Peggy Jaeger's Blog, page 11

2025 publishing schedule

As you can see by the above graphic, I’ve been busy. I’ve got 10 releases coming this year – 7 full length novels and 3 novellas. The first drops on Monday.

THE VOICE OF ANGELS is book 1 in the MacQuire Women series.

Love is the last thing Carly Lennox is looking for when she sets out on her new book tour. The independent, widowed author is content with a life spent writing and raising her daughter. When newscaster Mike Woodard suggests they work on a television profile based on her book, Carly’s thrilled, but guarded. His obvious desire to turn their relationship into something other than just a working one is more than she bargained for.

Mike Woodard is ambitious, and not only in his chosen profession. He wants Carly, maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything or anyone else. And, as he tells her, he’s a patient man and can wait until she’s ready to be involved with a man again.

But the more they’re together, Mike realizes it isn’t simply desire beating within him. Carly Lennox is the missing piece in his life. Getting her to accept it-and him-may just be the toughest assignment he’s ever taken on.

Preorders are up for the entire series and I’m releasing one new book per month from January to May, so go ahead and check them out. They’ll be available in print, Kindle, and KU ( for the first time!)

2025 #wordoftheyear

Every year, I try to set a goal for the 12 months ahead of me by choosing a word I want to lead me through the year. Something to define me, define my year, and define how I will handle any adversity or get me through tough times that may come my way.

My word for 2024 was UNSTOPPABLE. I let it define my writing career and the word allowed me to try new things I’d never done before in any and every attempt to get name recognition for my books and to garner new readers.

It’s a great word, and if I could have do-overs, I’d repeat it for 2025.

But…no do-overs allowed.

My word for this year is really a phrase, defining an action I want to help guide my life not only for 2025, but for the rest of my days, however many they may be, to come.

Those of you who know me personally know I am a knee-jerk reactor. What that means is that when placed in difficult or unsettling situations, I tend to react quickly, emotionally, and without thinking of any consequences my actions may cause.

I basically act before I think. Never a good thing.

Therapy will tell you I act this way because I was raised by a mother who suffered from mental and emotional issues and never let me get a word in when she was in one of her “spells.” I had to react quickly to be heard and seen and try to gain control of the situation before she hurt herself or someone else. Most times, I wasn’t able to think that fast, so that just perpetuated the knee-jerk reaction to come even harder.

Therapy will also tell you this is a negative coping mechanism I’ve utilized to survive and to protect myself from being hurt ( physically and emotionally) and is now ingrained in my mental DNA in such a way as it’s my default response.

Both of those statements are much too true for me to be comfortable admitting, but admit them I will.

Hi. My name is Peggy and I am a situational knee-jerker.

I say things in the heat of the moment I instantly regret, do things that can’t be undone, and cause emotional harm to the person I’m interacting with that I never intended. All to protect myself from being hurt first.

At 64 years old, that is a truth that I am utterly horrified to admit about myself and equally sad it exists for me.

So, 2025 is the year I intend to stop letting this behavior define me and how I act when circumstances get out of control. I realize I don’t need to protect myself like this any longer. I am a strong, capable, highly educated, bad-ass bitch of a woman who exudes self-confidence ( even when it isn’t felt!). I am powerful, worthy, and enough, just as I am. I am blessed, loved, and kind-hearted.

Took me 64 years to understand that. What’s that old saw about you’re never too old to learn something new?

So, my word – or really action phrase, if we’re going to get grammatical – is … Take a Breath.

Take a breath before you react.

Take a breath before you speak in anger.

Take a breath and let what’s happening settle before you respond either physically or verbally.

Take a breath and let yourself calm, drawing on all your internal strength and fortitude.

Take a breath and decide what your course of action should be.

Just…take a breath.

Like Faith Hill says: JUST…BREATHE

Now, let’s see if I can do this. Pray for me, kids.

~Peg

#HappyNewYear 2025

From my house to yours, here is wishing and hoping that 2025 is a prosperous, healthy year and one filled with love, laughter, and light.

~ Peg

It’s been a rough few years…

As we close out 2024, I’m sitting here in my office, trying to put down what I’m feeling just so I can get a handle on my emotions.

It’s 2 a.m. – my usual writing time, and my entire body is filled with so much immeasurable…sadness.

