I will not be writing fiction or much of anything else for the foreseeable future.

I know withdrawing from writing fiction at this time won’t make much of a difference in the scheme of things. My small group of readers haven’t read anything new from me for almost a year already. The last time I posted to this blog was in April. There are millions of fantastic books and short stories out there to keep everyone entertained forever. I have no illusions that anything new I might produce would be missed.

I’m not boycotting the writing world as some kind of call to action, nor do I think declaring an end to my fiction writing will result in some kind of change that will impact how people think. Between the pandemic and the arguments over masks, the lives lost and the massive economic hardships millions are facing, my imaginary characters, their lives, their issues …  well, who gives a shit? Certainly not me.

Every single day I've felt guilt and insecurities because I can't do more than stare at the empty page. I wish I could fill it with my fear, frustration and the extreme anxiety that washes over me every time I consider what will happen to my country, to the world, if the same thing happens in November 2020 that happened in November 2016. If the politics aren’t enough, watching George Floyd die and the callous indifference on Chauvin’s face broke me. I didn’t think I could take one more story of police brutality and the wrongful deaths of innocents at the hands of people who simply didn’t care. Then there was Breonna Taylor and Elijah McClain and Venessa Guillen, a sister in arms whose murder inexcusably went unsolved for so long even when the killer was the most obvious person imaginable. If her murder had been a novel, readers would have excoriated the author for making the solution to the puzzle so damn obvious.

Why is it so hard for Americans to wear a damn mask? How could parents support a president who demands they send their children into virus riddled infection chambers? How do we allow news organizations to spread propaganda against Black Lives Matter as if this civil rights group is some sort of terrorist organization? How is it okay for the party of POTUS to put a mentally ill rapper on the ballot in a scheme to draw votes from his opponent? How do we allow our neighbors or, more importantly, our employees to scream the N word and call the police on people simply for walking down the street? How does anyone make excuses for people who stand on their front lawn and point weapons at people exercising their first amendment rights? Did that cop really think it made things better to help a 16 year-old girl sit up, after he made her and her sisters lay face down on the ground and put handcuffs on them? And even after people from around the world have expressed their anger, shock and horror over our handling of this pandemic, and indeed, ban Americans from visiting most countries around the world because of it, how can the architect of this disaster claim we are the envy of the world? Worse, how can his followers think this is all okay?

The horrific destruction left in the wake of the explosion in that Beirut warehouse seems almost representative of the collective pressure we are all facing. I’ve had enough.

Every single day my frustration and feelings of helplessness have grown in the face of all of this madness.  At the same time my guilt over not being able to put words on a page multiplied exponentially. The horrific destruction left in the wake of the explosion in that Beirut warehouse seems almost representative of the collective pressure we are all facing. I’ve had enough.

I wish I could control the fear so many millions feel over their need for that extra $600 congress can’t come to an agreement on. I wish I could control the guilt some cops may be wrestling with as they start to understand the realities of the systematic racism they have unknowingly supported. I wish I could control the risk to health so many teachers will face. I wish I could control the gut-wrenching feelings low income, hardworking parents must be facing who know their children won’t get the homeschooling they need. I wish I could have control over how much further behind those low income kids will become. I wish I could control the hatred in the hearts of so many who become incensed, outraged and violent over a simple demand that no lives matter until Black, Brown and Native lives matter.     

I know that many people share my frustration and feelings of helplessness in the face of all of this. By saying I'm not going to write anymore, I'm finally taking control of the one stone of guilt I can lift off my shoulders. Unlike COVID or federal troops on the streets or those who refuse to wear masks or the lunatic in the White House and all of the evil monsters who support him, this one thing, the guilt I feel over my inability to write, I can control. So I will.

I’m not big into numerology, but I think we can all agree that the numbers 2020 are just damn cool. No matter how you write it, there’s something magical about it. Twenty-twenty, 2020, two-zero, two-zero. Am I right?

