My health app stats disabused me of that notion. From the first of June until today, I've cycled either indoors or outdoors 35 times. I've put 172.5 km on my bicycle, riding new-to-me trails, following my son wherever he wanted to ride, and riding, for the first time, with a friend. I rode my first 25km a couple of weeks ago and next weekend, I’ll be riding the Legacy Trail, a 52km return ride from Canmore to Banff.* The inside bike has fewer kilometres, but the hills I climb on that thing have left me hobbled some days.

Physical fitness has come in and out of my life since I was a kid. My mother, obsessed with my weight, signed me up for as many activities as she could afford, hoping I would lose weight.

I was in gymnastics for years, struggling to get my roly-poly little body over the parallel bars. I had a short stint in rhythmic gymnastics and, frankly, I hated swirling ribbons around. I was signed up for multiple dance classes: ballet, jazz, and tap. I was in swimming lessons weekly for six years.

To my mother's dismay, I didn't lose weight. She harped on me endlessly about this. I learned that movement was punitive, and I found no joy in taking the bus to the recreation centre for my various activities.

Now as an adult, I realize that my mom pushing me into classes was not all bad. At 56, I am still ridiculously flexible. I am a very strong swimmer. I can dance to the rhythm of the beat. I have an appreciation for athletes, dancers, body-builders, and swimmers. I understand what it took to get to the top of your game.

About 30 years ago, when I joined a gym, the trainer there told me in order to succeed in my fitness journey, I had to find something I liked. “Then it won't feel like exercise,” he said.

I tried and hated the following:

All of it.

I lifted weights, tracking my progress. My arms were cut; my thighs were sculpted. But the scale didn’t go down as I had hoped, and it was the 80s: girls with muscle were not considered attractive. I was strong AF and hid my defined arms and legs. I regret not embracing that physical strength.

I loathed the stairmaster, mostly because I never got anywhere. Endless plodding up to nothing was exactly zero fun. The treadmill was boring—this was before every machine had a screen and/or programs where you could walk in Rome or Vegas or Costa Rica. The only things I could watch were the gym bros adoring themselves in the wall of mirrors.

I had a bike for a few months when I was a young teenager, until our apartment was robbed and it was stolen. I didn’t get another bike until I was in my early 20s. It was a cheap bike with a dodgy chain. It was hard to ride and I didn’t know how the gears worked. I was living in Niagara Falls at the time, and I was lucky to have the Niagara River recreational trail nearby. I did some riding, but when your bike chain clicks, stutters, and falls off, the ride becomes a chore.

In 2023, I invested in a good bike. I learned how to change gears and when to do that. And now? I LOVE bike riding. I feel so good when I’m in it and even better afterwards. My endurance and strength built so much faster than anything I’ve done before. I get sweaty and breathless, but the trainer was right: it does not feel like exercise.

I have stopped measuring my success only by the number on the scale. I know I’m building muscle—I’ve been down this road before but now I want the strength. I’m proud of myself for sticking with biking for the last 8 months at home and on the trails. I have no intention of stopping, even though my NordicTrack bike is trying to kill me. It learns, you see. As I get stronger and faster, the bike adjusts itself to make my rides more challenging.

I will be riding outdoors as long as the weather permits. My threshold is 10°C (50°F). I am hoping to be able to ride well into October or even November. Will I be bold enough to try riding in the snow? Probably not. I’ll take the rides entirely indoors, sweating it out and smiling, spinning my wheels.

xo Dana

*If I only make it one way to Banff, I can take the Roam bus back to Canmore. These buses have bike racks for exactly that reason: weekend warriors who take on a bigger ride than they can handle. I might be one of those people. In case I’m not, and I successfully finish the return trip, I’ve booked off the two days post-ride.

This will be the last email until September. One of our sons is moving into university residence in less than two weeks and I am maxxing out my time with him (and my credit card for all the things 🥴.) Enjoy the rest of your summer! Xo Dana

I opened up the app I recently downloaded, MERLIN, hit record, and learned it was a Swainson’s Hawk.

I moved on with my day, but two things were niggling at my brain.

1. Why has this bird been circling for weeks and screeching at all hours of the day?*

2. Who the hell am I?

I have never been keenly interested in birds, except for corvids. I love engaging with the magpies that frequent our yard. I always wave and say hello to the chihuahua-sized crows and corgi-sized ravens I see when I’m in Canmore or Banff. I laugh at the blue jays, who are the biggest assholes of the corvid community. I will never forget that one summer when we threw seed and leftover meats into the backyard for the magpies and our cars were the only ones on our street without any bird poop on them. Yes, it’s true, corvids can recognizes faces and are smart enough to observe which cars you drive.

I never imagined I’d be that person who downloaded an app specifically to identify bird calls. Is this the gateway to shopping for high-end birding binoculars and making waterproof hiking pants a feature in my wardrobe?