The holidays officially ended tonight and a new year has begun ( in the time zone I live in, anyway), and as I look back on 2024 and the few years prior to it, I can’t help but simply cry.

Most of the emotion is coming from the fact that I miss my mother. Horribly. With each holiday that goes by, Mother’s Day, Christmas, Easter, and her favorite St. Patrick’s day, sadness consumes my soul and squeezes until I am choking, literally, with tears.

She missed out on so much that has happened since she passed away, suddenly, in 2022. Watching her great-grandson mature into an amazing boy. The birth of her great-granddaughter, whom she would have adored; the rising success of my writing career; just the simple day-to-day stuff she loved, like watching Entertainment Tonight and commenting on the lifestyles of all the celebrities. This may sound a bit shallow, but she got such a kick out of hearing of all their foibles and flubs. She used to say, “All that money and fame, and they’re as screwed up as the rest of us.”

Truer words…

My mother, although plagued with mental health issues, always found a way to find little bits of happiness where she could. It could be something small like having an unexpected lottery ticket win – never more than a few dollars, but it made her week; Or it could be something major, like being able to cook again after her two broken hips relegated her to a wheelchair for most of her day.

These past 2.5 years have been really tough on me without her. I never leaned on her, emotionally, for anything because of her fragile mental status, but just knowing she was “there” was, in some way, a small comfort when the darkness invaded my psyche and needed to be shown the door. I knew if I called her and told her I was having trouble, she would have talked my ear off about anything and everything just to try and get me to laugh and pull out of my funk.

God, I miss that.

I miss her.

I miss her.

She would have had some rich comments about the political upheaval in this country right now and its impending implosion, let me tell you. She would have been very vocal about how much she despised the incoming leadership. A lifelong Republican, she’d never voted for a Democrat until Joe Biden. At 84, she changed her political party because she knew hate was wrong and people were more important than billionaires getting richer.

Who says you stop learning and growing at some point in your life?

I am positive if she had lived, my stepfather wouldn’t have gone down hill, mentally, as fast as he did after her death. 2.5 years, 4 major surgeries, and leaping dementia later, he asked me just the other day, “Where is your mother?” I replied calmly, “In Heaven.” He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Then, he shook his head and asked me something about his shoes.

This was the man who cared for her after her first two broken hip surgeries. The one who got the mail every day, heated the food I’d made for them, did their laundry. Despite their tumultuous early years, their later ones were filled with a calm respect, mutual devotion and love.

When I say my prayers every night, I add one to my mother to please call her beloved husband home to her, because I know he is suffering and missing her so much, even though he can’t verbalize that.

Do you ever wonder if life simply happens, circumstances occur and you respond to them just in that moment? Or do you believe, like I do now, that our lives are predestined and predetermined? I ask that because when my mother was still alive and had just gone into the nursing home to be with my stepfather, one day, out of the blue, she said to me, “Promise me you won’t forget about Jack when I’m gone.” I waved a hand at her and said, as a joke, “You’re gonna outlive him, so don’t worry.”

One week later she was dead.

Ever since that day, I’ve wondered if somehow, she…knew. If she’d made the decision to be admitted to the nursing home because she had a feeling, an inkling, a fleeting thought that this would be her…end. She could die with the knowledge and comfort of knowing her beloved husband would be cared for and I wouldn’t forget about him.

The more I’ve thought about this, the more convinced I am that she did. She could leave us with the knowledge and promise that he wouldn’t be alone.

And he hasn’t been. I’ve kept that promise and intend to until the day he goes to meet her.

This piece was supposed to help me resolve some of the grief and sadness swirling in me as we come to a new year. As I write this, I can barely see for the tears shunting down my face.

Do we ever get over the loss of our mothers?

Or does the grief, as it’s done with me, ebb, dissipate, then swell again for no apparent reason?

Like I said, it’s been a rough few years.

Writing about my grief and sadness does help – to some degree. It actually helps me compartmentalize my emotions by showing me that even though I am sad, I still have joy in my life. I am still standing, breathing, loving, writing, every day. And speaking of writing…

One thing I have noticed in my writing since my mother’s untimely passing is that I incorporate a great deal of grief into my stories now, whereas before, I …. didn’t. I was convinced just writing happy tales of love was the right way to go. Who wants to read a supposed romance story that’s filled with death, sadness, and loss, I thought?

