Stephanie Verni's Blog, page 23

The Merriest Season and a Week of Joy

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Well, today is Christmas Eve. It’s the day we’ve all been waiting for here at the Verni household. This year, we are hosting both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and then we are heading to my parents’ house the day after Christmas for a celebration with my brother and his family. Three days of family and celebration = good times in our books.

We’ve been lucky enough to continue a lot of our traditions this year, including the following:

We cut down our Christmas Tree at Pine Valley Farms the day after Thanksgiving
We decorated the house inside and outside for Christmas
We took our Christmas Card photo and mailed off our Christmas Cards
We went to Annapolis for Parade of Lights, shopped, and ate in Annapolis
We celebrated Midnight Madness in Annapolis with both friends and my daughter
We watched Ellie perform in the Winter Dance Concert and saw her choreographed dance in honor of our dear friend, Luke, who passed away in August
We’ve watched too many Hallmark Christmas movies to count
I shopped for the gifts for our families and friends (notice the I in that sentence, wink-wink)
We’ve baked cookies and prepared meals for our two-days of Christmas
And we’re now just putting finishing touches on our Christmas celebrations

[image error]Some traditions bring me so much joy, it’s difficult for me to put them into words. Watching Albert Finney in Scrooge, The Musical is one of my great joys. I can’t let a merry season such as this go by without watching Ebenezer Scrooge become redeemed. As my character, Olivia, says in my new novel Little Milestones, “You can never have a story with too much redemption in it.”

I fully agree.

A Christmas Carol by Dickens reminds us all to be a little kinder, a little more charitable, and a little less miserable and helps us reset and recalibrate for the upcoming year.

Wishing you all much love, happiness, and success this holidays season and always,

M E R R Y   C H R I S T M A S !

“I have to leave you now. Must go and get ready. I’m going to have Christmas dinner with my family.”

Love,

Stephanie

Unlost – Sharing a Short Story from The Postcard

Today, I’m sharing a short story I wrote that was published in my book of 2018 titled The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry. It’s set in London, a place I’ve only visited once, but loved. In striving to write about female friendships as I did in my new novel, Little Milestones, I guess you could say I practiced with this very short story. I love writing short pieces of fiction, as they test both your ability to tell a condensed story, as well as test your proclivity for further expanding the story.

This one stayed put as a short story, but another one I wrote for that collection, Life with Nan, turned into Little Milestones.

It’s fun when that happens.

Anyway, here’s UNLOST.

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Unlost by Stephanie Verni

As published in The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry by Mimosa Publishing, copyright 2018

Muriel finds the bench she’s been sitting on alone for the past three years. It has become her Friday ritual, one that she looks forward to the way she supposes young people look forward to going for a walk or a run with those tiny speakers shoved into their ears. They certainly can’t be comfortable, she thinks, forcing plastic into the ear cavity. Not to mention you can lose your hearing by playing the music too loudly. And yet those ear buds, as the youngsters call them, must bring some sort of happiness to them, for she often sees them smiling, singing, or banging their heads to the music whilst they go upon their merry way.

What a feeling that must be, she thinks, to feel merry.

Her 65th birthday is next week, and the thought of celebrating another one alone nearly kills her with each passing year. This will be the third birthday—since she was 21—without Gregory. Her son, Alexander, lives in Australia, and her daughter is married with three children to an American and lives in New York. Her daughter has begged her to come to America—come back to America to live with them—but Muriel won’t impose on them this way. London is home to her, and she is still self-sufficient in a lovely little flat and with few health problems. She was, indeed, born and raised in the States, and didn’t step foot on English soil until she was 21. Her trip had been a graduation present from her parents. Little did they expect she would never return from it.

Gregory was the first boy she’d talked to in London, right at the foot of Tower Bridge. From where she’s sitting now, she can almost see the whole of it and enjoys this vantage point, despite the state of the depressing grey skies. If she were to count how many grey skies she’s seen on her Friday visits, she is certain they would outnumber the sunny days by a mile.