So, it’s with anticipation for all the great things I’ll read in 2020, that I provide the best of what I read (or listened to) in 2019. In previous years, I read books and occasionally had an audio book going at the same time. This year, on any of the 365 days of 2019, my sitting and reading time was spent with a print or ebook and my walking, doing chores or driving time was spent listening to a different audio book. As a result, I listened more than read books this year. That said, by absorbing words while doing other things at the same time I was able to enjoy the written word even more than before.

As always, it was difficult to choose only a few to recognize.


Midnight Son, by James Dommek, Jr. – Not to be confused with The Midnight Son by Joe Nesbo … This Midnight Son is a free Audible Original. Unfortunately, originals are exclusive to Audible, which is truly sad, because I want everyone to hear this thing. It might be worth the free 30-day trial just for this story alone. (No, I don’t own Amazon stock).

With datelines and place markers, James Dommek, Jr. narrates this true story the way his Iñupiaq tribe ancestors would have told it. Like a podcast with cinema verite-style sounds and conversations, Dommek unfolds the winding tale of Teddy Kyle Smith, a man who grew up in the author’s small, remote Alaskan town and went on to became an actor. Smith had appeared in several independent films and had a burgeoning acting career going before he returned to Kayana, Alaska, his hometown, for a visit. What happens next is told by the narrator in a voice that demonstrates his shock and confusion.

I’ve seen other Audible Originals end up in print and available to a wider audience. I hope that happens to this story.


The Water Dancer, by Te-Nehisi Coats – Coats is known for his fearless nonfiction writing. His Between the World and Me, championed by both Oprah and Obama, set a shift in the tone of how people, especially black people, speak about race in a post-Obama world.  

With his fiction debut, he continues to demonstrate he will pull no punches in pursuit of his narrative. In The Water Dancer, Hiram Walker, the product of what happens when a master continually rapes his slaves, makes use of his photographic memory to better his lot. Later, with the help of Moses – Harriet Tubman – Walker is able to harness his powers of perfect visualization to change his world and the lives of the people closest to him.

Difficult to read at times, but other times hopeful, The Water Dancer is a, curl-up-in-bed-with-a-hot-cup-of-tea, kind of book. A satisfying escape.


Looking Glass, Murder Theory and Dark Pattern, by Andrew Mayne - Books two, three and four of Mayne’s mystery series, which started with The Naturalist. This straight up mystery-serial killer-series features the most unusual accidental sleuth I’ve ever read and mysteries which, by book three, I was finally starting to understand to a point where I would venture to make guesses.  Dr. Theo Cray is a computational biologist—whatever that means—who uses computerized models to follow patterns and to theorize who is killing people.

When you consider that Mayne is an illusionist by trade and went on tour with the likes of Copperfield, and, Pen and Teller, you begin to understand that this writer’s brain, and that of his main character, works a bit differently than your average human. This is a series I read one after the other, immediately starting the next as the previous ended. Page turners all, that will keep you up long past your bedtime.


The Girl Who Saved The King of Sweden, by Jonas JonassonI love a book that takes a bunch of serious subjects, forces you to see them from a completely different perspective, and makes you think the world’s problems aren’t as insurmountable as you thought.

Nombeko Mayeki, born in the poorest part of Soweto and destined to a short life of poverty and abuse, refuses to take her fate sitting down. She gets a job as a cleaner, escapes sexual assaults, teaches herself to read, advises her bosses, rubs elbows with world leaders and scrambles to save the world from nuclear annihilation, all the while holding the most positive attitude a person could have.

This story had me laughing out loud, going back and rereading to convince myself that what I’d just read was actually what I’d just read and completely sad when I was finished. This is one of those books that leaves you feeling as if anything else you pick up won’t hold a candle to the world you’ve just left. I was thrilled to hear that someone has optioned the book for a movie. One of my 2020 reads will be Jonasson’s first book, The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared.    


14, by Peter Clines – Now this book is just plain freaky, but once you get through the set up – which admittedly is a bit slow – you’ll be hooked, and, much like the characters in the story, you will feel an impossible-to-resist urge to unravel the mystery.