Now? Well, I see that death is part of love and life, a great part of it for many people, so I don’t shy away from writing about loved ones who have died. I have widows, widowers, and children without parents in my stories now. I’ve written about beloved pets dying – and have had to take a break for several days after writing about them because I’m such a wreck. And I think – or at least hope – my stories are richer and more relatable because of it.

Time will tell if that’s true.

For now, I am going to wipe my tears, go make a cup of tea, and say a few prayers for the year ahead.

I have no wisdom to impart on how to get through grief. I have no words to help anyone resolve the death of their mother or father.

All I can simply do is tell you how I’m getting through it. Some days are good. Some days are fabulous.

Some days are pure, unadulterated torture.

Grief is the price we pay for loving people.

~12.31.24

#mondaymusing 12.30.31

I’ll be home with hubby and Maple. We won’t make it to midnight, ‘cuz we’re old ( LOL) but we’ll toast before we go to bed.

Changes…

Yesterday, I put up a cryptic post on Facebook that read NEW YEAR, NEW ME.

Lots of comments on that one, I’ll tell ya. The gist was people said ( thankfully), “I like the old you!”

Awww. Thanks, peeps. But let me explain the meaning of that statement so everyone can understand why it was so important for me to announce it.

For the past 18 months I’ve been on a journey to try and get healthy. Not healthier, but healthy, because for most of my life I’ve been physically and psychologically unwell.

18 months ago my weight was at the highest it had ever been in my life. My joints ached all the time. My clothes didn’t fit so all I ever wore were scrub tops and pants and pjs, and elastic-waisted pants. My sciatica screamed daily and I just felt like…well, like shit most days. Menopause weight gain, boredom weight gain, and post-pandemic weight gain had topped me out to a BMI of 30. Which, if you know anything about medicine, tells you I was classified as obese.

Yikes.

Double yikes.

Except for a brief period when I was 15-17 and flirted with anorexia, I have always been above average for weight. Genetics plays a part, but most of it during my life has been an out-of-control eating disorder that runs rampant when my emotions are out of whack.

Which they were for 40 years.

I’m not kidding.

Nothing worked. Diets made me crankier and more emotional and resulted in binging. Exercise exacerbated the pain in my joints. 40 years of dieting packed 60 pounds on my frame that I didn’t need.

One day, my sister-in-law told me about something she was doing to try and get rid of the menopause-induced weight gain she was suffering through. It sounded like a miracle.

And to someone like me, it was.

I got on a test program for weight loss for the drug that was soon-to-be FDA approved, MOUNJARO. It was wickedly expensive and because I had no co-morbidities ( high blood pressure, diabetes,) I was just fat, I had to pay out of pocket for it, which, let me tell you, was equivalent to the GNP for a small third world nation.

But I did it. I paid.

And I started losing weight.

A lot of weight.

To date, I am down 65 pounds from the very first day I began injecting the drug.

Do I still have sciatic pain? Yes, at times, especially if I am on a long car ride. But my joints otherwise are almost pain-free.

Now, I know there are millions of people who right now are saying that I cheated my way to weight loss. That I didn’t do the work I should have. That I just needed to eat less, move more, and drink water.

I did all that, peeps. For 40 years.

For some people ( a lot of people, actually) those things don’t work. We need something to help jumpstart us and get the scale needle moving, and the weight loss injectable helped me. Tremendously. It obliterated my appetite, my cravings, my psychological need to use food when my emotions were out of whack.

And speaking of emotions. Once the weight started coming off, not only was I lighter in body, but in spirit also. It seems most of those emotional issues I was experiencing were from feeling overwhelmed by the weight and not being able to do anything about it. Today, my moods are better controlled and when I am experiencing sadness or get a little depressed, I don’t immediately reach for the Peppermint Patties or the potato bread because I don’t crave them anymore.

Are there side effects of the drug? Sure. My hair got very thin and I had to take measures to correct the loss and thinning. The skin on my abdomen and thighs, despite exercising now ( without pain) sags and I look like I have the jowls of a hound dog hanging from my waist.

Do I care? Some. But I don’t live in a nudist colony and the only ones who ever see me naked are my doctor and husband. One doesn’t care and the other loved me even when I was fat, so there’s that.

I am able to exercise now, which I do. I eat much healthier, and I still have the added benefit that I am never – never – hungry or craving food.

So.