She opens up her lunch bag and proceeds to take out her cucumber sandwich and her napkin, which she places neatly across her lap. It isn’t much to eat, but it does the trick with a few grapes and a bottle of water.

“Excuse me,” says a woman, who looks equal in age to Muriel, “may I sit here with you?”

“Of course,” Muriel says, moving her white, patent pocketbook to make room for the lady.

“So gloomy, eh?” says the woman.

“Ah, yes, rather grey indeed,” Muriel replies.

“I’ve seen you here before, I think,” says the woman. She dusts off an apple with a napkin she pulls from her coat pocket, which she then quickly puts to use after taking her first bite, as she delicately wipes away the dripping apple juice from her mouth.

“Yes,” Muriel says, “you do look familiar.”

“And you look quite sad,” says the woman.

“Is that so?” Muriel asks. “Why is that?”

“Ah, my dear, only you know the answer to that. I can only say what I see.”

It makes Muriel unhappy to know that she looks glum to other people. It’s not intentional. Two women forty years their junior jog by, laughing, shouting conversation to each other, both of them with their ears plugged in. Muriel shakes her head and giggles.

“I’m Kate,” says the woman to Muriel. “And I think you need a friend.”

“Do you?” says Muriel.

“Yes. Do you enjoy coffee?” Kate asks.

“I do rather enjoy a fine cup of coffee. I’m Muriel.”

“My daughter and son-in-law own a coffee shop not too far from here. They first thought they’d open up a tea shop, and I told them they were crazy. ‘In London?’ I said. ‘Do something different.’ I’m not sure how different coffee is, but it’s what we’ve got. When you’re through with your sandwich, we can take a walk over, and I’ll treat you to a cup. And then you can tell me what’s got you feeling a little sad and lost.”

Lost. That word.

Instantly, Muriel is transported across the water, remembering what Gregory had said to her when they first met.

“Are you lost, Miss?” he said, bending down slightly to meet her gaze at the foot of Tower Bridge, dressed impeccably in his policeman uniform.

“I just may be,” she said, smiling at Gregory, his hazel eyes shimmering from the sunlight bouncing off the water.

“Would you like to become unlost, then?”

Sometimes we meet the loves of our lives when we least expect it.

Unlost.

A funny, clever, non-existent word, and yet, from that point on, she became unlost with Gregory for forty-one blissful years. It’s been three years since his passing, and Muriel still misses his sense of humor, his passion, and his ability to turn a phrase—or a made up word—into something completely unforgettable.

“Come along now, Muriel,” Kate says, urging her to get a move on. “We’ve got to HTHU. They brew a scrumptious pot of Hazelnut. Do you fancy Hazelnut?”

Muriel knows this is a very kind offer.

“I do,” Muriel says. “And what does HTHU stand for?”

“Hurry the hell up. It’s one of my texting acronyms. Do you text? I’ll give you my number and you can put me into your contacts. We’ve got to stay current and relevant if we want to keep up with the kids today.”

“We probably need to get some ear buds, too,” Muriel says.

“Oh, I’ve already got some! Put them in when I walk. I play Sinatra and Elvis in there all the time.”

“Oh, I love them both,” Muriel says, giggling.

“This is going to work out splendidly then, isn’t it?” Kate says.

Muriel laughs and realizes that sometimes the best of friends may be made when we least expect it, as well.

*

The Postcard and Other Short Stories & Poetry by Stephanie Verni is available via Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

The Thing That Connects Us

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I was sitting here staring at a blank cursor knowing what I wanted to write but not knowing exactly how to say it.

Then I remembered studying writer James Baldwin during my first master’s degree, and thought of his quote:

“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who are alive, who had ever been alive.” – James Baldwin

I’ve been “officially” publishing fiction now since 2012. Fiction is the best outlet to tell stories that are in my heart, affect my emotions, and guide me toward decision-making in life. It’s a place where I can share lessons learned—the good and the bad—all through the guise of fiction.

