down gobs of Spanish moss, be prepared for some comments, or at least some aggressive side-eye. What does that have to do with the book, you ask? Literally nothing, just consider yourself warned if you’re planning a vacation around here.

The forests on these islands are so jungle-y I hesitate to call them forests at all. They are full of oaks and pines and the ubiquitous palmetto trees, and vine-y plants as thick as your wrist. The Vietnam scenes in Forrest Gump were filmed on Fripp, to give you an idea of how rustic we’re talking.

The marshes themselves are so much fun to explore, if you can get past the stink factor. I feel like I’m harping on the smell a lot, but it is genuinely shocking if you aren’t used to it. I’ve heard it compared to a paper mill or sewage, though others say it just smells like salt water. Years ago my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I spent an afternoon kayaking through the marsh off Edisto’s Bay Point. There were loads of dolphins in the river and in the marsh itself we found an endless labyrinth of narrow waterways and muddy little islands covered with reeds and grasses. At low tide the water recedes, revealing the heavy, dark pluff mud peppered with holes where the little crabs and mollusks live. That mud is nearly impossible to remove if it stains your clothes, by the way. It’s almost as bad as the red clay soil of the Upstate. Crabbing and fishing are popular activities in the marsh, just dress accordingly!

While the first part of the story takes place at the coast, it moves progressively further inland. That means one thing: pine trees. I don’t know if they’re longleaf or loblolly pines, but they are everywhere. They grow in swamps, they grow on dry land, it doesn’t matter. If you spend any amount of time on I-26 to Charleston (the most boring stretch of highway on the East Coast) you will see thousands of pine trees, and pretty much nothing else. I like to shave off time on my drive to Edisto by taking the more rural route through Round O and Parkers Ferry. Not only does this make my phone GPS and car GPS compete for my affections, since my car always wants to send me through Walterboro for some reason, but it again offers a look at mostly untouched land in the Lowcountry. This time I was even within spitting distance of the Pon Pon Chapel of Ease, the first Anglican Church in South Carolina, but it’s currently closed (for restoration, I hope). A real shame, though I intend to go visit it once it’s open again.

The fauna

The Lowcountry is home to beautiful birds like egrets, herons, plovers, pelicans, sandpipers, spoonbills, and dozens of others. There are also swarms of deer, which are a huge problem on some islands, and snakes of both the venomous and nonvenomous nature. In the 1770s-80s there were pumas and feral pigs in the area as well. There are still feral pigs, by the way, and they are extremely dangerous.

But I don’t want to talk about any of those animals. I want to talk about mosquitoes. If you are like me, and have the kind of blood that seems to attract every mosquito within a twenty mile radius, you will appreciate the call out.

On that same trip many years ago where I enjoyed a leisurely kayaking through the marsh, my boyfriend also persuaded me to take a bike ride with him at the ACE Basin headquarters. I was dubious, because I generally don’t like riding bikes, but agreed because I try to be a good sport. We loaded our bikes into his truck, drove up 174, and spent the afternoon biking.

I will never do that again.

First off, this was in late June, which means suffocating heat and humidity. This itself is not so bad if you’re sipping lemonade on a screened-in porch, but on a bike in midafternoon, in the blazing sun without a cloud in sight? No thank you. There are bike paths around some old rice fields from the plantations that stood there in centuries past, and that part I did enjoy, because at least there was a breeze. But to get there you had to ride through the woods, and when I tell you the mosquitoes were bad, please know that I mean there were literally swarms of them. I did not care that I was drenched in sweat from riding that blasted bike, I didn’t want to rest because the second I stopped pedaling a cloud of mosquitoes descended on me like a living haboob.

By the end of the afternoon my left forearm had been bitten so many times that it had swelled up and was hot to the touch. It took days to calm down. Boyfriend was fine. Nary a bite. (We still talk about this bike ride, by the way, and what an unmitigated disaster it was. It’s funny now! At the time, not so much.)

The weather

I think it’s generally agreed that, in temperate climates, March is one of the more unpredictable months regarding weather and temperature. Whenever March rolls around people on Substack are all “How is it snowing today?! It was 60 degrees last week!” and “Can’t put away the sweaters, but can’t get out the shorts yet…what to do?”

I knew warm temperatures would be an important element to the story (warm, wet weather —> disease-carrying mosquitoes), so I looked up average and record highs for the area. Obviously none of these sources go back to the 1780s, but I was shocked to find one source said that for Charleston, the record high for the month of March was 94 degrees (Fahrenheit) on March 23, 1907.

While I can’t be sure what the exact temperatures were in March 1780, when the book is set, I know from my research that the British truly struggled with the heat and that, paired with malaria and dysentery, etc., had a major impact on their troops. There’s a line in the book about officers’ horses dying from the heat; I did not make that up, I encountered that tidbit in my research, though it would’ve been more likely to happen in late spring or summer rather than March.

I am so happy I was able to look at these places through new eyes while preparing this book. I didn’t get to do that last time, since TCP was set in a fictional sister city to Philadelphia. I’m sure Philadelphia has some surviving colonial relics, but it’s tougher for an urban area to preserve those pockets of the past. The next book presents its own challenges with the Backcountry, and my recent trip to the Ninety Six Historical Site provided a glimpse into a community that was vital and thriving during the American Revolution, but has since been lost to the vestiges of time.

I look forward to sharing it when the time comes. Thanks, everyone!

It remains true today.

I know that self-publishing often comes with tight purse strings, and that we are expected to do basically everything when it comes to book production. Writing a book you love and then deciding to self-publish means taking on a long list of housekeeping tasks like editing, formatting, acquiring ISBNs, securing copyright (depending on where you live, since I assume the procedure varies by country), setting up KDP or whatever printer/distributer you choose…and the dreaded cover. Notice that doesn’t even touch the marketing or promotion side!

Personally, I am quite happy to tackle many of these tasks myself. I’ve spent seven years as a QA lead at my 9-5 so my self-editing skills are quite sharp. That said, my work experience has also taught me the value of a second pair of eyes, which meant I hired a proofreader for this book before publishing, and not after. (Thank you, !) I have a batch of ISBNs I bought from Bowker, like, ten years ago that I’m slowly working my way through. I’ve had my KDP account almost as long, so I’m aware of its eccentricities (though I do plan to expand to IngramSpark once I have some time to devote to learning it). I even do all my formatting myself in Microsoft Word, because that’s the kind of thing where you spend many frustrating, agonizing hours trying to figure it out on the front end, but it pays dividends later when you basically have your own custom template you can revisit again and again. These tasks are genuinely fun for me! I may be a recovering perfectionist, but I have found there’s a lot of joy in sending out work that’s polished, but maybe not flawless, because hey, it’s done.

One area I won’t touch with a ten foot pool skimmer is the cover. There are so many reasons for this. I am not an artist. I know nothing, NOTHING, about graphic design. I appreciate art and I took a studio art class in college where I learned to respect composition, form, light, color, all that jazz, but, here’s the kicker, that doesn’t mean I can do it.

I don’t know the right ratios. I don’t know the right color combinations, or how to turn an ISBN into a barcode. I don’t know how to get the spine width right. The fact that I kind of like Papyrus, a font that is universally mocked, tells you I know nothing about fonts. The weirdest part about all this, for me, is that I don’t care to learn how to do it, either. Could not care less!