2023-24 was the year I geared up for the change in my body and psyche and took measures to ensure that change happened.

2025 is going to be the year I start living the life I dreamed about for the past 40 years. New clothes ( that fit) new hairstyle, new makeup. New spring in my step.

New year, new me.

So, see, all you peeps who were worried something drastic was coming down the pike. It’s still me. Only better.

At least, I hope better. You’ll have to decide when you see me.

Be kind to one another, peeps. I adore you all.

~ peg

Merry Christmas!

From my house to yours, from my heart to yours, I wish you the happiest, most joyous, loving, and peaceful Christmas days.

Today, believe in the magic of Christmas, smile, laugh, and be with those you love and who love you.

And never forget who you belong to, and with.

#Tuesdaytease 12.24.24

The final little teaser od 2024 is from my very last DICKENS HOLIDAY ROMANCE, A CHEF’S KISS CHRISTMAS, to get your holiday celebration underway…

Amy overheard what she said, though, and commanded, “Come here, girl, and let me give you something to warm you up.” She tugged on Portia’s arm and guided her to the booth.

“Our hot chocolate is a town favorite at this event. Made with real milk and shaved chocolate, not that powder junk they sell at the supermarket.”

Tony had just turned from handing the customers waiting for their burgers their order when his gaze connected with hers across the booth.

Portia’s breath caught when he lifted an eyebrow and bobbed his head, once, toward her.

She tried for a smile but her teeth were clattering so much she worried it looked more like a grimace than a greeting. And not all of that clattering could be attributed to the frigid air. Most of it, if she was being honest, was because of the man standing in the center of the booth.

“Here, Portia.” Amy handed her a Styrofoam cup of steaming dark liquid. “This’ll get you warm on the inside for sure.”

She had no real memory of taking the cup because her attention was zeroed in on Anton – Tony  -and watching him prepare another order. No wasted movements, every flip of his hands precise and intended for the sole purpose of preparing the food.

Why the heck was that so…so… arousing?

Good grief! I’m getting hot and bothered from watching a man flip cheese onto a slab of meat. What. The. Heck??

Without thinking about what she was doing, she lifted the cup to her lips, took a sip of the piping hot liquid, and let it roll over her tastebuds. When the eruption of heat and sweet, rich chocolate exploded in her mouth, she moaned.

Loud.

Loud enough that everyone in the vicinity heard her, including the man her eyes were trained on.

While Amy and Abra laughed, the rest of her family chiming in with their own chuckles, Tony’s head lifted, brows tugging together, hands motionless as he stared over at her, worry slicing across the downturn of his mouth.

Portia stopped breathing. She couldn’t look away from him, as if hypnotized not to. She didn’t think she’d want to if compelled by forces unseen to do so.

“You okay, over there?” he asked, the rasp in his voice deep and filled with concern.

Her head bobbed, spastically, up and down. “F-Fine. This is just,” she held the cup up, “really good. And really hot.”

Amy grinned from ear to ear. “Best in the whole state. Who wants a cup?” she asked her family.

While she poured several cups and handed them out, Portia tried to get a hold of herself, all the while Tony sneaking surreptitious glances her way while he cooked.

With the rest of the group now armed with their own drinks, Colton began leading the march up to the Common again, after first kissing his mother-in-law on the cheek and thanking her.

“What’s going on with you?” Abra said, sidling next to her on the walk.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re jumpy, something I’ve never seen you be before. You’re usually the calm in any storm, the one who keeps her head when all around her are nervous or angsty. But today you’re acting like something is bothering you. Or someone,” she added, her brows lifting with the meaning.

“I told you, Abracadabra. I’m cold. I’m not used to these temps and my nerves are flayed because of it”

“Most people don’t usually get nervous because they’re cold,” her friend shot back.

“Yeah, well I’m not most people, as you well know.” She tried to instill some haughtiness into her tone.

A quick side eye toward her friend and she could tell Abra was in hyperalert mode. She suspected something was up with her agent. That determined eye glare and squint Abra was known for was full-on across her face.

Luckily, Amelia began fussing, diverting Abra’s attention.

Portia took a jagged breath in.

Saved.

For the moment, at least. If there was one thing she knew without a doubt, Abra would get back to the questions she had.

Portia needed a distraction for when that happened.

#mondaymusings 12.23.14

Yes! I open a present whenever I get the opportunity, LOL!