As Baldwin says, stories connect us. We are storytellers every day. Think about and recount how many stories you told just yesterday. Then, the day before. And the day before that. Think how many stories you’ve told this past month, year, decade, and even in your lifetime.

As writers, we take truths and meld them into stories with the intent to entertain readers and to share the stories of our lives through fiction.

[image error]Looking back at the collection of books I’ve written so far, I’m pleased with what I’ve produced thus far, and I look forward to seeing what other stories become the ones I want to tell.

Sometimes all it takes is hearing someone else’s story.

That connection.

That story that connects us.

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Visit my Amazon page for more details! And thanks for stopping by.

xx

Some Simplicity in Life, Please.

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This morning I was on my way to campus to begin day one of final exams week. I decided that instead of rocking out to The Struts or some of my other favorite musical groups as I drove to work that I would listen to Christmas music. I found myself singing along to all the classics, attempting to harmonize with Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and contemporary singers like Sam Smith, Josh Groban, and Christina Perri. I have a 40-minute minimum drive to work each day, which lends itself to listening to lots of good music and typically puts me in a good mood for the day.

As I was belting it out alongside Andrea Bocelli (whose rendition of White Christmas might be one of the best contemporary renditions I’ve heard of that lovely song), it dawned on me as to why I yearn for and absorb every single moment I can of this time of the year: it’s the nature of it, the understanding of what it all stands for, and a harkening back to times of yore.

I can’t help but to become sentimental at this time of year. I’m sentimental all year long, to be truthful (which is why I write the kinds of novels that I write), but at this time of year my nostalgia is on steroids. Once Thanksgiving hits and we go full-force into Christmas decorating, finding our perfect tree, and partaking in holiday events, forget it. I’m a goner.

And for good reason, and this was when it hit me.

If I had to articulate why I love this time of the year, it would be because of this main reason:  it reminds me of what I think I yearn for almost daily—and especially during the month of December. I can actually try my best to partake in what my mind and heart wants.

It’s just the idea of simplicity.

For one, I love holiday movies, the old black and white ones, the ones on the Hallmark Channel, and even ones that just have a taste of the holidays within them. But if I take a moment to dissect these films, they are simple in nature, sweet or full of lessons of kindness, and often spiritual or religious movies that remind me of what it’s all about: it’s about love and family and friendship. It’s about being together. It’s about the birth of Christ. It’s about forgiveness. It’s about repenting. In the case of Ebenezer Scrooge, a character in my book, Little Milestones, says of the film, “You can never have a movie with too much redemption in it, right?”

I marveled two weeks ago at the amount of people who cut down their trees as they began new traditions with their families. I’d never seen the farm that packed, and my family, who has been cutting down our tree for 18 years there, was astounded. It was encouraging to see and hear people talking about the new traditions that they wanted to make or old ones they wanted to keep, clearly pointing out the need for time together and tradition during the holidays.

Which made me realize what this time of year is NOT about: it’s not about being on our damn cellphones all the time as it pings and pongs. It’s not about stressing out because the WiFi is out. And yet, as a society, we are becoming so attached to our electronics that we can’t, as my feature writing class learned the other day, stop and smell the roses, even when they’re right underneath our nose. One of the top fears of GenZ is that something will go wrong with their devices.

That’s just plain scary.

Which may be why I catch myself yearning for simpler times day after day, and by simpler times, I mean this: I mean the family sitting around the table for hours telling stories and in no hurry to go anywhere or to check our devices. I mean doing leisurely things I want to do and not worrying about time or how long it takes. I mean being personally more connected to those I love through get-togethers and parties and dinners out. I mean striving to have more conversations over the phone, you know, like we used to have when we dragged the princess phone cord into the closet and talked with our friends for hours so our parents couldn’t overhear our conversations. I mean hand writing someone a damn letter.

Admittedly, I’m on social media a lot because I’m an independent author who not only writes and edits and designs her books, but also promotes them; I know how harrowing it can be sometimes to feel the need to always be connected to our devices, always be posting, and always be creating good content. Believe me, the thought of it tires me out even as I’m writing this blog post.