Nate Tucker thinks his luck has changed for the better when he leases an incredible apartment in L. A. The deal came along at the perfect time, since Nate is out of work and money is tight. As the out-of-work Nate grows increasingly bored, his attention is drawn to one apartment in his new building that is closed behind a conspicuous padlock. The more Nate gets to know his new neighbors, the more he begins to realize they all have a strange story to tell in relation to that apartment.

A bit like the unusual mysteries in Lost or even Twin Peaks, the strangeness increases as the secrets unravel, and the reader is left to hope that the final solution is worth the journey. I think it is.

Directly after reading 14, I read Grady Hendrix’s, Horrorstör. A somewhat funny, somewhat horrifying tale that takes place in a store that closely resembles that big blue furniture store with yellow letters … Anyway, if I hadn’t read 14 first, Horrorstör might have made my top ten.  


The Book of Etta, and The Book of Flora, by Meg Elison. Last year, I saw The Book of the Unnamed Midwife on several, best of lists. Once I read it, I not only understood why it was so highly recommended, I was sucked into the other two books in the series, The Book of Etta and The Book of Flora.

In Ellison’s post-apocalyptic world, live births are extremely rare and female births even rarer. In short, women are literally at a premium. Enslaved, bought and sold, traded and abused, the world is a dark and dangerous place if you have boobs and a vajajay.

By the second and third books, Ellison expands her exploration to ask questions like, what kind of power does a woman have over the men who want her? What happens to relationships when the opportunity for sis-gendered love is so rare? More importantly, when procreation is next to impossible and even dangerous, what is the value of gender in the first place?  

A bit like Harlan Ellison’s (no relation, I checked), 1969, A Boy and His Dog, each community has their own way of dealing with the new reality, some much more honest and accepting than others. I think this series is important in our world as we all become more informed about  gender neutrality and fluidity.  


The Tumbling Turner Sisters, by Juliette Fay – Part of the reason I picked this one up is because, when we were kids, my sisters and I took dance lessons together and each year, had a routine we practiced and performed. I’d always wanted to make a living somehow, dancing and singing like Shirley Temple … only with my sisters.

So this story, about a family of women who take to the vaudeville stage in a desperate attempt to keep a roof over their heads, appealed to me. The girls grow into women on the road, improving their act and learning lessons about life. With a glimpse into what vaudeville was like in 1919, this story is like Water For Elephants but on the stage instead of the circus. I loved this one.    


The Worldship Humility, The Code Book series by RR Haywood. Another book which started as an Audible Original, but is now available in ebook and paperback and we’re all the better for it. It's no secret that I'm an unabashed RR Haywood fan and will read anything he puts out. For a new series, I thought this got off to a good start.

This post-apocalyptic story finds the last of earth’s humans living on a fleet of ships aimlessly puttering through the dark universe while they use unmanned drones to desperately search for a livable planet that can replace the one they destroyed. I know Haywood is mad at work on the next book in this series featuring Yasmine, a petty thief who wants to live on the upper decks, and Sam, an airlock operator, bored with his on-ship existence.

Yasmine learns about Sam's knack with technology and comes up with a scheme she hopes will buy her a ticket to utopia. The two of them get up to some mischief that is both funny and dangerous.  

I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.


An Heir to Thorns and Steel, By Vow and Royal Blood Bath and On Wings of Bone and Glass, the Blood Ladders Trilogy, by M.C.A. Hogarth – I don’t remember why I first started reading this series. I don’t know if someone recommended it, or if I just lucked into it on a one-click wish, but once I started, I couldn’t walk away.

Subject to constant pain and the humiliation of seizures, Morgan Locke feels he is imprisoned in a body that curses him daily. He wishes for something, anything to save him from his torture. What is it they say? Be careful what you wish for. An interesting cast of characters and creatures, journeys and quests that drag you along and a satisfying ending. Each book seems just long enough to keep you lost for a while.