And that is why I gladly hired the talented and professional Agata Broncel at Bukovero to design my cover for me. The cover for The Turncoat in Carrington Park was actually a pre-made cover I purchased from them last year. My budget was tight and I was searching for anything that vaguely looked like it would fit the aesthetic I wanted (that did not use AI). I saw that one on the website, asked some questions, and bought it. The customization was complete in maybe a couple weeks, though I can’t recall the exact timeline. It uploaded perfectly to KDP, zero issues, easy peasy, and it looks great in both ebook and print format.

Since I was working on a sequel this time around, I knew I’d have to go custom. I wanted a sense of continuity, so that it was obvious from a glance that the books belong together. This meant a higher price tag, but I knew the quality of work would be top notch. I reached out to Agata, who still had my original cover on file, and after some discussion we set up the order. I filled out a survey about the book and attached some pictures I had taken of the salt marsh near Beaufort back in the spring, for reference. The pictures were Not Great because I had snapped them from a moving car (I was not driving). When I tell you I’m generally bad at visual arts, believe it.

One month later, I received the following cover, and I must say it is gorgeous!

I think it complements the original quite nicely:

Now I guess I really have to start working on Number 3!

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Author’s note

Growing up in South Carolina, I enjoyed frequent visits to the barrier islands and beaches around Charleston. These included Edisto, Seabrook, Folly Beach, Johns Island, Kiawah, James Island, Fripp, and of course Charleston itself. Researching this book, and learning more about the history of these places, was an illuminating experience I will always treasure.

Octavia Hall is a work of fiction. Any errors that directly contradict historical scholarship are my own. That said, for the sake of storytelling I did take some artistic liberties. Charleston, for example, was still called Charles Town in 1780. The current spelling wasn’t adopted until 1783; I hope that choice wasn’t too distracting. Cinder Island is a fictional amalgam of various barrier islands, though I think the description of the setting evokes the spirit of the real places. The towns depicted are also fictional. The coastal lands in 1780 were largely made up of vast farms and plantations, but trading posts and towns (like Beaufort and Moncks Corner) did multiply and expand with the population growth that the colony saw in the 1700s. Rice and indigo were the most profitable crops in South Carolina during the war years, grown and processed via slave labor.

I would also like to note three areas that may seem exaggerated in the story, but were in fact quite rooted in truth:

1. The impact of colonial diseases on the British troops: Malaria, dysentery, and yellow fever ran rampant through South Carolina in 1780 and decimated their numbers. Neither officers nor men of rank were spared. The marshes and swamps of the Lowcountry were breeding grounds for disease-carrying mosquitos, and since the local colonists had grown up in such conditions, those who survived to adulthood had a definite advantage. An apothecary’s daughter like Hannah would have witnessed such disease from an early age, and learned every possible course of treatment to provide relief. British soldiers sent to the West Indies fared the worst, and many considered a posting to those colonies akin to a death sentence.

2. Desertion and changing sides: It is important here to remember that the American Revolution was essentially a civil war. As a result, there were times when it seemed like there was a revolving door between camps. Soldiers changed sides for all sorts of reasons: low morale, family ties or lack thereof, dissatisfaction with pay, or feuds with other soldiers. Some men simply vanished--the “missing” count after a number of battles is suspiciously high--and presumably attempted to start a new life elsewhere, unencumbered by a commitment to either army. Parliament’s Press Act (officially called the Recruiting Act, though I saw both names used while researching) did coerce many British men to serve in America who might have refused in other circumstances. There are even reports of British inmates maiming themselves to avoid being sent to fight; a precursor to the sometimes self-inflicted Blighty wound of the trenches during WW1. The health of these recruits was often considerably worse than that of the career soldiers who came to America in the earliest years of the war. A young man like Silas, able-bodied and with outstanding debts, would have been ripe for the plucking under the Press Act.

3. Loyalists: Men and women like William, who believed they were the true patriots due to their loyalty to the King, played a huge role in the Southern Campaign. In Mark Urban’s wonderful book Fusiliers: The Saga of a British Redcoat Regiment in the American Revolution there is an entire chapter devoted to the discussions in Whitehall and Parliament about the future of the war, and where the British Army might have the most success in regaining momentum. They settled on South Carolina because of the multiple testimonies from expatriated colonists who assured them that, in spite of the firebrands in Charleston, most people in South Carolina were loyal to the Crown. Of course, that turned out not to be the case, as we shall explore further in the next volume of this series when we venture into the Backcountry...

Haven’t read the first book yet? Find The Turncoat in Carrington Park on Amazon.

1. Make a master packing list. Yes, this requires some work up front, preferably well in advance of the actual trip. Over the course of a few days write down every item you use or wear on a regular basis that you might conceivably need to pack in a suitcase. This will range from the super obvious like toothpaste and deodorant to more obscure items like a journal or compression socks for long haul flights. Write it all down anyway. Did you once pack a pair of ski pants for that trip to Snowmass with your boyfriend's family three years ago? Put ski pants on the list. You may never check it off again, but you won't forget them if the occasion arises! Once you've taken inventory, categorize the list. My Master Packing List has five categories Toiletries, Clothing, Hair (yes I know there's some overlap here with toiletries, but I have very needy hair so it gets its own category), Miscellaneous, and Seasonal. Feel free to add or adjust items over time. Every time you pack for a trip, check off every item as soon as you pack it, or lay it out if it can't really be packed away. Go through the entire list! It will feel tedious at first, especially for quick jaunts, but the joy of never forgetting your phone charger again is worth the brief irritation. Ideally everyone in the family should have their own personalized list. You may even want to include a category of tasks to complete before setting out (turning off water supply, arranging mail pickup, etc)

   

2. Find travel sized duplicates. I know Marie Kondo said to toss out those tiny samples cluttering up your medicine cabinet, but don't! At least, not if you like the brand. Or if you don't like the shampoo you brought home from your last Quality Inn motel room, squeeze it out and refill it with shampoo you do like. This is particularly satisfying for the frugal among us. I have the same Garnier Honey Treasures 3 oz shampoo bottle that's been haunting my suitcase for at least six years and I've refilled it with who knows how many different shampoos. Don't just seek out TSA friendly liquid minis, look for any toiletries on your packing list that you can reasonably duplicate. Keep that little bottle of contact solution and the extra contact case after your visit to the eye doctor, and that annoyingly tiny wheel of floss from the dentist. Put them immediately in your suitcase when you come home, and you'll have 3-4 items on your checklist packed with zero effort. This is also the perfect time to try out that eyeshadow palette of bland colors you got in a Clinique bonus bag three years ago and haven't touched since. (Maybe don't do this if you're traveling for a wedding or anywhere else you need to Look Your Best.) But for a long weekend with your extended family in Clearwater? Sure. The best part is, if you decide you hate that mini tube of Colgate toothpaste from your dentist office goody bag, you can toss it with zero guilt.

3. Take a Toy Inventory. If you aren't traveling with children, skip this one. List any toys, books, plushies, ziploc baggies of markers, etc. your kids are bringing with them, and use it to keep tabs. This will prevent most post-hotel-checkout disasters of the Forgotten Treasured Lovey variety. If you don't want to deal with a list, spread everything out on the floor and take a picture, crime-scene style.

4. Clean the house. Nothing crazy, okay? This is not the time to wipe baseboards or try to vacuum up those impossible-to-reach dust bunnies behind the TV stand. We are not doing a deep clean here. Just fresh sheets, clean towels, and nothing in the sink growing fungus. A pass with the vacuum is nice but not necessary. It's the first thing I drop if pressed for time. The goal is to walk through the door after your trip and think "Ah, home at last" instead of "Ugh, this place again."