I might not be close to taking that step, but I did become that person who excitedly chats about birds at the bookstore’s cash register.

A young woman came up with four books about birding, among them The Backyard Bird Chronicles by Amy Tan (author of The Joy Luck Club) and A Field Guide to the Birds of Alberta.

“I’m so excited to get out there and find some birds,” she said to her boyfriend.

“Do you have the Merlin app?” I asked her. “It will make identifying so much easier.”

She did not have the app and had never heard about it. So, as any good birder would, I filled her in on Cornell University’s free bird ID app. She was so excited about it, telling me I made her day.

Once again I thought, who the hell am I?

I am obviously entering my peak senior stage. Less than two months ago, we bought La-Z-Boy reclining furniture. Everyone under 35 looks like a child to me, probably because they could be my child. I’m gleeful when a cashier offers me a senior’s discount. I worry I might dislocate a shoulder when I sneeze. My sons occasionally have to help me with technology (NGL, this one stings).

Does it bother me? A little, but there isn’t anything I would change. I like that at the touch of a button, I can identify the sparrows, robins, and other beautiful birds in my neighbourhood.

*A Swainson’s hawk flying around while screeching all day is likely defending its territory or teaching fledglings how to hunt and fly. August is the peak of the fledgling season before the bird migrate to South America.

I know there are people who can start a book series and resd one after another until they are finished. I have never been one of those people. I tend to lose interest in the characters, which I suspect is weird, since a series is supposed to bring readers closer to the characters, so much so, that they almost become friends.

I have started three series over the last couple of years but have not managed to finish any of them. There are too many other books pulling my attention away.

What is also weird to me is that I can binge watch seasons of a show, but I can’t binge read a series. Are the streaming shows easier to digest? Isn’t reading a shorter commitment? A 22-episode season with 1-hour episodes could take me a month to watch. A 400-page book would take me about 10 hours. It’s just as easy to stop watching as it is to stop reading.

So what gives? Why am I more likely to watch re-watch all 8 seasons of Game of Thrones, or 6 seasons of Schitt’s Creek, or 3 seasons of Ted Lasso than I am to read 6 books in the Boys of Tommen series, or 8 books in the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, or the 5 (with 6 and 7 coming soon) books in A Court of Thrones and Roses?

I don’t know because I’ve never tried. Maybe it’s time. I did take a break after reading each of the Boys of Tommen: there is so much drama that I am exhausted by the time I turn the last page. I will likely move on to Dungeon Crawler Carl book 3 soon after I turn the final page of book 2 because this series is so much fun.

Are you a series reader? What kept you reading?

Last Sunday, I climbed on my bike early in the morning and went out for a ride. My energy level was high, the air was still cool, and I was genuinely enjoying myself. I took a right turn at a crossroads, instead of the left I usually take. I saw parts of Fish Creek Park I’ve never seen in 14 years of living here. It was beautiful.

By the time I got home, my right quad was very, very unhappy. There had been some tough climbs on that ride. But the biggest shock came when I looked at Strava and saw my ride was 25k! I was tired, but I didn’t feel broken. I wasn’t in rough shape the next day either, apart from my quad which took five days to recover. This past Friday, my son and I rode 15.5k and it felt like nothing. Well, not nothing…it certainly felt like a victory. Endurance is something that builds while you are not paying attention.

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I deleted all the apps from my phone. I was ready to start a social-media-free summer.

And then a bobcat family moved into my backyard. My plan to stay off socials evaporated.

I mean, how could I not share a mama bobcat and her kittens taking over our backyard?

We spotted them from our kitchen window: three wee kittens nursing from mom on our lawn. I took some photos, and when the kittens started playing, I switched to video which I posted on Threads and Instagram. For the next three days, the feline content kept coming. Videos of kittens using our covered love seat as a slide. Videos of kittens using my egg chair as a jungle gym while mama perched on the pillows, giving herself a bath. Photos of mama sitting on our deck rail, checking things out. Kittens nursing in a cuddle puddle.

Before I could take a breath, my posts went viral. People from around the world were sharing my videos and photos. I watched the numbers tick past 1 million views, then 2 million, then 3 million. Comments in the tens of thousands. It was impossible to keep up, impossible to answer every question.

ViralHog, a company that monetizes viral videos by selling licenses to other outlets to use said videos, sent me an email with a very tempting offer. I did my due diligence, discovered there was some not-so-nice activities on their part, and said no thanks. I won’t get into the details, but the biggest deal-breaker was their request for copyright into perpetuity. Once ViralHog owns the rights, they can aggressively file copyright strikes against other channels—including the social media of anyone who shares the video—arguing these people are using your video without a license. Ew.

And besides, nature is, and should remain, free.

Three days after my initial post, Upworthy, a platform that aggregates positive web content, highlighted one of the videos on their socials. There was another surge of traffic.

