I've been away.

I’ve been taking some time off— Fine. I admit “time off” is generally measured in days, but it can also be measured in years. Tomato, tomahto.

And just because I was silent didn’t mean I wasn’t working. I was. And I wasn’t exactly silent, either. I told my agent, my husband, my long suffering friends and the lady at the dog park who recognized me. Somehow. Though I admit to telling the lady with the desperate assuredness that comes of reciting the same words for years because after so long people start to doubt you.

And not without reason. I’ve been writing this dang historical mystery on and off since I “retired.” Sometimes it left me alone for a couple months, but I could never forget it. It just lurked in the night, waiting for my head to hit the pillow to fill me with the unique Guilt that only an unfinished novel can produce.

Well, it won. I eventually excised my writerly demons and wrote the drat thing. And the truth is, the drat thing is… wonderful.

Now, if you’ve read me, you’ve read Historical Romance. If you read what comes next, you’ll be reading a historical mystery, rich with character, detail and a devastating crime. Water charts its own course and that sort of thing…

My agent got it a few weeks ago and now…well, we will see. In the meantime, I’m going to write here, unhoarding all the research and fascinating historical and psychological minutiae I uncovered along the way. There are things about 1898 New York I cannot wait to inflict on you.

There will be other stuff too. Food, because I am One with All Things Food. Fly-fishing. A 20-acre prairie we are fighting to restore and Roo, my 85-pound baby, descended from greyhounds, German shepherds, and a valiant line of pit bulls. He is, as of this writing, valiantly challenging a branch that blew across the drive.

I’ve missed this. Pull up a chair.