And finally, Zero Hour, is book 1 in the Order of the Dragon series, by Tina Glasneck – I have to admit, I haven’t read this yet, but I was so excited to meet another black, female, fantasy/mystery author online, I had to include her work here. I downloaded my free copy of Zero Hour and plan to read it this weekend. Here’s how it’s described:

Vampires + Dark Magic = Zero Hour.

The road to destruction is only one tempting spell away.
What happens when an untrained seer possesses the most powerful grimoire ever to exist?

Leslie's a romance author, who happens to be conjuring magic. She's researching sigils for her latest Highlander romance, but her intentions have powered something sinister.


I love Tina's covers too.

I could go on and on about the great things I read this year. I couldn't even get to The Cutting Season, by Attica Locke -- another new favorite author of mine -- which tackles two mysteries at once. One modern day. The other during the dying days of slavery on the plantation where the story takes place.

Very close to my heart was Radio Girls, by Sarah-Jane Stratford. It's about the beginnings of the BBC and the role women played in the early years of radio production.

And it breaks my heart that I didn't include The Belles, by Dhonielle Clayton -- another author with a library of books I'm adding to my 2020 reading list. Her richly told fantasy takes place in a land called Orleans, where everyone is born grey and can only become beautiful with the help of a Belle. I loved it and wanted more.

Now, I'm working on my reading wish list for 2020. Which book did you read this year that stuck with you the longest? What was the best thing you read? And what are you looking forward to reading next year?

My siblings and I have always enjoyed having the bejesus scared out of us.

Our mother sometimes worked a swing shift. Our dad worked odd hours so we never really knew when or if he’d be home. By the time my older sister was about 12, my middle sister, my brother who was the youngest, and myself – all of us about two years apart from the next one -- were pretty much on our own after school, living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, casseroles warmed in the oven (there weren’t any microwaves back then), or stovetop cooked cans of tomato soup.

Growing up in Minnesota, there are many days when it’s just too dang cold to go outside. While alone in the house, our most favorite thing to do was to watch scary movies. Of course this is before VCRs, or DVRs or even cable. We had five measly channels to choose from, but somehow, we were able to find movies that scratched that horror itch. On Sundays, when the weekly listings came out, we would go on a search making note of any movies that might make us scream in terror and then plan all activities around it.

A local TV station had a weekly program of horror features that opened with a coffin, smoke, and white, skeletal fingers peeking out of the lid. Horror Incorporated, was a big favorite of ours. The opening segment starts with a high-pitched scream and ends with a high-pitched scream. We loved to mimic it, screaming at the top of our lungs. We lived on a five-acre lot with no neighbors around to dampen our volume. We could scream as much as we wanted, and we wanted to often.

Dracula, The Werewolf, The Blob, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Monster from the Surf, Godzilla, The Creature From the Black Lagoon. Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney, Jr., Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi and bug-eyed Peter Lorre. If we saw a film starring one of them, it made our “must see” list. We’d sit side by side on the sofa, a shared blanket clutched to our chins, looking forward to the thing that would make us jump and scream.

As we grew older, the fright somehow changed to hilarity. By the time The War of the Gargantuas,  came out, we were ready to laugh, and laugh hard. The story is about two Godzilla-sized creatures, hairy and monstrous looking, who rise from the sea, one good and one evil. At one point in the film, a woman is in a rooftop lounge singing a song that includes the line, “… the wooooords get stuck in my throat.” She repeats the line over and over. “The wooooords get stuck in my throat.”

Then one of the Gargantuas picks her up, eats her and spits out her clothes. To this day, all we have to do is sing that line from the song and we all crack up.

As we grew older, our tastes developed and the reruns of The Mummy, or the Three Stooges or Charlie Chan versions of those films didn’t interest us anymore. We wanted the truly scary films, like The Thing From Another World. That artic mission, the discovery of the space ship under the ice, the isolation, the killer vegetable and the dry wit and snappy dialogue, had all the makings of a classic. The remakes have never lived up to the original black and white.

Most of our favorites had themes of science gone wild. We were still doing “duck and roll” drills in elementary school. Nuclear science was frightening stuff. There was a real fear that man would mess around with the wrong mixture of something dubious and we’d never see the horror coming before it was too late.