The traffic continues even two weeks later. I posted an update when the bobcats left our yard, moving on to hunting grounds. I added some of the best video and photos from the week they were here and boom! Viral all over again. I’ve gained more than 1,000 new followers and some new subscribers to this newsletter (hello new friends! Below are my top two posts.)

Anyhow, book sales are finally happening! As of today, I have sold 31 books this month. I haven’t had a month like this since I launched The Girl in the Gold Bikini in 2018.

Now that things are settling (I think 🤷🏻‍♀️), I can move ahead with my plan to break away for the rest of the summer. I will only break if something REALLY BIG happens, or if the cats come back.

While I feel really blessed to have had backyard bobcats, I’m feeling shitty about something else.

I planned to read one indie book every month this year, and I have been doing that. But this month, my pick was…how can I say this…not to my taste. The book had a great premise, and the author was doing some brilliant marketing that caught my attention. When the book arrived and I cracked the spine, it took about 40 pages before I couldn’t take it anymore.

It was painfully obvious this book did not have any editors. No developmental editors to advise against some unusual writing techniques that took a reader right out of the story. No copy editors to catch the incorrect grammar (I am forgiving of spelling errors, because we all have them). No proofreaders to catch inconsistencies.

So why do I feel shitty? Because I returned the book. As an indie author myself, I know the pinch and pain of seeing a negative in the sales. In fact, this happened to me this month when a bookstore misunderstood “send the books back to me” for “send the books back to Ingram.” I now have a $320 bill to pay on books that earned me $78.

Emotionally, I am torn about returning this book. Practically, I know I have the right to return anything that does not meet my expectations. I’d take a moldy frozen meal back to the grocery store, so why shouldn’t I return a book that stinks?

I’ll get over the guilt, eventually.

Last week at the bookstore…

Listen, I am not really great at selling my own books while I’m working at the store. I’m not making the assumption that everyone wants to read my book. When a customer approaches me for help, I ask questions to determine what kind of books they enjoy and make similar recommendations. If you like horror, I’m not going to try to sell you Raising Kane. I’m not icky that way, but I know some authors who will lie to a reader just to make a sale. Yuck.

A women came up to the cash desk, buying some books for her grandchildren. I asked her if she found everything she was looking for and she surprised my when she said “No. I wanted something light to read. I’m getting on a plane to Asia tomorrow.”

I got excited. “I’ve got just the book for you. Let’s go.”

I stepped away from the cash register and she followed me to fiction. I put Katya Noskov’s Last Shot in her hands, telling her what it was about.

“Four women in their 50s—”

She cut me off. “Ok. I’m sold.”

That was the easiest sale ever. I gave her the icing on the cake when I told her I wrote it and would be happy to sign it for her. I love that people still get a thrill when they meet an author and I’m happy to oblige.

Who’s an author you met or would love to meet?

I’d love to meet Kristen Hannah.

xo Dana

For the past week, I have been having some sobering thoughts about quitting social media. All of it.

Why?

Because I am so, so tired. I’m tired of scrolling when I could be reading. I’m tired of working my brain to come up with content that is fun and interesting. I’m tired of seeking the dopamine hit of likes and shares and follows only to spiral down after the flurry.

I loved Facebook when I first joined in 2007. I used it for it’s intended purpose: social connection. I was able to reconnect with old friends. I kept in touch with family. It was a fun place to hang out, share status updates (many of which were carefully worded sarcastic remarks because emojis did not yet exist beyond ◔_◔), and post photos of my kids.

I joined Twitter in 2011, when Tweetups—events where we met offline in real life (but live tweeted the whole thing)—were starting to emerge. I met some great people that way, and I am still friends with some of them and recently had dinner with two of those fine friends on my recent trip to Toronto. I am no longer on Twitter (X) at all.

Pinterest was on my radar in 2011. I was invited to join—in the early days that was the only way to get onto the platform—and I ignored it. It took me two years to get a profile there, and then I really did nothing with it. In January of this year, 13 years after I opened the account, I signed up for a 5-day Pinterest bootcamp, with the idea that I would throw some effort into creating content there. I had been hearing murmurs of authors having robust book sales from evergreen pins—pins that are timeless and offer value no matter when users find them. I worked diligently on coming up with content around memoir. I created links to my books and my website. I had some good engagement (saves and pin clicks), but no book sales. Then I got overwhelmed by ONE MORE THING to work on and I stopped. My heart just wasn’t in it.

Threads became part of my social media in 2023. It was reminiscent of what Twitter was before it turned toxic. I could engage with strangers, having fun, short form conversations. It was a nice place to hang out. Most days, it still is.

I didn’t join all these platforms with a view to selling anything. I used them as a way to stay connected, when being a stay-at-home mom was isolating. Social media was a lifeline as we moved back and forth across the country, four times in seven years. I could maintain contact no matter where I lived. All my profiles were personal. I announced my debut book on Facebook and Twitter. The response was more than I had imagined and I had robust pre-sales because of those announcements.