#SundaySnippet 12.22.24

Next up in my 2025 publishing calendar is PERFECT MATCH, book 3 in the HEAVEN’S MATCHMAKER series.

Third-generation matchmaker, Olivia Joyner, enjoys a 99% success rate when it comes to helping people find their happily ever afters. But her newest client is proving to be part of the 0.1 percent.

All the women Olivia have matched geriatrician Hunter Reinhart with have been perfect on paper. None of them, though, have resulted in a second request for a date, and all the women say the same thing: Hunter, although handsome and successful, is just…dull. And boring. And too reserved.

Olivia can’t understand it, because to her? Hunter is none of those things. In fact, he’s the exact opposite of dull, boring, and reserved. He’s a man she would consider worthy of marrying herself – if she was in the market for a spouse.

Which she isn’t.

Olivia needs to figure out why she can’t find Hunter Reinhart the perfect match, and it just may require her to do something she’s never done before: go on a “date” with a client.

Purely for research and educational purposes, that is.

“So, tell me, Olivia, why matchmaking?”

Okay, not the question she would have led with, but he was making an effort.

She answered honestly. “Because I’m good at it. Always have been, even when I was in school. Plus, it’s the family business. I’m the third generation of Crally women to be a matchmaker.”

His eyes widened and he stopped cutting the roll in half to stare across at her. “Your grandmother is a matchmaker?”

“Mom, too. You didn’t know?”

“About your grandmother? No. She never mentioned it or even gave any indication she was in all the interactions we’ve had.”

“Well, in all fairness, the mantle was passed a while ago. First to my mom, and then from my mom to me.” She sighed. “It dies with me, too, because my daughter has no desire to take over for me.”

“You have a daughter.” Surprise lit his eyes. “I had no idea.”

She nodded. “Freya. She’s twenty-three and just got her Master’s Degree in physical therapy.”

“You have a twenty-three-year-old daughter. How is that possible?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re what? Thirty-two? Thirty-three, tops?”

She laughed. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have to say this, but you should never ask a woman her age on a first date. Or ever! Whether it’s a real date or fake,” she added when he began to protest. “But thank you for the compliment, and for the record, I just turned forty a few months ago.”

“Impossible. That means you had her at,” he thought for a moment, “Seventeen?”

She nodded.

“You were a child, Olivia.”

Not the first time she’d heard this from someone who didn’t know her past. “A little more than a child, I think.”

“How?”

She cocked her head, her lips twisting into a grin. “The usual way.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean…” His face pulled into a confused mask. There was no judgment in his tone or his expression, just bewilderment.

She took pity on him. “My boyfriend and I had been together since third grade and had always planned to get married after college.” She shrugged. “Freya just upped the timeline a bit.”

“You were married at seventeen?”

“Sixteen, actually. And before you say I was a child again, my mother was married at seventeen, my grandmother at fifteen. Early marriages are another thing we’ve passed down through the generations in my family.” She rolled her eyes. “And Freya broke the mold on that one too, since she’s twenty-three and single.”

He sat back in his chair, the roll and his hunger forgotten, and simply stared at her.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Because I have a million other questions and I’m trying to discern if I should ask them.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Go for it.”

“Did you finish school? Go to college?”

“Yes and yes. I graduated high school as did Jon,  my husband, and we both went to college in Concord. I majored in communications before you ask.”

“Where did you live?”

“With my parents.”

“They were…okay? With your…situation?”

“I told you, young marriages aren’t uncommon in my family. My grandparents and parents helped out, all of them thrilled to have a new baby to care for. My grandfather was the town pediatrician at the time and Freya couldn’t have had better care than from him and my grandmother and my parents. My grandparents said helping raise her made them feel young again.”

“I didn’t know your grandfather was a physician.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t grow up here, so why would you? He practiced for almost forty years and was still in practice when he…died.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

“You don’t need to be. He had a fabulous, fulfilling life, a thriving, rewarding practice, married his childhood sweetheart – see a pattern here?- and lived every day of his life with joy. That’s more than most people get in a fraction of their life.”

Again, the way he was staring at her, peering at her as though trying to see inside her head and body was a little disconcerting…but…alluring, as well.

“You are a surprise, Olivia Joyner,” he said as their waitress brought out their entrees.

Preorders are up here: PERFECT MATCH. Release date is 4.9.25! I can’t wait.