An amazing trailer for one of our favorites starts with a montage of images, all pointing to secrets the government is keeping from us. Then a news announcer, in a dramatic voice, warns that, “Unless something is done and done quickly, man as the dominant species on earth will be dead within a year.”

Wow. A time frame and everything. Evidently, all that nuclear dust from testing has created monsters … biblical in nature … that are bent on the destruction of the human race. There are images of cars driving down main street America, with speakers blasting. “Stay in your homes! Stay. In. Your. Homes! This is not a drill.”

The actual movie starts with a little blond girl, obviously in shock and standing alone in the debris of her destroyed home, clutching a stuffed animal. Someone asks her what happened. All she can do is scream THEM! Those giant ants were no joke.

I have always loved the science fiction style horror films and still do. The Alien franchise is one of my favorites. All the Predator films are great too. This idea that some alien race would come here because Earth offers a fertile hunting ground, it's a fantastic premise. Still, there’s nothing like the terror of what normal humans can do to each other.

Alfred Hitchcock rocked our world. The Birds, Rear Window, even his TV show became a favorite. My brother had to work hard to convince me to watch Halloween. I’d never liked the slasher movies, the stupid women who went in the basement or sprained their ankles bored me. But Halloween was different. The first time Jason pops back up after being unquestionably killed was such a satisfying horror moment.

Then I started reading Stephen King –Carrie, Cujo, It—I couldn’t put them down. Since we’d always had dogs and cats for pets, Pet Cemetery was particularly horrifying for me.

One Saturday morning, I got up early to find my older sister sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes bloodshot, her hands clenched in front of her. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night. I asked her what was wrong. She said she’d been to a movie the night before with some friends. “The Exorcist,” she said, then refused to say more. She’d seen it the first night it was released. I think she’s still scared from it.

Of course, now we’ve all been bitten by the zombie bug. One of my sisters lives in Atlanta. My other sister is obsessed with The Walking Dead show, so when she went to visit, they HAD to go where the show was being filmed, driving by “Alexandria” and where the Terminus was filmed. She still talks about that trip.

My brother and I, share a love for R. R. Haywood’s Undead series. More than 24 books into the series and we still snatch them up as soon as they come out. In fact, I’m such a fan, that I actually wrote to him and asked him for an interview. You can read it here. He’s a great guy and I’m crossing my fingers that he’ll get a Netflix deal someday to make his books come to life.

We’ve never really grown out of our love of fear. Several years ago, I went home to Minneapolis just so I could go with my siblings and a few friends to a place called Scream Town. The massive, outdoor park had five different themed areas, darkened and filled with things and people that jumped out at you. We were, by far, the most senior people at the theme park, all of us in our late 50s and early 60s. We didn’t care. It may be our age that made so much of it hilarious.

In one room, you had to walk through a space with what looked like bodies wrapped in plastic, hanging from the ceiling. They were so numerous, you had to bump and bang your way through this horror, the “bodies” swinging sickeningly. We clutched each other, heads ducked, stumbling around in the dark, and laughing our asses off, screaming too.

In another place, you rounded a corner to come face to face with a man in a glass encased electric chair. The red light in the small booth where he sat cast a horrific, shadowy glow over him. The rubbery, trembling and smoking dummy, wrapped in a straitjacket, it’s mouth gaping open with chilling screams piped out of the box, was so life-like he was fascinating.

We made our brother go first, hanging onto his jacket while we made our way through the corn maze, then stood fascinated at the sight of a cow suspended in air as if it was being sucked up by a UFO. Scream Town does not skimp on the props or makeup.

Now, every year when Halloween rolls around, I think about Scream Town and think about my family and consider flying home for the holiday where we have every excuse to act ridiculous, scream at the top of our lungs and laugh until our bellies hurt.