Lately, however, social media is not making me feel great. I am continually checking my feeds. I answer every comment (except the trolls). I am trying to strike a balance between general content (like stories from the bookstore) and sales content. I am burnt out. Book sales have flatlined. No matter how viral I go, the sales just aren’t there. People are not clicking my link to see who I am and what I offer.

After a viral thread or reel, I find myself thinking “Who really cares what I post?” Then, I visit an artist at the Western Oasis at the Calgary Stampede and she tells me she loves seeing my bike ride posts on Instagram. And while that feels good at the moment, by the next day, I’m thinking “I bought a $350 painting from you. Could you maybe buy a $20 book from me?”

Is that petty? I don’t think so. I do what I can to support the business owners, authors, and artists in my circles. I send referrals, I buy your things, I try to convince others to put money in your bank account. I recognize that not everyone thinks the way I do. I accept that. It still stings, though.

The bottom line is I need to sell books. It would be so nice to earn a modest living as an author. Nothing I am doing on social media is working to get people clicking BUY NOW. I am seeing no financial benefit for all my efforts, but I am draining my emotional bank account.

I’ve been inspired by the agenda of a fellow author who has stepped away from social media and will be launching a new book without it (hi, Lisa). It’s a brave and bold move.

Here’s my plan (and let’s see if I can actually do it): delete all social apps from my phone. Only access them from desktop or laptop. For the rest of the summer. This is definitely triggering some anxiety, but I’m not winning at all by obsessing over content, engagement, and lack of sales.

I’m not going to delete my profiles, I’m going to stop posting for a couple of months. I want to be looking up more, peering down less. What will I do with my time now? Read. Hang out with my husband and kids. And maybe get some sparks of ideas for new ways to market my books.

xo Dana

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The email asked if I’d be interested in coming out for an author night, hosted by the Caroline Municipal Library. I was tickled pink. I love meeting readers and I especially love meeting readers in small towns. Whenever I am invited to an event or hold a workshop in a village, hamlet, or town, I feel like I’ve walked away with new friends. Naturally I said “YES” when asked to come to Caroline.

Caroline, Alberta is a 360-kilometre km (224 mi) return drive from my house. The route takes you through some of the most spectacular rolling hills and topography of central Alberta. You will pass many horses, and many, many, many cows once you are north of Cochrane on Highway 22.

Highway 22, also known as the Cowboy Trail, is a 584-kilometre (363 mi) mostly two-lane highway. The mountains are to your west, the ranches are all around, and the road stretches up to the aspen parkland of northern Alberta, a transitional biome between prairie and boreal forest.

Yeah, Alberta is freaking cool that way.

My 20-year-old son gave away his work shift to drive come with me. He wasn’t only motivated by benevolence: he wanted to go to Burger Baron. Until 2023, neither of us had heard of this chain. That year, we attended a screening at the Calgary International Film Festival. The movie, The Lebanese Burger Mafia, was all about the Burger Baron chain and how not a single franchise is run according to the standard operating procedures. Every single restaurant does whatever it wants, adding items to the menu, making their own hours, etc. It’s not uncommon to find donair at one restaurant and lasagna at another. The film was delightful and hilarious. When we found out there was a location in Caroline, of course my son wanted to go.

I packed the car with enough books for the 20-30 people I was told would be attending. We filled our water bottles. We decided to forego snacks, knowing that in four hours—a 2-hour drive there followed by the 2-hour event—we’d be digging into burgers. We hit the road.

We talked about a lot of stuff. I appreciated being a passenger for once, taking in the scenery, listening to my son talk about the things that mattered to him. I am holding as much space as I can for him these days. At the end of August, my baby moves into university residence. I’d take him to 100 Burger Baron burgers if it meant spending more time on a road trip with him before he leaves for his next adventure.

We arrive in Caroline, park on the very empty street in front of the library. We’re early, so we take a walk down main street to find the Burger Baron. On the walk back, I notice a parking lot in front of a bar is packed.

“Saturday in a small town,” I joke. “This must be where all the fun is.”

When I walk into the library, the event co-ordinator is kind, but I sense a bit of anxiety.

“So, um,” she says, “I’m not sure how many people will be coming tonight. You see, um, a man died last month, a really well-known man from town, and his funeral was today. Everyone is either too sad or too drunk to come here.”

Well that explains the bar parking lot.

I didn’t know what to say. Rage bubbled up inside me, but I transposed it into optimism.

“Intimate is okay,” I smiled.

We sat and made small talk while we waited. Start time came and went. One person showed up. Five minutes later, another. The first person who had arrived said she was going to message everyone she knows, reminding them to come. Forty minutes after the planned start time, another person showed up. Then the coordinator’s parents showed up.

“Thanks, mum,” she whispered. I knew then that she had begged them to show up.