5. Have something ready to eat upon return. If you don’t try anything else in this list, give this one a shot. Frozen pizza, leftovers, whatever. Delays and traffic jams happen. You'll be thankful for that Dijourno in the freezer.

Let’s get down to the music. I found some great new artists and I am so happy to share them with you!

1. Tales of Luria by Sail North: Silas’s song, and the song for Kingsford

2. The Blood of Cu Chulainn by Mychael Danna and Jeff Danna: the song for the apothecary shop

3. Irish Eyes by Rose Betts: Hannah’s song

4. What an Awesome God by Phil Wickham: the song for the marsh

5. How You Like Me Now by The Heavy: William’s song

6. Renegades by X Ambassadors: the Bentwood song

7. Road to Camelot by Diane Arkenstone: the walking song (because good grief there’s loads of walking in this book)

8. Fast Car by Tracy Chapman (a personal favorite): the song for Meg’s house

9. Santiana by Sail North: Silas’s second song

10. Robin & Marian by Nickel Creek: the second walking song (seriously so much walking)

11. The Road is a Lover by Alison Krauss and Union Station: the song for the garrison dinner (one of my favorite chapters)

12. Rehab by Rihanna: Hannah’s second song

13. Mountain Man by Crash Kings: Daniel’s Song

14. Awesome God by Taryn Harbridge: Hannah’s third song

15. End Credits of The Last of the Mohicans by Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman (may have to find it on YouTube): the song for Hannah’s last chapter

16. Not with Haste by Mumford and Sons: the song for the epilogue

What’s your favorite music for writing? I’m always looking for new artists!

“Your father is here to collect you, Mr. Underhill.”

I peel myself from the bench. Careful to avoid the beggars and drunks sprawled on the grimy, squalid floor like flotsam from a shipwreck, I pick my way across the cell. The door opens with a vile screech of its hinges that sets my teeth on edge. The light from the guard’s torch warms my face as he motions for me to follow him down the dim corridor. The stone is cold and harsh against my bare feet, and I accidentally step in a murky puddle of what I can only pray is water.

The guard stops before another door; this one is smaller, without any barred cutouts in the wood to release the stench of filthy prisoners kept within. He knocks once and I follow him into a tidy, comfortable room with a low fire glowing in the hearth. In the center stands a table with four people seated around it: my mother and father, a soldier I don’t recognize, and Jacob Parker. Parker’s still in his army uniform; he’s so pleased with how he looks in that red coat that he probably keeps it on when he makes love to those sluts he meets at The Ivory Hare.

“Thought you’d pay me a visit?” I say to Parker, ignoring my parents and the stranger. It’s his fault I’m here, after all. He had to act the utter child and have me arrested for theft simply because I owed him a few measly pounds. Pounds he never should’ve won. He kept refilling my glass even though he knew I’d just learned of Edward’s death and was in no fit state to gamble. He knew how dear our friendship was, and how deeply the news had wounded me. He never should’ve encouraged me to wager so much money on a hand of whist.

I gesture to my state of undress; when I arrived at the jail the warden took one look at the fine stitching on my coat and whisked it away—along with my waistcoat, shoes, and stockings. “I hope you’re pleased with your handiwork, Parker.”

“Lieutenant Parker, if you don’t mind,” he replies. His mouth twists into that small, baiting smile that appears on his face whenever he’s about to win a trick. He turns to my father. “Thank you for resolving this matter, sir. I know you disapprove of gaming.”

“I disapprove of folly,” retorts Father, in his guttural growl. If he ever had the crisp, elegant diction expected of a peer it vanished years ago, eroded by decades of shouting at every footman and errand boy unfortunate enough to cross his path. “If my fool of a son is short-sighted enough to wager sixty pounds on a fistful of cards, I’d trust he could pay the bill himself. My assumptions were misguided. A pity.”

Father holds out a slim packet of banknotes. In the dim firelight his joints look redder and more swollen than last week. Either the cold weather has irritated his rheumatics or some crank doctor persuaded my mother to administer a new tincture to his knuckles twice daily and it isn’t working. My guess is the latter.

Parker accepts the money with a gracious bow. “Thank you, Mr. Underhill. I do not mean to put you in an awkward situation. You know of my father’s financial troubles. Scraping together enough to pay for my commission cost him nearly everything he had. While sixty pounds may not seem like a great fortune to a man of your position…”

“Think nothing of it,” says Father, waving his hand. “For all the years you boys have known each other, there should’ve been no question that my son would settle his debts. I only pray he used his time here to search himself for clarity and purpose.”

“In only three days?” Parker taunts. “I’d think a fellow like Silas would require three months, at the least.”

Instead of defending me, Father lets out a laugh that sounds like a bullfrog’s croak while Mother just sits there in pinched silence, staring at the tabletop. “We shall see,” says Father. “Best of luck on your return to America, Lieutenant Parker. Please give my regards to your mother and father.”

“I will, sir.”

Parker bows again and marches from the room. The other soldier, who hasn’t spoken a word since I entered, begins spreading papers over the table.

Father harrumphs at me. “Are you satisfied now?”

“About what?” I say rudely.

“Watching me hand over a small fortune to George Parker’s son. You know as well as I do that every man in that family is a depraved upstart.”

“I thought you liked Parker’s father.”

“As a merchant,” he spits out. “Not a local politician trying to worm his way into Parliament. When word of your indiscretion gets out it will only strengthen his campaign. The common, hardworking man’s soldier son swindled by the peer’s cruel spawn. The pamphlets nearly write themselves.”

I scratch the cluster of fleabites on my ribs. “What does it matter? You’re a squire, a member of the landed gentry. George Parker is no threat to you. May I sit?”

“You may not.” He narrows his watery eyes. “George Parker alone is no threat, you are correct on that score. But ten George Parkers—or twenty, or fifty—that is a very real threat. One that you ought to take seriously if you don’t wish to see every penny of your inheritance swallowed up by taxes to fund the American war.”

“Last I heard you supported the war,” I say dryly.

“I do. But I also recognize it’s been dragging on for nearly five wretched years. Since it seems we are no closer to a resolution with the rebel leadership, Parliament has decided to alter its strategy. The bulk of the army will leave its posts in New York and elsewhere in New England, and sail south. They have been reassured that thousands of Loyalists in South Carolina are prepared to take up arms and fight alongside them.”

“I thought Charleston was vehemently patriotic.”

He snorts. “Ah. So you do know how to read a newspaper. Charleston is but one city. A difficult obstacle, yes, but once the fleet establishes a blockade the colony will essentially find itself with a python around its neck. The difficulty, however, is that recruitment numbers are staggeringly low. That’s why Parliament has given the military new powers in this realm.”

I say nothing. I’ve heard of the Press Act, of course. A few months ago a recruiter took it upon himself to set up shop in a string of taverns in Scotland and persuaded every drunk in the place to sign his life away to the Royal Navy before he had a chance to sober up. It was seen as questionable—possibly cruel—at the time, but it seems sentiments have changed since then. “What does the Press Act have to do with me?”

“Given you just spent the last three nights in jail,” says Father sharply, “you may find it has a great deal to do with you.”