For some authors, all they have to do is announce that their latest book is out and I’ll drop everything and buy it. If I love them, I follow them, engage with them on social media and recommend them to everyone I know. When one such author posted to his Facebook group that his latest was available, I immediately went to my Amazon app and bought it and then took a picture of my Kindle in my hand with his cover on it. About five minutes after he said it was live, the book was in my hands.

“Weird,” he said, as a comment to the picture.

In that one word, I knew exactly what he was feeling.

I don’t think I will ever get over the twisting churn of anxiety I get when a book is about to be released. In just a couple of days, The Bonding Blade will start appearing on ereaders. Some have bought it on pre-order. They will wake up to it on their device and perhaps, begin to read right away. The knowledge that this thing I’ve been working on for a couple of years will finally be available is intimidating.

It’s not just the new releases. Any time someone tells me they’ve just purchased a book or are reading something I wrote, my thoughts immediately go to a hope that they don’t hate it. After all this time, you’d think I’d get over it.

But, no. I don’t ever get over it. It’s very much like the anxiety I used to have when waiting for the results of some test that was worth 75% of the grade. Sometimes I’m unable to sleep and invest extreme efforts to avoid thinking about it for fear I’ll start biting my nails.

Did you know that nail biting is also known as onychophagy or onychophagia? A fancy way of saying that you’re busy chomping on your nails because you don’t want to be doing other things with your mouth. According to Psychology Today, this “Body-focused repetitive behavior” or BFRB is a sign of anxiety. Dah! I just love that they refer to it by an acronym. So very military of them.

So even for The Bonding Blade, this book that I’m so proud of, the book I've spent the last couple of years trying to cobble together, I’m still nervous. Excited and nervous. Maybe excited and relieved and nervous. Definitely excited and relieved and nervous and anxious, but I’m glad the day is almost here.

When you’re nervously waiting for something, what do you do to take your mind off things?

Here's an excerpt from the book: 

https://mldoyleauthor.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/single-3d2.jpgAmazonOnline Retailers

The first time I’d been in this room, I’d felt overwhelmed by the magical elements seeping from every object but now the magic felt more like possibility than danger. I didn’t have a natural understanding of magic the way Gil, Quinn and Cassie did. My brain didn’t seem to function in the same way Reuben’s worked, and I had, evidently, not inherited my mother’s propensity for the dark arts. But the more I’d watched them wield magic, the more admiration I felt for them and what they could do.

I still wasn’t ready to trust all witches, especially the unguided, young ones who caused more trouble than they were worth, but I did respect those that had a calling for molding the natural elements to their will.

I checked my cell phone for the time again. Waiting for Fredricks began to grate at my nerves. “How does he manage to make an immortal feel like she’ll die before he finds what he’s looking for?”

Gil flashed his teeth at me before turning his most intimidating glare to the wizard.

“I thought you knew where everything was in this hovel of yours,” Gil said. “What is taking you so long?”

“I apologize, my lord. There are many references to blood contracts and many more that claim to be a way to break the contract, but upon further inspection, the breakage usually involves the death of the person who entered into the agreement.”

“Well, that won’t suit our purposes, will it, wizard?” I said.

“No, my goddess. I understand. I think I’m getting close.” He held a large book open, his hand skimming over the words. “This one is a bit different. I’m just working out the translation now, but roughly it says, ah… blood is the permanent bond for which the promise lives. Ah, it goes on, and this was the part I was unsure of. Oh yes, right here it says, ‘but the trials of Shamash bring the … the …  I just can’t figure out this word. Sword maybe? The dagger?”

“Blade,” Gil said, his voice heavy. He leaned both hands on the table in the center of the room. “The blade of Utu.”

Fredricks and I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“Gil?”

He straightened, ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “You won’t like it, my queen.”

I crossed my arms and leaned a hip against the table. “I don’t like what’s happening to my Quinn now, sooooo…”

Gil held his hand out to Fredricks, who hefted the large tome into his hand. Gil held it up as if it weighed nothing. He skimmed the page, running his finger back and forth over the same passage a few times. His face hardened as he read. Finally, his gaze flicked up to me. “You know of Utu?”