I talked about writing, my journey, and my latest novels. I answered a handful of questions. I sold six books. I can only speculate how many I would have sold in a full house. I also donated two books to the library.

By the time I packed up and loaded the car, I was fuming again. I was pissed that the coordinator didn’t think to cancel. She knew I was coming from Calgary. But she’s young, new at her job, and was really hoping for the best. I am now wondering if I should give her honest, unsolicited advice about what to do the next time this happens. What would you do?

My son and I ventured on to Burger Baron. The milkshakes were amazing. The burgers, about the thickness of a Ritz cracker, had clearly been sitting in a steamer for a while. The fries were bland, the gravy tasteless.

I apologized to my son for the lacklustre meal.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “Next time, we’ll go to the one in Sundre. We already know it won’t be same.”

Happy reading!

xo Dana

Oops. I did it again.

I went bonkers viral on Threads. It was my most viewed and engaged-with post ever. Almost half a million people saw this thread.

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I knew when I planned a book signing trip to Toronto that it would be a money loser. I wasn’t going with the hope of making coin. My purpose was clear: to expand my readership beyond Calgary. I can’t find new readers unless I go to them.

I am fortunate to have an extremely supportive husband who encourages me to chase my writerly dreams, no matter the hit to our bank account. I know this is not the case for so many writers.

I reached out to several Indigo stores in Toronto. I wasn’t going to go unless I could get in Bay & Bloor, a difficult store in which to secure a date because everyone wants to sign there. I had reached out far enough in advance that I was able to book. I emailed many other stores in the GTA and the only other one who got back to me was Yonge & Eglinton. The lack of response is an indicator of just how many requests the stores get and so many emails gets lost in the shuffle. I know this first hand, because I am having a hard time getting a signing date at my own store.

Anyhow, off I went, leaving on a jet plane. The last time I travelled alone was in February 2020, when I went to Toronto after my mom had a terrible dementia episode and needed to be moved into assisted living. It was an extremely stressful trip. In order to get my mom to the home, I needed to tell her she was going on vacation. I signed all the papers, paid the deposits, arranged all the finances, all while she happily nibbled on a bran muffin, oblivious to how her life was changing. That’s one of the mercies of dementia.

I spent my 50th birthday that year, alone, in a hotel room, eating grocery store chicken wings.

Horrible trip.

The next few times I went to Toronto were for the funerals of my father-in-law, my mother, and my father. You’d think I’d avoid going there ever again.

But Toronto is where I grew up. It’s where I played in the playground with my friends on the cul-de-sac. I fell off the jungle gym for the first time in that playground, got my legs scratched up by the thorny weeds in the ravine behind the apartment building where we lived, and learned why you should never wear a pad into a swimming pool (our building had an outdoor pool, so I was able to wrap my bottom half and drip my way into the elevator and to our apartment to change).

I walked to the library at the end of the street, on my own, every week. I lost my virginity on the grassy field behind one of the other buildings on the street, to a boy named Ram whose dad was the building’s superintendent. I smoked my first cigarette (stolen from my mom), hosted my first (and only) high school party when my mom was away, and tried pot for the first time on that street.

As a kid in Toronto in the 70s and 80s, our concerns were few. We walked or took the bus everywhere. Sure, we were nervous about being tricked into joining a cult, or being abducted and raped by a random. We pined for love à la Say Anything, Sweet Sixteen and St. Elmo’s Fire. We can now see those movies, when examined under the microscope of current sensibilities, were about a stalker, sexual harassment, and obsessive fixations.

I am continually grateful that GenX did not have internet, Instagram, or TikTok to document our dumbness.

All this is to say that I will never get over Toronto. The city is in my bones, but it’s mostly unrecognizable to me now. I feel like a tourist, and that is exactly how I like it.

This book-signing trip cost me $1959.22. I sold 11 books total over two days, for which I will be paid $34.93. The rest of those books the stores ordered will be returned to IngramSpark and I will have to pay $870 for those returns. I’m honestly trying not to a) puke over that, and b) fighting the desire to quit writing altogether. This kind of math is why so many self-published authors bow out after one or two books. It’s a brutal, money-losing venture, but I am compelled to keep writing stories.

So was the trip worth the expense? I won't know until I people read my books and tell their friends how wonderful they were. Or not. I don't have any regrets about taking this leap of faith; I just wish I could have engaged more people.

At least I'm heading into market season, where my sales are usually better.

For now, though, a few choice photos from my recent Toronto trip.

xo Dana

A couple of weeks ago, I attended my first ever Wordfest event. Wordfest is a huge literary festival that takes place in Calgary every October, but they also have events all year round.

When I heard Adam Shoalts was coming to Wordfest, I clicked BUY NOW so fast. I did not want to miss this event. Shoalts, a Fellow of the Royal Canadian Geographical Society, has been nicknamed Canada’s Indiana Jones for his relentless urge to explore and discover the most remote parts of this country. He has canoed, alone, across the Arctic, and has taken his canoe where canoes have not been seen in centuries (like the Niagara river and Montreal).