I laugh in disbelief. “Are you saying you’re about to ship me off to America just because Parker couldn’t be bothered to wait for a handful of pounds? I doubt any reasonable judge will support your proposal, considering you just paid the debt yourself in front of a roomful of witnesses. Kindly tell me whose debt I still carry.”

“Mine.”

He says it quietly, but he manages to pour so much contempt and menace into the word that for the first time, I falter.

“You cannot mean…” I stammer. “It’s sixty pounds, Father. Would you truly see me sent to my death for what amounts to pennies in your pocket? If my only options are sailing off to fight in the colonies or spending the next six months in that jail cell, I’d much prefer to stay here.”

“You are a debtor, Silas. You do not have the luxury of options. If you can repay me now, we will consider the matter closed. Do you have the money?”

He knows I don’t. I resist the urge to scratch the fleabites again and look down at my bare feet.

“I thought not. Now, Major Cook is here from the Saint George Volunteers,” he says, gesturing to the recruiter. I’d have thought a soldier might show some discomfort at playing witness to private family matters, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least. “He has kindly brought the enlistment documents with him—”

I round on Mother. “You won’t let this happen, surely?”

She says nothing, but the corners of her eyes grow wet.

“You heard about Edward Rilston. I know his mother spoke to you. Twenty-six years old and dead less than three weeks after his ship landed in Jamaica. You know he was my oldest friend. I am your son, ma’am. You cannot want that fate for me.”

I wait for her to argue back, or weep, but she just turns her head slightly away, as if she can’t bear to listen to my pleas. Father, too, refuses to meet my eyes. His stiff fingers close around the pen and with a few quick scratches he signs the enlistment papers. A hollow, banging sound echoes in my ears and I grip the back of Parker’s empty chair. If there was even a crumb of food in my stomach I’d be vomiting it up right now.

Somewhere outside my nausea, Father and Major Cook are still talking about my assignment.

“…the grenadiers, I think,” says the major. “Those are picked troops, typically seasoned fighters, but once the colonel sees your son’s height I doubt he’ll object,” he adds with approval.

“If you think it best,” says Father, signing a second sheet. “I’d be pleased to see him begin as a corporal. Pending your approval, of course. You’ll find he’s physically fit and literate. I’ll pay for his uniform, along with any fees you personally require for taking the trouble to come here today.”

Major Cook nods, his bland face brightening at the promise of a bribe. My nausea vanishes and the world around me turns sharp and clear once more, as though my head has broken through the surface of a lake. “Corporal? Is that a joke?”

Father doesn’t look up from his papers. “Not in the slightest.”

“But…” My face burns. Corporal Underhill. It’s the most humiliating thing I’ve ever heard. “If you’re going to force me into the army I’d have thought you’d want an officer’s commission for me.”

“A fine waste of money that would be,” he says, laughing. “I’d see a greater return investing in a chimera farm than in your military career.”

Major Cook stifles a laugh and my gut seizes up with anger. As an officer I’d at least be promised adequate pay and occasions for merriment. As a member of rank I’ll be little better than a slave, forced to do the most difficult labor while other men collect all the glory. It’s as bad as an apprenticeship. “Forgive my surprise, Father,” I say, attempting to sound calm and not like I’m about to ignite with rage. “I do not mean any disrespect. On the contrary, I am only thinking of our family’s honor. Surely a gentleman can understand that.”

Father finally lifts his head. He gives me a long, piercing look, as though he can see my true thoughts printed before his eyes as clearly as words on a page, and finds them as pathetic and shallow as a street whore’s promises of love. “I understand it very well,” he says in a low, threatening voice. “More than anything, I understand that your inability to make any meaningful contribution to society is a blight on the family’s honor, and I am willing to take whatever steps are necessary to rectify that. Including sponsoring your service in America.”

He signs the final paper with a flourish and gestures for the recruiter to collect the bundle. Fury swells in my belly until it feels like I’ve swallowed a paving stone. This man calls himself my father, yet signs my death warrant? They burned Edward’s body on the beach because they were so afraid the disease would spread. Everyone’s heard the story; I know Father has as well. “If I’m sent to South Carolina, I’m more likely to return in a coffin than standing on my own feet,” I say, my throat suddenly tight.

“Better a son who dies in service to his King than a wastrel rotting in jail,” he says mildly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The tightness thickens. I feel an uncomfortable, distinct pricking in my eyes. Ignoring it, I stare very hard at the smooth white hairs of Father’s wig. “Yes sir.”

He pushes back his chair and I somehow manage to stand up straight. He looks me up and down, his face impassive, then tucks his hat under his arm. When he reaches the door he turns back to me. “I will write to Lieutenant Colonel Granger. If you manage to distinguish yourself in the colonies, I will secure a lieutenancy for you.”

Distinguish myself. Already I feel crushed beneath the weight of such a charge. “And if I fail, sir?”

He holds his hand out to my mother, who follows him from the little room without even glancing at me. The lamplight from the dank corridor casts a glow around my father, so that he looks like some sort of god sent to free all the prisoners. “Then you’d better make yourself a home in America,” he says steadily, his voice echoing on the stone, “for you won’t be welcome back in England.”

If you want to read The Turncoat in Carrington Park, the first installment in this series, it is available on Amazon in both paperback and ebook :)

While preparing for Octavia Hall, I spent months poring over books, articles, YouTube videos of bone dissections, and random posts on niche topics (flatboats, anyone?) written on blogs that look like they were built in 2004 and haven’t been touched since.

I am now happy to share the books I read that offered the most bang for their buck.

Book 1

Revolutionary Medicine by C. Keith Wilbur

In the earliest days of brainstorming Octavia Hall I knew I’d have an apothecary as one of my protagonists. An apothecary, for those who are curious, is basically a pharmacist, but like so many occupations in the 18th century their duties often blurred with a surgeon’s. I actually intended for surgery to play a much larger role in the plot, but for reasons I will detail in a later post, the story changed and it was no longer necessary. I have to admit I wasn’t entirely sorry about this change, because the thought of writing about bloodletting (unavoidable for the time period) was unbearable. I can get a shot or a finger prick all day long, but tell me I have to get blood drawn and I start sweating. Of the four times in my life that I have passed out cold, half of those were during blood draws. Just the line drawings in the book made me woozy.

It does have loads of great information about medicines, tools, and practices of the time, along with some very interesting info about infighting between hospitals and independent surgeons. The more things change…

My only gripe is the text font. Full points for old timey-ness, but it was irritating.

Book 2

The Revolutionary Soldier by C. Keith Wilbur

A related book by the same author, this is a crash course on uniforms, camp life, and gear. It may not provide enough nuance for the expert, but it was perfect for someone writing a slightly-pulpy historical novel with a romance subplot.

Same complaint about the font, but otherwise five stars.

Book 3

Kill or Cure: An illustrated history of medicine by Steve Parker

I recommend this book for anyone writing historical fiction. If your story is set earlier than 1975 and one of your characters gets so much as a paper cut, please take a look at this book. It tracks the history of medical treatment starting in prehistoric times and the images are super helpful. Questions about humors, bile, or laudanum? This book has got all the details. Remember that scene in Grey’s Anatomy when Izzy drilled a hole in that guy’s head with a Makita? That’s a form of trepanning, a surgical practice that goes back thousands of years, and Parker discusses it at length.

I loved this book and hope to use it again.