I was so happy when that one was crushed into oblivion, Inanna said.

“Nope, but evidently, Inanna does.”

“I would hope she would. Utu is or was the lord of justice in her time. He meted out punishments, adjudicated disputes …”

“And contracts, I assume.”

“Exactly. He is quite well known for having several items which, after his death, could be used to determine the right and the wrong of things as he did while alive. A staff that would bend and twist when someone told a lie. A ring that would glow to identify the righteous party.”

“Handy. Too bad we don’t have doodads like that these days. Are you saying one of these items could be used to break Quinn’s contract?”

“No. Both of the items I spoke of were destroyed.”

“How do you know that? And how could an immortal die in the first place?”

Gil lay the large book on the table and leaned over it, a rigid set to his shoulders. “I know this because I killed him myself, and destroyed his talismans.”

Fredricks shrank back, sucking in air with a hiss, his hand to his throat. The drama queen.

I waited for Gil to elaborate, but he didn’t. The longer I waited, the more disturbed he looked. Finally, he slammed the book shut and picked it up, holding his hand out to me.

“We’ll be back, wizard. Speak to no one about this.”

Here's how the conversation usually goes ...

Interested reader: "Are you writing anything lately?"

Me: "I'm about to release the second book in my urban fantasy series."

Reader: "Really? What's it about?"

Me: "It's about Staff Sergeant Hester Trueblood. She's on duty in Iraq when she picks up a golden coin that activates a spell that makes her the embodiment of the ancient Mesopotamian goddess Inanna. It's the second book in the series."

Reader: ...stares blankly...

Me: "Sounds crazy, I know."

Reader: "No really, it sounds great! Oh my daughter would LOVE that!"

Me: "It's not YA. I mean, it's more of an adult urban fantasy suspense kind of story. Inanna was the goddess of war, and ... love, soooo."

Reader: Now, losing interest. "Oh, well...great. Congratulations."

As an author, you'd think by now, I'd have learned that the last thing people want to hear about is writing stuff. They politely ask. I should just politely say ... something, that doesn't put them in the position to ask anything else. But I have a hard time not talking about this series.

(more…)

After the elation of typing, “The End,” the drudgery begins. So now, I’m up to my neck in edits and marketing plans and website updates and review requests and formatting and cover design work and writing blurbs and asking authors to write blurbs and the list goes on. To be perfectly honest, this is my least favorite part about writing self-published books.

It’s. Not. Fun. Have I ever told you about my frustrations in never being able to find appropriate black and brown images in stock photo and graphic collections? A topic for another day.

The Bonding Blade is now officially set for publication and will be released on July 1, 2019. The book is up for pre-order on Amazon.com right now. It will be available at all online retailers soon. As much as I view all that other stuff as drudgery, it hasn’t taken away from the joy of having created a real, live book. The occasional emails from those who have read it or are reading have also kept me jazzed as I plod through this necessary work.

So, while I roll up my sleeves and get back to work, life goes on. Here is a picture from my brother’s amazing house and the lake, in Minneapolis, that is already devoid of ice. We saw two juvenile bald eagles swooping around the lake a couple of days ago. Spring is officially here.

It’s been a strange couple of weeks in the Doyle clan. Some medical emergencies that are now over (praise the gods), some world traveling … my sisters have just both returned from two weeks in Africa. NO! I’m NOT jealous. I’m HAPPY for them. And then there’s me, trying my best to prepare this book for its birthday.

It’s all exciting stuff which is what you expect from springtime, right? Excitement. New beginnings. Fresh starts.

For your springtime reading, The Bonding Blade is up for pre-order on Amazon and will be available on all online retailers as of July 1. If you haven’t read The Bonding Spell, the first book in the Desert Goddess Series, you might want to consider reading it now. Here is what one reader said about The Bonding Spell: “I don’t know why I waited so long to read this! It’s a real thriller. I’m going to recommend it to …. "

Read it. I think you'll find it's not what you expect. If you take my recommendation, I'd love to hear what you think.

Now, back to work!!

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