I stumbled upon Adam Shoalts when I saw one of his books at the library, A History of Canada in Ten Maps. I borrowed it and was completely sucked in. If my teachers in school taught Canadian history the way Adam writes about it, I would have paid much closer attention. Never in my life had I ever equated Canada’s history with intrigue and excitement. Shoalts changed that.

I wasn’t the first in my household to discover Shoalts. I credit my husband for that. He read Shoalts’ Beyond the Trees long before I read 10 maps. Beyond the Trees is an epic recounting of Shoalts’ solo 4,000km, 4-month canoe journey across the arctic.

My husband loved this book; he, too, loves canoeing. Me? Big nope. I haven’t yet read the book, but I’ve read some excerpts and came away with the knowledge I will never do anything like that. I’ll take my wild adventures in book form, please.

After listening to Adam talk about his latest book, Vanished Beyond the Map, my conviction that I would never get into a canoe only deepened. To me, paddling for 14 hours, sleeping on craggy rocks, and being clouded by a million mosquitos, does not sound fun. But for Adam, this is his energy source. He doesn’t stay on solid ground for long, always feeling the call of his canoe. The slideshow was alternately breathtaking and horrifying.

I left the event feeling inspired by his writer journey, awed by the vastness of this country, and excited to start the new book,Vanished Beyond the Map, I had tucked under my arm.

This week’s fun story from the bookstore:

A woman came up to the cash register with books 3-8 of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series.
"Addicting, isn't it?" I joked.
"Oh, these aren't for me. They are for my husband."
"That's a nice gift for him," I said.
"Oh no," she said, "this is a gift for me. He burned through books 1 and 2. I just want him to leave me alone so I can read the Throne of Glass series."

Solid marriage, this one.

I honestly love this series. Listening to Dungeon Crawler Carl (book 1) as an audiobook was a highly rewarding and engaging experience. I enjoyed it so much, I bought the hardcover, and picked up Carl’s Doomsday Scenario (book 2) as well.

xo

Dana

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The book tour for Raising Kane continues. I’ll be at the MOTHERSHIP, aka, Indigo’s Flagship store on May 30th. I cannot wait to meet Toronto readers!

Have you heard of Matt Dinniman?

He’s the author of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series. You might have been hearing about this series a lot lately. It feels like this just exploded into the world out of nowhere, but the truth is, the series has been building like crazy over the last six years.

I tried to read the first book, Dungeon Crawler Carl, last year but I could not get into it. The writing is solid, I will admit to that, and I was mostly curious about the storyline of an alien invasion/mass destruction with survivor show vibes. It started off fun and amusing. When it pivoted into the game, I kind of lost the plot. I am not a gamer, and this series is extremely appealing to those who are.

My sons, who are gamers, think it’s cute when I throw out terms like NPC¹ or JRPG² like I know what I’m talking about. I had to google LitRPG³ in order to understand the reference to Dungeon Crawler Carl.

Currently at the bookstore (and until May 25, which matters, and I will explain in a moment), we have a multi-purchase deal for the series. Buy 1, get 10% off, buy 2, get 20%, buy 3 or more, get 30% off. There are 7 books in the series, with book 8 releasing this Tuesday (May 12, hence the deal extending two weeks past that release).

I have never seen so many men come through the register since I started at the bookstore nine months ago. They are loading up on the hardcovers. Most of the buyers have already ready books 1-3 and are planning to binge read 5-7 before 8 hits the shelves.

I had one man tell me he read one book in the last decade, but since he discovered Dungeon Crawler Carl, he is now reading a book every 3 or 4 days.

“It’s like this series opened my brain again,” he said as I rung up books 5-7, a $100 sale. I teared up a little.

I am one of those writers/readers who doesn’t care how you consume stories; it’s only important that you do. I tell parents all the time that graphic novels are a gateway to deeper prose. I assure them that their children will thrive whether they dive into the Warrior Cats chapter books or the graphic novel version. I also say that the only spark required is finding the right book. I know JK Rowling is on the outs right now, but I cannot forget how she brought young readers back to books in cult-like droves. I was a manager at Chapters when the first book was released and I was there to witness the line ups and midnight launches for books 2 and 3. So many kids were reading again.

This is what Matt Dinniman has done for so many readers. He gave them a reason to read again. Even though I haven’t read the books⁴, I know they are hitting right simply because so many people are buying and bingeing the series, despite each book having 450+ pages.

I have the deepest admiration for the author. In 2019 he put the first book up on Royal Road, a web novel and fan fiction site and self-published Dungeon Crawler Carl on Amazon in 2020. The audiobook came out in 2021, along with books two and three. Here’s the absolutely mind-blowing thing (and the source of my deep respect for the author): the series had already become highly popular and sold over 800,000 copies through self-publishing, audio, and e-books. Then Penguin Random House acquired the rights in 2024 and things got even better, if you can believe it.