Book 4

Plantations of the Low Country by N. Jane Iseley, William P. Baldwin, Jr., and Agnes L. Baldwin

This was a last minute addition to my cache, but a worthy one. The opening pages with info about floorplans and house structure were helpful. One caveat is that many of these houses were destroyed over the years (hurricanes, war, earthquakes) and subsequently rebuilt, so they don’t always look the way they would have in the 1780s.

Book 5

Fusiliers: The Saga of a British Redcoat Regiment in the American Revolution by Mark Urban

I’ve already written about this book in my research roundup for The Turncoat in Carrington Park, which you can read about here, but I couldn’t leave it out. The chapters on Colonel Balfour’s report to Westminster about the progress of the war, and the resulting decision to move the troops to South Carolina, laid the foundation for the entire story. I underlined so many passages in these chapters. I think it’s easy to forget the political turbulence across the pond since the conflict itself played out in America, but the Press Act and shift in recruiting methods had long-lasting impacts both on the British soldiers involved and the outcome of the war itself. It’s fascinating and a great read for anyone who wants a different perspective.

Any other recommendations? I’m always on the lookout for a great resource!

To say I did not intend to write a sequel to The Turncoat in Carrington Park is an understatement. I was, in fact, adamant that I would never write a sequel. I wanted to leave it hanging on a thread, in the same deliciously open-ended manner of Master and Commander or a Bourne movie. I believe I succeeded.

But a nagging, faint feeling of dissatisfaction kept rearing its ugly head. Not with the story itself, but with the sense that I wasn’t quite done. Not with the time period, the people, or the American Revolution itself. In my research for TCP I unearthed so many extraordinary facets of the war I never knew about. I haven’t taken a US History class in 20 years, but even then I’m fairly confident I had no idea of the pivotal role that the Southern theater played in the war. Here in South Caroline they’ve released a new state license plate with the caption “Where The Revolutionary War Was Won” and I have heard multiple people make comments like, “What? What does that mean? Is that true?”

Like me, these lifelong South Carolinians picture most of the American Revolution confined to New England, dipping down into the Mid-Atlantic on occasion, then wrapping up at the surrender at Yorktown, Virginia. Sure, we all know Charleston was important, for reasons that are…ah…um, something? I certainly did not know.

I decided to find out, and holy moley did I learn some stuff. Wild stuff. The fighting in South Carolina was brutal. Real brother-against-brother, neighbor-against-neighbor conflict. There were more battles and skirmishes here than any other colony, in a relatively short time period. It absolutely was where the Revolutionary War was won.

My new novel, Octavia Hall, follows Silas Underhill, Hannah Burgess, and William Lister as they navigate ever-changing loyalties in the tense, dangerous days before the fall of Charleston in 1780.

I can’t wait to share it with you!

P.S. My overwintered dahlias survived :)

Happy New Year, everyone!

Does anyone else remember how as the calendar year progressed, magazines used to get fatter and fatter until the huge December issue arrived in your mailbox like a small phone book, packed to the brim with gift guides and recipes and makeup tips for Christmas parties (which almost always featured a red lip and sparkly neutral eyeshadow)? And then January’s issue arrived and it was approximately the same thickness as a DMV pamphlet? This newsletter is that DMV pamphlet. Mostly because:

1. I am busy.

2. More specifically, I am busy working on my next book. I took time off around Christmas and I am struggling trying to get back on that 63,000 word horse. I know that consistency is key for me, so in a few weeks I’ll be in my proper rhythm once more. But for now, oof. Pulling teeth.

New Year’s Resolutions

I don’t have any. Not because I’m too cool for self-improvement (quite the opposite, I am a sucker for a good productivity book), but because I’ve spent the last few years learning the joys of quarterly planning and I now reevaluate my goals a few times a year. Shoot, I don’t even buy a new planner in January because I’ve stubbornly refused to give up my academic planner, which runs June-July. By the way, I highly recommend academic planners. Summer is a nice, relaxing time for a reset, and I find it’s not as pressurized as the New Year New Me rhetoric flying around in late December.

Some of my goals/plans for Q1 include:

1. Maintaining my exercise regimen

2. Watching 5 movies I’ve never seen. Interstellar, The Godfather, and Moneyball are all currently in the queue. Any other suggestions?

3. Planting 1 new hellebore (like the one pictured above). They are the most beautiful late winter perennials, but they’re pricy so I only treat myself to one each year.

4. Making pecan sticky buns

5. Finishing the book

See you lovely folks in February.

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Goodhart’s Law aside, I found keeping a list helpful. Mostly because whenever my friends ask me what I’m reading lately, I can now consult my handy list instead of trying to sift through the deep recesses of my brain where my childhood home phone number and AOL password reside. It also spurred me to branch out and read more than just my old favorites. Though I should note that in Q4 my reading dropped off drastically since I’ve been in full on research/writing mode for my next novel. As of now I’ve only read four books since September.

So here it is, in all its glory. My 2025 book list. (*denotes a new read for me)

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The Great Divorce - C.S. Lewis

*The 5 Love Languages for Kids - Gary Chapman and Ross Campbell

Off the Clock - Laura Vanderkam

Spark Joy - Marie Kondo

*Drive - Daniel Pink

The Other Boelyn Girl - Philippa Gregory

The 5 Love Languages - Gary Chapman

*Remarkably Bright Creatures - Shelby Van Pelt

Reflections on the Psalms - C.S. Lewis

*A Killing Cold - Kate Alice Marshall

Atomic Habits - James Clear

The Giver - Lois Lowry

*The Light Between Oceans - M.L. Stedman

Gathering Blue - Lois Lowry

*The Practice - Seth Godin

*Hidden Potential - Adam Grant

*All the Light We Cannot See - Anthony Doerr

*The Psychology of Money - Morgan Housel

*Give and Take - Adam Grant

*Profit First - Mike Michalowicz

French Lessons - Peter Mayle

Tranquility by Tuesday - Laura Vanderkam

*The Party Crasher - Sophie Kinsella

The Screwtape Letters - C.S. Lewis

Jurassic Park - Michael Crichton

*Ghosted - Rosie Walsh

*Sunrise on the Reaping - Suzanne Collins

*Modern Etiquette Made Easy - Myka Meier

The Tao of Martha - Jen Lancaster

*Tulipomamia - Mike Dash

I Regret Nothing - Jen Lancaster

The Brightest Star in the Sky - Marian Keyes

The Boelyn Inheritance - Philippa Gregory

*The 1 Page Marketing Plan - Allan Dib

*The Anxious Generation - Jonathan Haidt

*The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Suzanne Collins

*The 12 Week Year - Brian P. Moran and Michael Lennington

*The Big Short - Michael Lewis

*From Paycheck to Purpose - Ken Coleman

The Help - Kathryn Stockett

*The Lost Art of Doing Nothing - Maartje Willems and Lona Aalders

*The Twelve Monotasks - Thatcher Wine

Shopaholic Takes Manhattan - Sophie Kinsella

Shopaholic Ties the Knot - Sophie Kinsella

Shopaholic and Sister - Sophie Kinsella

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis

Any suggestions for 2026?

Now that we’re past Thanksgiving, I am full throttle, pedal to the metal, ready for Christmas. And I suspect I’m not alone! In this newsletter I’ll share some of my favorite traditions and stories, and I hope you’ll share some of yours as well. I’d love to hear them!