Listing to Dean Martin and Bing Crosby’s voices this morning led me to think about how ridiculously fast-paced we have become, and how it is that during this time of year, I want nothing more than to bake cookies, celebrate the holidays with my friends, spend time with my family on the weekends when we don’t have to think about work and school and responsibilities, and remember fondly those we have lost and can no longer spend our holidays with.

Sometimes we just need to be.

It feels so much more difficult these days than it did when I was growing up. I remember becoming excited for my family’s drive to New Jersey when I was a kid knowing that I would see all my family and relatives and spend the holidays with them. Last year, I made a holiday promise to myself and actually put my phone away in the evenings during January, February, and March. It was amazing how many books I read just by giving myself free time. I also binge-watched Game of Thrones with my husband from Season One until the finale. I can assure you that I felt a sense of freedom.

I do think it’s true that years ago, life was simpler. It just was. It may not have had all the perks of high-speed internet and Google maps (which is very helpful, I admit) and hundreds of cable channels and Snapchat, but somehow we survived.

We all survived.

When I find myself becoming neurotic about my connectivity responsibilities, either good or bad, I sometimes have to stop and ask myself a tried and true question: Do I want my dying wish one day to be “I wish I spent more time on my cellphone,” or will it be “I’m glad I tried to live my best life, a more simplified life, spending time with those I love and that harkens back to the days of yore.”

The truth is, I can wonder about it, or I can do something about it.

The choice is always ours.

 

 

 

Excited for an upcoming book talk in January…and how reading benefits us

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I’m looking forward to being at the Severna Park Library in January on the 21st at 7 p.m. They are always so gracious to invite me whenever I release a new book (and there are three copies of Little Milestones in circulation there).





Also, I have books on hand for $10 each (plus postage, if I have to mail) if you would like a copy for the holidays…simply message me at stephanie.verni@gmail.com and I’ll take care of it for you.





Finally, a PSA: Be sure to support your local libraries and bookstores and keep kids reading! As a professor who teaches writing, I’m passionate about the ways reading positively affects so many aspects of our lives. Reading helps us to be an empathic person, strengthens our vocabulary and critical thinking skills, enhances the way we write, and enables us to unwind and escape into a book.





Last year, I put my iPhone away for a couple of months in the evenings. It was amazing how many books I devoured during that period of time. I’m planning to do the same this January.





So many books, so little time.





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Saying Some ‘Thank Yous’ This Thanksgiving Season: A Reflection

Thoughts and a Reflection on Thanksgiving

[image error]In my humble opinion, the best four days of the year have just passed. The four days of Thanksgiving weekend are always my favorite time of the year. We are permitted to just stop and reflect for a few days, spend time with family, and in our home, begin the Christmas traditions we set forth when the kids were babies of cutting down our Christmas tree and decorating for the holidays. For the last several years, I’ve cooked the Thanksgiving dinner, with sides provided by my mother and mother-in-law. This year, the pumpkin pie and apple crumb pie were ordered from Kirsten’s Cakery by my parents where my daughter works. Guess what we said about these two pies? “We will never need to bake a pie again.” They were amazing.

Between heading to Pine Valley Farms to cut down our tree, to eating dinner out at Lures on Friday night, to helping my parents a little bit with their Christmas decorations, it was a lovely weekend.

There’s a sense of decompression that happens, at least for me. I try not to think about work or book promotion or what my next piece of writing may be. I just take it in and enjoy it.

With two weeks remaining of the semester, Thanksgiving weekend is just what the doctor ordered. With some very sad losses this year that we endured of losing some people we loved, along with my husband losing a job earlier this year and my nagging health issues, it really was time to give thanks, be thankful, and put things into perspective.

