The Glass Inkwell

I’ve long accepted that my creative process looks less like a calm, candlelit genius-at-work montage and more like a crow collecting shiny objects during a caffeine high. My brainstorming notes—whether in Notion or scattered through my ever-growing family of notebooks—read like a crime scene of half-thoughts, crossed-out side quests, multiple timelines arguing in the margins, and at least one doodle of a dragon wearing sunglasses. And yet… somehow, out of this chaos, a story

"Discover the cozy mystery 'Murder at the Midsummer Feast' by J.P. White, now available on Amazon. Dive into a world of gothic vibes, small-town secrets, and a feast turned nightmare, available in both ebook and print." There is a very specific kind of joy that sneaks up on you while writing a book. Not the fireworks kind. More like the quiet hum you feel when the scene clicks, the characters stop arguing with you, and suddenly you are smiling at your screen like it just told

It was 2 a.m. last night and I was sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by candlelight, two decks of cards, and a cup of tea that had gone cold twice already. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of old wood settling and my own breathing, which had that particular rhythm of someone who was about to ask the universe a question they weren't entirely sure they wanted answered. Fun fact about being a writer who also reads tarot: sometimes you need to see the stor

I genuinely thought I’d coast into the new year with a mug of tea, a blanket, and zero surprises. But apparently I’m ringing in January 1st with… fictional crime. As one does. Somehow — and I’m still not convinced time works correctly — I came up with the idea for Vale & Stone just a few months ago, and now their first case is practically knocking on the door, asking if I’ve got room for one more in my end-of-year chaos. (Answer: always.) So yes, it’s happening. Murder at the

A TED Talk Presented Live From Inside a Pillow Fort Growing up, I thought writers lived in cabins with typewriters. You know the ones. Woodsmoke. Snow falling gently outside. A single mug of coffee that somehow stayed hot for hours. Turns out writers mostly live in Google Docs and Notion, with bad posture, three half-finished drinks, and a browser tab open just in case we need to google something unhinged like “how long can a person survive on an alien moon without oxygen.”

(And who would, without question, drag me into trouble with a smile.) There are fictional characters you admire, fictional characters you root for, and then there are fictional characters you just know—instinctively, cosmically—would absolutely enable your nonsense while also reminding you to hydrate. Those are my people. So today, let me introduce you to three cozy sleuths I would one hundred percent befriend in real life. I’m talking warm drink, rainy afternoon, wool-socks-

There’s a particular kind of quiet magic that lives in late-night reruns. The soft hum of the TV, the glow flickering across a dark living room, and the crunch of cereal that was definitely more sugar than grain — these were the rituals of my childhood. That liminal time between homework and bedtime when the world softened at the edges and anything felt possible. When I sat cross-legged on the couch, remote in hand, letting fictional strangers teach me how to be human. Thes

I’ve always been a storyteller — I just didn’t realize it until the universe grabbed me by the shoulders a few years ago and went, “Ma’am, look at your life choices.” If something happened to me, everyone within a five-mile radius was going to hear about it. With props. With reenactments. With the kind of sound effects usually reserved for action movie trailers. The dramatic recap of that one time I accidentally told the Dunkin’ Donuts cashier “I love you” after she told me

Hello, friends — welcome to the new space. I’ve been off doing what writers do best: wandering through stories, tripping over emotions, and accidentally reorganizing my entire creative life in the process. You know. Tuesday stuff. I won’t pretend the past year didn’t leave its mark. Losing Mia cracked something open in me, and grief has a sneaky way of rearranging your priorities when you’re not looking. Eventually I realized that the way I’d been approaching my writing life

The day after Valentine’s Day, my world cracked a little. I had to say goodbye to my dog, Mia — my shadow, my co-pilot, my emotional support goblin, my best friend of over ten years. I can still see the moment our story began. I was working in my library system’s IT department back then, bouncing between branches teaching digital literacy classes. On that particular morning, the security guard waved me down. A cardboard box had been left out near the flagpole overnight. Ins

Right now, I’m standing in that strange in-between place writers rarely talk about—the doorway between “I did the brave thing” and “now I wait.” I’ve sent The Obsidian Throne out into the world in the form of query letters, and honestly? It feels a little like setting a paper boat on a wide, unpredictable river and whispering, “Okay, sweetheart… please don’t sink immediately.” Submitting to literary agents was supposed to feel exciting, right? Big Author Energy. Confetti. Tr

Join me on this magical journey of storytelling! What diverse voices are waiting to be uplifted in your heart? Let’s explore together!