The Food

I love Christmas food. Yes, an iced sugar cookie is delicious any time of year, but an iced sugar cookie, in the shape of a gingerbread man or snowflake, with red and green sprinkles? That is transcendant. I know the red and green M&Ms are the same as regular ones, but also…they aren’t. Same with Hershey kisses in red, silver, and green foil. Same with my all time favorite: Reese’s Bells. I actively avoid buying candy for most of the year, because it lasts approximately ten nanoseconds in my house, but at Christmastime I have to hold myself back from that seasonal candy aisle. Well done, Hershey marketing team! You win and I do not even care, just hand over the KitKats.

Every year I throw a Christmas tea party for the ladies in my family. It’s a wonderful way to spend time with some of the dearest women in my life. We drink tea and hot chocolate and eat dainty finger sandwiches. I spend way too much time trying to arrange the treats into an attractive, Pinterest worthy sprawl, only to give up and just toss it all on the table because I am not a food stylist. We play some sort of game, like trivia or Taboo, and generally catch up with each other’s lives. It’s lovely, and dare I say, elegant.

It’s also an excuse to bake an absolutely enormous number of cookies. Like, way, way too many cookies, because I can’t make myself narrow down the options. This year I’ve already gotten ahead of the game:

That’s a bag of chocolate chip cookie dough, molasses spice, and a couple of pecan sandie logs. (And yes, a bag of chicken nuggets stuffed in the ice maker bucket. It’s okay, the water line isn’t hooked up.) I also have oatmeal raisin dough in there somewhere. The only problem with this strategy is the fact that little balls of frozen cookie dough are delicious, so keeping everyone’s mitts out of the freezer, including my own, hasn’t been easy.

The Music

Who doesn’t love Christmas music? Yes, I can see how the more cheerful, earworm type songs can rub salt in wounds if you’re having a tough Christmas, which I think we have all experienced at some point (Where Are You, Christmas? is good for a cry, if you need that). So while I do love Last Christmas, and every time I hear Jingle Bell Rock I think to myself, “Everybody in the English-speaking world knows that song,” some of my very favorites are decidedly less upbeat at first glance. Or even if the tune is upbeat, the words themselves have deeper meaning. They’re more about Hope. Specifically, the hope that was fulfilled with the birth of Jesus, the Messiah:

O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer/ our spirits by thy justice here;/ disperse the gloomy clouds of night,/ and death’s dark shadows put to flight. - O Come, O Come Emmanuel

No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground;/ he comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found. - Joy to the World

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness!/ Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings./ Mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die,/ born to raise the Sons of Earth, born to give them second birth. - Hark! the Herald Angels Sing (my top favorite)

I also looooove Christmas choral music. Every year around this time I dig out my St. Olaf Choir Christmas in Norway CD, and the Veni, Veni Emmanuel CD from (I think?) the Emmanuel College choir at Cambridge. (Track 2 on that one is called What Sweeter Music if anyone was wondering about the title of this newsletter. Side note: I think that recording would make a lovely wedding processional, maybe for the mother/grandmothers.)

The George

Now to one of my very favorite Christmas stories, even though it has literally nothing to do with me or my family, as you shall soon see.

Like many people of my age, Christmas morning as a child meant parents hauling out the camcorder and setting it up to capture the joyful moments of opening presents together. The oohs and ahhs and cries of excitement when the new Barbie or Grand Champion (IYKYK) is revealed. But one of my very favorite Christmas morning moments caught on video wasn’t of my family at all, but Joy’s.

Joy was my best friend in high school. She lived in a neighborhood nearby, in the coolest split level house I’ve ever set foot in. Even now, two decades later, I find myself thinking of the awesome structure of that house, which somehow packed four levels into a house that appeared to have two storeys. To someone who grew up in a ranch with an unfinished basement, it was mind-boggling.

Joy’s family had a neighbor named George. George was elderly and often rode over to their house on his Rascal to say hello, which, without fail, turned into a very long conversation. He did this a lot. As an adult, it’s clear to me that George was lonely and craved companionship, and it is a testament to Joy’s family’s friendliness that he was comfortable coming around so often. But as anyone who’s lived in a neighborhood knows, sometimes you have time to chat, and sometimes you really, really don’t. Being able to pick up those signals and differentiate between the two times is a learned art, and a key part of the suburb social contract.

So, it’s Christmas morning of either junior or senior year, and Joy’s family is gathered around the Christmas tree in the lowest level of their cool house. They’re opening presents at a leisurely pace, mid-morning sunlight streaming gently through the window, when suddenly they hear a faint, disembodied “Helllooooo!” and the whir of a Rascal from the driveway right outside.

It’s George!!!!

All of them, without hesitation or exchanging a single word, HIT THE DECK. Diving to the carpet in perfect synchrony, waiting in agonized silence for the threat to pass, like someone had just thrown a grenade. (Yes, I know, elderly gentlemen just wants to share Christmas greetings, but see the aforementioned suburb social contract. I think most people would agree that unless an explicit invitation has been extended, Christmas morning is family time.) A moment passes, and then they all get up and ease back into their chairs with nervous smiles.

Fortunately, Joy’s family had set up a camcorder on a tripod, and were therefore able to unwittingly capture this amazing scene. When she showed it to me I laughed so hard I thought my lungs would explode, and I watched it over and over. The way they all make that unplanned dive to the floor is perfection, an outstanding example of the power of physical comedy. To this day it makes me laugh whenever I think about it. It’s one of my favorite Christmas morning memories, even though it isn’t mine.

(I should also add that George was fine. I’m sure he Rascaled over later in the day at a more socially acceptable time.)

Farewell, 2025

I hope all of you have an amazing Christmas with your family, and I look forward to finding out what 2026 has in store for us. It’s going to be great!

Happy reading,

Caroline

After six months of blogging on a different platform, I’ve decided to move over to Substack. The idea was to shift to a monthly, standard newsletter format instead of weekly blog posts; plus I really like the ease of this platform. I’m not exactly the most technical of folks and I need to keep things as simple as possible. My last website platform was a simple drag and drop setup, but it was soooo sloooow. If you have experience building websites outside of WordPress, you probably can guess which one I’m talking about. I’m excited about this move!

And yes, I know Substack is technically a social media platform (it likes to pretend it’s not, but it is) but never fear! I’m sticking with newsletters. I don’t see myself using Notes very often, if ever. I know myself and the desire to scroll is so difficult to resist. If keeping my engagement low reduces my ability to be discovered on here, so be it. I need to spend my time writing actual books, not monitoring likes and comments.

Writing Practice: Writing a series

As I make progress on my current project, I’ve discovered the joy of the series. Some of my favorite series (Harry Potter, the Shopaholic books, The Chronicles of Narnia) have books that I reread again and again. Sometimes in order, sometimes not. I love the sense of depth and continuity that comes with a series. I love meeting new characters or seeing old favorites from new perspectives. When the last Harry Potter book came out I was 19 years old, and when I finished that book I weirdly felt like my childhood was truly over, since I’d essentially grown up alongside Harry as those books came out. I also love the anticipation of the next story. Even if I’m reading it again for the tenth time, I get excited knowing there’s another installment waiting as soon as I reach the last page.

So, I’m pleased to say I’m working on a companion for one of my books! I don’t call it a sequel because the protagonists are different, but it’s a continuation of the first volume. It’s been a lot of fun and a great challenge for me. It’s a very different story structure from its predecessor, which I think adds great variety and helps distinguish the two books. I also don’t like feeling locked in to a certain format or protagonist, so the freedom to go in a slightly different direction while also continuing a story I love (with cameos from some familiar faces!) is lots of fun. Taking on new perspectives is a blast for me.