*

Thankful for Friends in St. Michaels

When a former student of mine who works at the Star-Democrat Newspaper on the Eastern Shore reached out to me and asked if she could interview me about Little Milestones and my life as an indie author, how could I say no? Reporter Bri Green, a Stevenson alum who graduated in 2017, reminded me of how things can come full circle. As a student of mine, she told me she wanted to be a writer, that she wanted to get into journalism to tell stories, and that she aspires to be an author, too. I had no idea how I had nudged her in this direction through our professor-student relationship at Stevenson. When I left the interview, I marveled at the power of relationships we foster along the way, and that you never know whose life you may impact or how your relationship may connect you in the future. It was a pretty powerful moment. And, I’m excited to read the article Bri puts together!

As well, Anna Beard, owner of Skipjack’s in St. Michaels, is another new friend I’m thankful for this year. She and I became acquainted after meeting in St. Michaels at her coffee/dessert/gift store that she recently opened. She reached out to me and asked if anyone in St. Michaels was carrying my book and invited me to a book signing. So, the week before Thanksgiving, I set out for St. Michaels with my friend Elizabeth, and again, we took the opportunity to mingle with people in St. Michaels, sell some books (quite a few, actually, so thank you!). Afterwards, we had lunch with my parents at Limoncello. The kindness of others is so powerful at this time of year.

THANKFUL FOR MY READERS

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To those of you who have reached out to tell me how much you loved Little Milestones, I am so incredibly touched. It means so much to me to hear your thoughts about the novel, how it made you reflect on your own life, and how it entertained you and made you happy. I write for you all, and I’m so happy to hear these comments. Thank you for taking the time to call, email, text, or message me on social media.

Thankful for Two Things that Influenced Little Milestones

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When people ask me what influences my writing, it’s typically people or experiences I’ve had or can imagine having. However, two specific things influenced Little Milestones:

1- Call the Midwife—Call the Midwife is a program on PBS that is in its 8th season (with a 9th on the way, I believe). It’s the story of midwives in London that begins in the 1950s and continues through to the 1960s. Some of the midwives are nuns, while others are not. They live in the same house, and ultimately, the story centers around these women and their friendships and jobs. I was heavily influenced by that program as I wrote Little Milestones, as I wanted to touch on the importance of strong female friendships.

2-The Bridges of Madison County—Who didn’t cry at the end of the book when Francesca almost leaves her husband for Robert, the photographer who is documenting the covered bridges in the county. While that book did not have a joyous reconnection for the two main characters, it is still powerful. In my novel, I wanted to reunite my characters with a happier ending, and I worked to put that into place.

To read more about the plot of my novels or to order my books, click here to go to that page.

Thankful For My Blog Readers

[image error]And finally, thank you to my loyal blog readers who check in to see what I’m up to, don’t mind me telling you stories, and who have been along for the ride since 2011. I am thankful for you all.

The Water Wheel: A Short Story

I promised myself I’d write ONE thing during this year’s 2019 NaNoWriMo, and today I hunkered down and did it. It’s not a novel or the 50,000 words required to “win” at NaNoWriMo, or even the 43,000 words of Little Milestones I wrote during last year’s NaNoWriMo. It’s just a short story about grief with a little bit of a twist. I’m not sure what, if anything, I will do with this piece of writing, but for some reason, I needed to write it.

Today was the day, and here is the story.

The Water Wheel

by Stephanie Verni

[image error]Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

There were many ways he could show his appreciation for her. This he knew. He knew what Sidney liked (Sid for short, for it was the nickname he called her); he knew what made her heartstrings melt, like the puppy he got her for her birthday; and he knew what caused her to melt down and wind herself up into a tizzy (like when she had that falling out with one of her best friends). He still felt like he knew her better than she knew herself. He could anticipate what would come out of her mouth, right down to the last syllable, before she even spoke a word. For quite some time, he’d been studying her. Watching her. He’d taken copious mental notes all along the way because he never tired of getting to know her better. Of course, she may have been unaware that he did this and she may not have known the extent of it, but when she would look around and would find no one, he seemed to feel her acceptance of happenstances that were nonsensical and inexplicable.