I tip my hat to you, Mr. Dinniman, for truly living the dream.

¹NPC = non-player character

²JRPG = Japanese role-playing games

³LitRPG = Literary role-playing games ( a game that blends science fiction storytelling with immersive computer game worlds)

⁴ On the recommendation of a lot of readers, I decided to listen to the audiobook. The narration is FANTASTIC and I'm trying to figure out how to check out of life for 13 hours and binge listen.

I have a couple more events to share.

I’m teaching a memoir workshop for the Federation of BC Writers this week. It’s not too late to sign up for this 5-day online memoir intensive. It’s fine if you can’t be there every day, because the sessions will be recorded. It’s also extremely affordable for a 5-day online event. Details can be found at this link. Thank you so much to the federation for inviting me.

When I got an email through my website asking me if I’d like to come to Caroline, AB, I ignored it as spam. Lucky for me, the organizer followed up via an Instagram message, confirming she was a real person. I’ll be spending a couple of hours with readers at the public library. Spread the word if you have people in that area.

It doesn't sound rewarding, does it? Would you be surprised to know that this gig had made me a better writer?

Sitting and listening to people talk about the worst day of their life had given me remarkable insight into human behaviour, as has the conduct of the doctors and lawyers conducting the examination.

As a non-participating observer, it's wild what I pick up on. Nervous laughter that precedes an emotional meltdown. A doctor's tone that changes depending on the gender—or even the race—of the patient.

I have peered over the top of my glasses as a physician jokes with an Asian patient whereas the day before he was all business with the caucasian one. I have tried to keep my face impassive as a patient relates how they burn themselves with a lighter to relieve the other pain they feel daily. I’ve witnessed a woman unable to lift an empty milk crate then climb into a pick up truck with ease.

People lie and fake symptoms. Others are stoic until the reality of their new disabilities overcomes them and they have a good cry for ten minutes. Doctors try to be compassionate. Lawyers move on to the next question. People bare their deepest, emotional pain, either openly or with other subconscious acts.

A lawyer twists her pen open and closed when she is uncomfortable. A patient massages the side of his face when he is talking about the accident that changed his life. I listened as someone said they have accident-related memory issues, but they ace a cognitive test.

For more than a decade, I’ve been observing erratic, irrational, and unhinged human behaviour. It’s great fodder for a writer. It may sound harsh, but observing people at their worst helps me bring my characters to life. From small tics to explosive outbursts, seeing the range makes the people I create on the page more real.

And speaking of craft…

I noticed the books on one of my bookshelves were leaning to the left. This was new.

Books were missing. Craft books. To be precise: Save the Cat Writes a Novel and Story Genius.

My 20-year-old confessed to yoinking them from the shelf. He’s been playing around with video game design and storytelling for the past six months. It’s an on-again-off-again project. He got stuck on the story, something with which I am wholly familiar. He had wandered into my office for something (I can’t remember what) and stopped to look at the books on my shelf. The two craft novels caught his eye, so he borrowed them and started reading.

He’s been devouring them for almost two weeks. He’s pulled out his laptop and has been writing. We are having discussions about story beats, and misbeliefs, and third rails, and character arcs. My heart is bursting with joy.

Do I have another writer in the house? Maybe, maybe not. But it’s nice to have the company for now.

I got an email a few weeks ago from Erin at Spisherbocker Books in Diamond Valley, asking for more copies of my memoir workbook. She had sold through all the copies of The Matter of a Memoir I had left after a workshop I ran there for memoir writing.

When I took the copies over, she told me why she sold out.

She had a woman come in who was looking to start journalling. The journal prompt books out on the market weren’t really working for her. She felt a disconnect since many of those journals make the assumption that you have already done some journalling and aren’t brand new at this.

Erin suggested she try my workbook, even though she is not writing a memoir. “It will help you get in touch with who you are and what matters to you,” Erin said she told the woman.

The woman bought the workbook. A few weeks later, another woman came into the store looking for the workbook. Her friend—the woman who wanted to start journalling—told her about it. This woman bought a copy.

A few weeks after that, a local therapist came in to Spisherbocker looking for the workbook. A patient of hers—woman #2—had told her it was helping her work through some childhood trauma while simultaneously calling to mind a lot of the good things. The therapist wanted to buy copies to give to her clients.

And that’s why Erin contacted me to order more.

I stood in the store, stunned. I never know where my next book sale will come from, and hearing this story put a spring in my step for the rest of the week.

If you are curious, you can check out the workbook here.

xo Dana

This is better than sitting in the depressing and barren and run down room. But this is what fit my budget for this book signing trip to Edmonton. It’s about to get loud in this space, since a mom just walked in with two kids and 12 boxes of pizza. All the sport/dance moms now know exactly what kind of hotel I booked into.