Off Topic: Thanksgiving Cooking

Thanksgiving is just around the corner! I’m not going to get into the debate over whether it’s okay to put up Christmas decorations or listen to Christmas music pre-Thanksgiving (my take: I’ll occasionally listen to the music and even start unpacking the decorations pre-Thanksgiving, but decorations don’t go up until afterwards). I do think, however, that Thanksgiving food has no problem holding its own. For the past few years I’ve made a turkey using a Martha Stewart recipe and it is amazing! I do cut out the fresh fennel (mostly because I can never find it at the grocery store) and reduce the fennel seeds in the rub by half. Since you break it down into pieces before roasting, it’s a great recipe for anyone intimidated by the idea of roasting a whole turkey. I also appreciate that most of the work can be done in advance. You can break down the bird, make the stock, and leave it all in the fridge overnight. This also greatly reduces the chance of accidentally roasting a turkey that isn’t entirely thawed. I love this recipe and intend to use it for many, many years.

Dressing is my absolute favorite Thanksgiving food. Last year I made the Cook’s Country Louisiana style dressing and was blown away by how delicious it was. It’s also handy if you want to make it ahead of time, since it can be frozen for up to a month before baking (yes, mine is already in the freezer waiting for the big day).

Some of my favorite side dishes to cook are green bean casserole, macaroni, cauliflower gratin, and sweet potato casserole. Yes, that last one is basically a dessert, but who cares.

Then it’s on to dessert. There’s usually a pretty big spread at our gatherings, and there are lots of November birthdays in my family so you can count on at least one cake present. Last year I found this pumpkin cheesecake recipe in a Southern Living magazine I had on hand, and when I say it’ll knock you off your feet, I am not kidding. Everything about it was perfect: the creamy, not too sweet filling; the ring of candied pecans sparkling like jewels around the edge; and the praline-style topping that I wanted to pry off and nibble in the corner of the living room until it sent me into a sugar-coma. 10/10 recommend!

I hope you enjoy a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family and friends! I am so blessed to have all of you in my life.

I remember being a kid and hearing people say I was a perfectionist. It was usually with an admiring tone regarding my grades or schoolwork, though it’s possible I just didn’t understand what that meant, because I was a kid. Maybe it wasn’t meant as a compliment at all. Nowadays, if someone called me a perfectionist I would not take it as a compliment, simply because I have spent years trying to overcome those tendencies. I like the term recovering perfectionist because so far, those tendencies haven’t entirely gone away. I also loved in Adam Grant’s book Hidden Potential: The Science of Achieving Greater Things he also refers to himself as a recovering perfectionist! Resisting the impulse to be the best, be perfect, and never make mistakes is something I have to work on a lot. Some days are easier than others.

In particular, I find that writing lends itself easily to perfectionism. The drive to craft the perfect sentence, to edit a manuscript again and again to the point that the words turn into one big blur, the constant questioning: Is it good enough? Am I truly finished with it? Will anyone like it? Is it actually garbage? These are all pressure points for the perfectionist. I’m generally eager to start working on a new book once I have the idea, but inevitably the self-doubt creeps in and I start wondering not only will anyone like it, but is it as good as the last one I wrote? Probably not! is the answer I’ve started giving myself. And that’s okay! The point is to put those blinders on and keep going.

When I was writing The Turncoat in Carrington Park, it had been years since I’d finished writing a book, much less publishing one. I questioned myself nonstop. I fell into all those negative self-talk traps, saying things to myself that I would never say to someone I didn’t like, much less a dear friend. Most of this was rooted in perfectionism. The idea that if I didn’t get it exactly right the first time, I had no business doing it. I don’t know the exact definition of perfectionism, but in my experience it’s less about achieving the perfect outcome than it is about the immense pressure I put on myself to get something right from the first attempt. This is ridiculous! And I know it’s ridiculous! If someone gets a new skill perfectly right on the first try it’s probably a fluke! Plus, the obsession with always getting things exactly right on the first attempt sucks all the fun out of basically anything. It’s hard to relax and enjoy yourself when all you can think about is the scoreboard.

There is joy in being an absolute beginner, in learning something totally new from scratch. It gives you respect for the people who have already have that skill, usually hard-won from years of practice, and it’s humbling. Now that I have children I have a brand new appreciation for being an absolute beginner, because I see them learning new things every day. I would never berate them for mistakes the way I berate myself, or at least the way I’ve berated myself in the past. First of all, that would be cruel, and second, it would kill their desire to learn anything new at all. So many times while I was writing I would tell myself that even if nothing ever came out of this, at least one day my kids would be grown and could say, “Well, Mom tried something!” That is its own accomplishment.

The way I personally beat back my perfectionism with writing is by telling myself, “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to be great. It just has to be done.” There is time for editing later. This isn’t brain surgery. No one from NASA is depending on my writing to launch a space shuttle safely and successfully. I’m writing books. I’m an entertainer. Framing my writing that way has been so helpful and truly valuable for silencing the (mostly made up) noise in my own head. Typos are going to happen, and it is okay.

Do you struggle with perfectionism? What strategies have you implemented to help yourself relax and not treat writing or other hobbies like a life and death situation? (If you’re not a perfectionist this might sound outrageous, so I’d love to hear your relaxation strategies too!)

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• Having a plan. Note that I didn’t say “Having a flawless plan” or “Having a tried and true plan.” Because I didn’t. I didn’t have book signings lined up, or even local media appearances or big social media announcements. I did, however, open my calendar and write one task per workday in the 30 days leading up to the book’s release, as well as the 30 days after. These tasks could be as simple as “work on website” or “buckle down on book two.” There were also some very specific tasks like “tell X about the book” and “send message to Booksprout readers.” This gave me the satisfaction of checking off one item each day - or if I didn’t do the thing, reevaluating and trying to decide why I’d ever said I’d do it in the first place, or if I was just chickening out. I did chicken out a few times. Okay, several times. But I checked off about 70% of what I set out to do, which meant the launch happened smoothly and on time. This was a big win for me!

• Using an ARC program. I went with Booksprout, because I had never used an ARC program before and I had no idea what to expect. I tried for Book Sirens but they rejected me (I never found out why). Booksprout was great! I only had one taker for my ARC, but she left me a fabulous review and I am so thankful for her. I learned a lot on how to run an ARC campaign and who knows, maybe next time I’ll have more readers. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?

• Chilling out. The last time I launched a book I was dead set on making this my full time career. I wasted a lot of money and took a lot of stupid risks in an attempt to make that happen. This time around I had a full time job so I wasn’t worried about trying to pay the bills with this one book. The very thought is kind of laughable. Instead it was basically just my attempt to put my little hobby out there, and start laying the foundation for the kind of writing career I want to have one day. I know from experience now that the odds of striking gold on one book’s release are not good. Especially without a huge publishing house’s marketing budget behind it. I know now that the keys to success are volume and consistency. If I put out a book every year (maybe two books someday?) and build a nice backlist, that will be the key to my success, not some viral blowout of one book. Doing it this way takes time, but it also gives me great practice and allows me to write the kind of things I’m interested in, without being beholden to a publishing house. Would I love to be traditionally published one day? Sure! But I’m not there yet, so slow and steady is the way to go for now.

Have you ever launched a book, or another creative endeavor? I’d love to hear about your experiences!