She had a fascination with the large, wooden water wheel that was attached to the local mill where craftspeople worked in their studios. Tall trees full of autumn’s colors, bountiful shrubbery and fire bushes dressed the small river, narrow in parts, that housed the large brick and wood structure to which the wheel was attached, as it encouraged the water to move along that part of the river to provide energy and power. The sound of the wheel slushing and propelling the water soothed his nerves, and he readily admitted that he’d rank that sound—similar to that of a natural waterfall—as one of his all-time favorites, next to hearing Sid sing, making up her own silly and sexy lyrics to some of her favorite songs.

Sometimes, when she would visit her friend, Nick, an artisan who carved wood, she would sit on the bench outside the studio facing the river and watch the water wheel go around and around. Her ability to remain transfixed for hours, a book or journal in hand as she waited for Nick to clock out and meet her, always seemed to shock him. He wasn’t sure he’d seen such devotion in, well, a very long time.

He watched her write in her journal on that sunny afternoon, the falling leaves from the large oak tree cascading over her paper, seemingly dancing in the wind. She picked up a large burnt orange leaf and held it in her hand. She placed the leaf on the blank page inside her journal, flattening the pages so she could trace the leaf properly. When she was finished, she removed the leaf, and on the facing page, she traced her own hand, which almost fit on the page but for her middle finger, which hung slightly over it. She outlined her hand gingerly, and looked down at both etchings, studying them intently.

A fallen leaf.

A woman’s hand.

She glanced over at the mill, and then at her watch. She was used to waiting. It felt interminable to her, and often she felt similar to that very wheel…continuously moving, but going nowhere.

He spotted Nick exiting the mill, pulling his taupe knit hat tightly over his head, his jacket open slightly, as it was not freezing out, but only a tad chilly. Sid was wearing her maroon coat—the one she’d worn when they’d skated on the frozen lake on their second date. He took it as a sign that perhaps something was going to happen, something he wasn’t ready to see.

Nick approached her with a smile. Sid stood to hug him, and then they both sat down.

“You been waiting long?” Nick asked.

“Not too terribly long,” she said, placing the journal on her lap, a barrier now between them.

“So, what’s up? I wish I could have come out sooner, but I had to finish—”

She interrupted.

“It’s okay. This won’t take long, and I didn’t mind waiting. It’s just, I need to say this now before I lose my nerve.”

Nick looked at her and shoved his hands into his pockets. A stiff wind blew. “Okay,” he said.

“I like you, I do, Nick, and maybe what I’m about to do is all wrong, but something inside me believes it’s all right. I’m afraid I can’t move forward with our relationship. I’m just not—”

“…vested,” Nick said, finishing her sentence.

“Not fully,” Sid said, swallowing hard. Nick took one hand out of his pocket and patted her hand with it.

“I know, Sidney. I’ve known it for weeks. I’ve known it ever since you told me the story. I’ve known it all along. I guess I was just hoping you’d maybe…I don’t know…feel something.”

“I wish I could feel something,” she said. “Believe me.”

They sat there next to each other and watched the water wheel churn. The sound of its motion filled the silence between them, neither one of them knowing just how to walk away.

Then Nick spoke: “Someday, you may recover. Someday. I don’t blame you, nor am I mad at you. You’re just being honest. Vinny was the most important person in your life. It could take years for you to recover from his death.”

“It has been years,” she said, almost in a whimper.

Nick put his arms around her and gave her a good, solid squeeze. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Even without him.”

She let him hold her for a moment, the scent of cinnamon wafting in the air. “Thanks, Nick. Thank you for understanding and not forcing me to move forward when I’m not ready.”

“Be well,” he said, standing to leave. “Be patient with yourself, but don’t let grief swallow you whole. You still have so much life left in you yet.”

Nick rose and kissed her on top of her forehead. “I’ll see you, Sid,” he said.

