Why I’m Slowing Down on Blogging (And What I’m Saying Yes to Instead)

The new year has that particular kind of hush to it. The glitter from December is still clinging to the corners, but the calendar has turned its face toward seriousness. Fresh pages. Sharper pencils. A quiet, persistent tap on the shoulder that says, Okay. Back to business.

And here’s the honest truth: I’m listening.

Publishing Murder at the Midsummer Feast was only the beginning. Not the finish line. Not the victory lap. More like the moment the train finally hissed, shuddered, and pulled out of the station after three years of careful packing, second-guessing, and checking the map every five minutes to make sure I wasn’t wildly off course.

Now the train is moving.

Which means there’s work to do before it reaches the next stop.

For the last little while, blogging has been my creative breathing room. A place to stretch my voice, talk about vibes and atmosphere and found families, and keep the lantern lit while I was on a drafting hiatus. And I’ve loved it. Truly. These posts have felt like cozy conversations over mugs that are always slightly too hot, the kind where you talk with your hands and lose track of time.

But my first love has always been the stories.

The messy, demanding, slightly feral process of writing and editing. The kind of work that requires quiet mornings, long afternoons, and the willingness to sit with a paragraph until it either behaves or confesses its sins. The kind of work where creative energy is less a renewable resource and more a very particular animal that must be fed, rested, and not startled by too many shiny obligations.

If I don’t protect that energy, the residents of Winter Tower will absolutely take matters into their own hands. And listen. They do not resolve conflict peacefully. Explosions will happen. I will be blamed.

So I’m making a choice. A gentle one, but a firm one.

Over the next week, I’ll still be sharing a few posts from my recent travels. Little postcards. Moments I want to set down before they fade. After that, I’m slowing the pace. Likely dropping down to one, maybe two posts a week. Fewer words flung into the void. More intention behind each one.

This isn’t me disappearing. It’s me choosing fewer, better conversations. Saying yes to drafting days that stretch luxuriously long. Yes to revision passes that sharpen the bones of the story. Yes to the work that makes the books you’re here for in the first place.

I’m still here. The lantern’s still on. I’m just stepping back from the megaphone so I can sit at the desk again.

Thank you for being patient with me while I do the quiet, necessary, slightly magical work of making the next station worth arriving at.

Until next time,

Indigo