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I wrote in a previous post that my most productive days are when I start my day with writing, instead of waiting until later (What Time of day do you write?). I thought I would take a few minutes today to expound upon that. In the manner of all those Get Ready With Me videos that are so inescapable these days, here’s my Get Ready To Write With Me routine. This is only on weekdays, mind you, and doesn’t apply to holidays or sick days/teacher work days, etc. I’m also a human being and sometimes I get sick, my kids get sick, or it’s just one of those days where time gets away from you and things just don’t pan out.

6:00 a.m. - The alarm goes off. No snoozing! If I hit the snooze that is the death knell for my morning. I also keep my phone on the opposite side of the room so that I have to get out of bed to turn that sucker off. I don’t go as far as setting up an annoying sounding alarm, but it’s blare-y enough to get me out of bed real quick. I spend the next ten minutes doing the first required tasks of the day (contacts, washing my face, getting dressed for work, making the bed).

6:10 - At this point I am 90% of the way ready for work and it’s time to wake up the kids and help them get ready for school/daycare. Thankfully their breakfast is provided at the school so I don’t have to worry about getting food on the table at this point.

6:30 - I do my makeup and either read a book or two with the kids, or gather any last minute things that I need to take in the car (wipes, treats for class parties, etc. IYKYK) and I start making “Ten minutes until we need to go” type noises. Depending on the time of year, I am sometimes more relaxed about getting out the door on time. Our neighborhood is surrounded by schools so during the school year it’s crucial to get out the door on time so we’re not stuck behind a bus.

6:45-7:15 - Drop off, then back home. I am not exaggerating when I say I walk through the door, kick off my shoes, hang up my purse, then march straight to the bedroom to boot up my laptop. My husband is usually eating his breakfast at this point so he gets a quick hello, but I am officially On The Writing Clock now.

7:15-8:00 - This is when I do the bulk of my writing for the day. If not the bulk, numbers-wise, it’s still the most important 45 minutes I’ll spend on the book. I am laser-focused and can usually crank out between 300-400 words on an average day. Some days are much better, some are much worse. But even if I just get 100 words down, that’s still huge. It sets me up to come back in the afternoon or during my lunch break and finish the 1000 or so words I have as my daily goal. Seeing it written out like this (”Only 45 minutes?!”) makes it look so pathetic, I know, but this is truly how I get my writing done. This is how my books are written! I have a full time day job! There is no other option! Working this way helps me get about 5000 words down per week (a good week, that is, with no hiccups), and at this point in my life I’m extremely thankful to have this setup. I start winding down at about 8:00 so that I have enough time to eat breakfast, do my hair if I’m feeling extra motivated, and get out the door for work. Maybe one day I’ll have hours and hours to spend writing each day, with no other employment obligations, but not yet.

What is your writing routine? I’m always eager for productivity tips!

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So I spent way too much worrying, waffling, and getting back in shape for the publishing process. This meant I spent the first half of the year doing very little writing. This is not good! It’s a generally accepted piece of writing wisdom that as soon as you finish a book, you should immediately start writing the next. Maybe not immediately. Definitely take time to celebrate, or a longer hiatus if you need it. I usually give myself about a month to rest and reset my brain. But that’s not what happened this time. It’s been nearly a year since I finished Turncoat and I still haven’t finished another book.

That said, I am working on something, and when I get closer to the end I’ll share more details. Just wanted to drop a quick note so you know I haven’t stopped writing :)

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I wrote earlier about my passion for cut flowers, and how much I love gardening. Now we’re entering Fall and I thought I’d give a little update.

All the zinnias, celosia, gomphrena, basil, and other heat-loving annuals are slowing waaaaay down and starting to go to seed. I’ve bagged several of my favorites so I can use the seeds next year (I had great success with my zinnias I grew from saved seed this year, and I’m looking forward to trying out some new varieties) but I’m also planning to let lots of them self-sow. This is in large part due to laziness. I know the zinnias will send up loads of volunteers next spring if I let them, and I’m assuming some of the others will as well.

I also wrote previously about my dahlias and how disappointing they’d turned out this year, but I’m pleased to report they’re actually thriving now! I couldn’t believe it either. This was my first experience with raised beds and I learned a lot. Mostly, that dahlias planted in raised beds require tons of water. Tons. Of. Water. As in, getting out there every single day and watering those beds until they’re soaking through. This year I tried some new varieties and my favorites have been: Boom Boom White, Linda’s Baby, and Ivanetti. Center Court, Day Dreamer, and Great Silence have also performed well, though I think my favorite will always be the unparalleled Diana’s Memory. I did lose quite a few tubers to rot - not the ones in the raised beds, but the ones planted directly in the ground - thanks to the fact that we had basically no rain in July, and then a deluge in August. I’m also toying with the idea of overwintering the tubers in the ground this year instead of digging/dividing, a task I usually take on around Thanksgiving. It is a lot of work and if I can make it an every-other-year task instead I would welcome the break gladly.

This is the first year in a long time that I haven’t had tulips or daffodils to plant. I love tulips dearly, but they’re pretty pricey this year and the fact that I grow them as annuals (as do other cut flower growers) means replacing the stock every single year. And for daffodils, last year I planted about 450 so I have plenty that will come back in the spring.

Other than that, I’m kind of looking forward to a break from yard work. There are still leaves to rake and mulch, perennials to move, and general cleanup, but I enjoy all of that. I love observing the changes in the seasons and the way the year’s rhythms shake out differently each year, but still manage to feel familiar.

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All that backstory to say, I hope you enjoy this soundtrack as much as I do :)

Kore’s Field Soundtrack

1. Page 47 (from National Treasure: Book of Secrets) by Trevor Rabin - Alyce’s Theme/The Song for the Blooding

2. Willows by Vanessa Carlton - The Song for Chapters 2 & 3

3. River Lea by Adele - Alyce’s Song

4. No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature by The Guess Who - Adam’s Song

5. Treat Her Like a Lady by Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose - The Song for Chapter 7

6. Hard Sun (from Into the Wild) by Eddie Vedder - Adam’s Second Song

7. The Voice by Celtic Woman - Kore’s Song

8. King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men - Alyce’s Second Song

9. The Lady is a Tramp performed by the caste of Glee - The Song for Chapter 18

10. Royals by Lorde - The Song for Chapter 20

11. The Wandering Kind (Prelude) by Josh Groban - The Harvest Song

12. No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine - The Song for Chapter 25

13. Let Love In by The Goo Goo Dolls - The Song for the Games

14. Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen - The Song for Chapter 27

15. Because He Lives (Amen) by Matt Maher - The Song for Chapter 30

16. Real by Nichole Nordeman - The “Roll Credits” Song (If this were a movie, even though it’s a Christmas song)

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I believe few things have the power to spark the imagination like a good book. A great book will entertain, challenge, and delight its readers. It may even transform them! My goal is to write exciting books that are difficult to put down, the kind you can’t wait to tell your friends about, and leave you breathless until the very end.

AI Pledge

Artificial Intelligence and LLMs (language learning models) such as ChatGPT may have their place in business and leisure. However, I believe that stories are written for people, and are intended to be enjoyed by people. Because of this, I pledge to never use any generative AI or LLM for any part of the writing process, including brainstorming, plot planning, dialogue, or characterization. That is a serious promise. Any book with my name on it was written entirely by me, full stop. I refuse to engage with the woodchipper/slop bucket that AI companies seem so intent on shoving in our faces.

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