She remained on the bench, watching him walk away on the path—then he turned briefly and waved, and she waved back. He turned and continued on his way, Sid watching intently as his silhouette became smaller and smaller as he faded into the distance. She took a deep breath, and then, just ask the sun began to lower in the autumn sky, she picked up her journal and began to write while there was still a little light remaining:

I know you’re here, Vinny. I can feel you around me, watching over me. Sometimes I even think I can smell you and that stupid, cheap aftershave you insisted on wearing despite that I bought you the expensive designer brand for Christmas. It was always so like you to prefer something simple over something fancy.

            He finishes my sentences, Vinny. I know you heard that, just as you used to do when we were together. And yet, I let him walk away.

            You’ve been gone for three years, galivanting in the heavens, I suppose. You’re probably up there in the big sky busily making the cloud shapes these days instead of watching them as we did from Granddad’s fields, trying to distinguish which cloud formed a three-headed clown and which one was an upside-down giraffe.

            Nick was so right. I’m allowing grief to swallow me whole.

            I miss you.

            Sid.

Vinny watched her write those words on the page of her journal, then he watched her turn the page and look at her etchings again.

A fallen leaf.

A woman’s hand.

One’s time has ended.

The other one, very much alive.

Sid closed the journal and stared at the water wheel again. It had been there, just to the left of it, that he had kissed her the last time. Right there, on the bridge.

If only he’d…if only he could still…

He knew he’d been holding on far longer than…

He couldn’t bring himself, but he knew…

It was time for him to finally let go, so that she could…

Live.

 

 

Vlogging about the Writing Life—Connecting Inn Significant & Little Milestones

After I published Inn Significant in 2017, I seriously considered a sequel. People were writing to me and asking me what happens to the characters. I began constructing the sequel and dabbled with about 13 chapters until I stopped writing it altogether. After I put it away for a while and took a break, a lightbulb went off in my head: what if I wrote a second book with a character with a somewhat parallel life and had them meet in the new novel? It would be more of a series rather than a sequel, and that appealed to me much more.

Typically, sequels aren’t very good. There are exceptions to the rule, of course. But on the whole, sequels typically let me down.

So, I wrote the book that follows more like a series and published Little Milestones in October.

I’m so happy I decided to go this route with Little Milestones. I loved Inn Significant so much and didn’t want to let myself down as the writer of that story OR my lovely readers, who deserve the best storytelling I can give them.

Below is the video I posted on Instagram about the two books. Let me know if I can answer any other questions, and if you live in the Maryland/Eastern Shore area, I’d love to see you at Skipjack’s on Sunday, November 24, in St. Michaels from noon – 2 p.m., where all the action of Little Milestones takes place.

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First Book Signing for Little Milestones Scheduled for Skipjack’s in St. Michaels, Nov 24th

Hooray!

I am so excited about this!

Skipjack’s in St. Michaels will be carrying my book, and has asked me to come and do a book signing.

I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than meeting the folks in St. Michaels over coffee, treats, and a shared love of the town.

St. Michaels has always been a special place, and it was an honor to set my novel there.

I hope you can make it–and do some holiday shopping while you’re there!

xx

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Thank You, Readers! I’m Flattered.

[image error]Today, I’m posting a quick THANK YOU to those of you wonderful readers who have purchased my book, attended my book launch last week, or tagged me in social media posts. It’s heartwarming to see so much interest in the book, and I’ve loved hearing from you and seeing the photos you’ve shared with your followers.

I’m sharing some of the cool shots today with Steph’s Scribe readers! My newest book is available on Amazon.com and BN.com. Little Milestones, piggybacks onto my previous novel, Inn Significant, but can be read independently. However, if you loved Inn Significant, set in beautiful Oxford, Maryland, I hope you’ll enjoy Little Milestones, set in in picturesque St. Michaels, Maryland, just down the road.

Below is a video my friend Elizabeth and I made last weekend as we retraced some of the spots you’ll read about in the novel. We had a great time making it—and we hope you’ll have fun reading Little Milestones.

Thank you!

Taking you to St. Michaels where Little Milestones is set!

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[image error]Kicking off National Novel Writing Month at Stevenson University with a wonderful group of people – Launched Little Milestones, which I started writing last year during NaNoWriMo.