Edited to add even more: A couple just strolled in carrying two large brown paper bags and two enormous boxes from Olive Garden and have set up on the entire dining area island. Fuck. My. Life.

Back to the planned content…

My actual author life is so far removed from how I dreamt it would be. As a 16-year-old, I imagined my life as a writer meant being famous, living in a mansion, and spending days crafting the best books in the world.

Forty years have passed since then and my priorities have shifted. Life in the spotlight would make me uncomfortable. I don’t need fame and fortune. I just need to readers to keep finding my books.

What makes me happy are simple things. The laughter of my adult children. A moment to stand in sunshine. Seeing the glee on my husband's face as we fly over and into the Grand Canyon in a helicopter.

It’s the small wins that matter most. Seven new readers took home copies of Raising Kane at the book signing. I had remarkable conversations. And I made two new floofy frenz who did the best job corralling people to my table.

Online sales of Raising Kane have flatlined and I'm not okay with that.

I'm one of many independent authors who is trying my best to tell people about my book. I'm working on extending my audience through in-store signings in Edmonton and Toronto. I'm pushing out content on socials, dancing around anything book-related because that stuff gets sucked into the void faster than a 20-dollar bill in a Las Vegas slot machine.

So many of my author friends are putting on brave faces, but I can feel their emotional burnout coming through the screen. When our books aren't making any money, we smile through the doubt. We swallow the insecurity. We tell ourselves it's beyond our control. And it is. People need groceries, gas, and a roof over their heads.

Books are not a priority right now.

For me, books have always been sanctuary. When I was a lonely latchkey kid, a good book gave me something to look forward to when I got home. Books transported me to other worlds and showed me the lives of other people. Without a doubt, books built my vocabulary from a young age.

Books have helped me cope.

When my first marriage was failing, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus gave me insight into how to fix myself (I know, I know. Big ugh. Filed this under “dumb things I did to be loved”).

Books have given me an outlet for my anxiety.

When COVID had us all in lockdowns, I turned to dystopian fiction to help me manage my emotions. Finding solace in the plight of others made me feel less isolated. Weird.

Books have helped me forget my pain.

When I suffered with a pinched nerve in my neck for two months (a pain akin to pulling your skin off your muscles. 😬), audiobooks were the only things that gave me something other than pain on which to focus. I wasn’t able to sleep, but audiobooks lulled me into a doze, so I wasn’t a complete basket case.

I can’t imagine my world without books, but I can appreciate that is not true for everybody.

People are shocked by the cost of paperbacks, hardcovers, ebooks, and audio books.

Rightly so.

I’m not an economics wizard (in fact, I failed high school accounting), but I am an author who pays for everything related to my books, so I am well-versed in cost of goods sold.

Everything related to getting books into readers’ hands has increased. The cost of paper and the cost of manufacturing that paper. The cost of printing. The cost of ink. The cost of labor.

The cost of gas. The cost of getting books distributed. The cost of production. The cost of electronic delivery.

A publisher has even more expenses. They have to pay all their people - editors, marketers, publicists, printers, shippers...it’s a long list.

I’m not saying it’s right or fair. It just is.

I don’t make a lot of money selling my books. Anywhere from $2-$12 per book depending on all those costs listed above. Independent authors take on all those roles and expenses on their own. We are not looking to get rich. We want to cover our costs and maybe make a few dollars on top of that.

But more than anything, we want you to read and fall in love with our books. A book you have forever, unlike the latte you sipped for 10 minutes (🙋‍♀️ guilty). And it makes us very, very happy.

Isn’t that worth $20 or $25? #supportindieauthors

xo Dana

Did you miss my ode to public libraries? Read it below.

Here's some critical info you can share:

✔️ Dana is super friendly with a welcoming smile.

✔️ She writes across multiple genres: fiction, young adult, middle grade, and memoir.

✔️ Everyone deserves to treat themselves to a new book.

✔️ It’s kind of cool to get an author to sign their book to you.

I appreciate you for all your support and kindness.

XO Dana

I read it in 2022, gave it two stars, and wrote this review:

Ugh. This book was a struggle. The science was a bit complicated, but most of this book read like a manual: do this, then this, then try this, then do this, then wait. Zero connection to the characters for me. Moderately intriguing story.

I know I’m an outlier here. I also know that sometimes a book doesn’t hit right, or it’s not the right time for me to read it, or I go in with expectations that are not met.

Now, 4 years later, my only memory of the book was how hard I found it to visualize some of the things that happened. My brain was having a really tough time constructing the space of, well, space.

And now, we have the movie.

We went to see it on it’s opening day. I’ll be real: I was not really excited about sitting for more than 2.5 hours to watch an adaptation I had little interest in. And then I blinked, the hours were gone, and I turned to my husband and said, “I want to see that again.”

So we did. Two days ago. In IMAX. It was even more immersive than seeing it on a regular screen. I enjoyed watching the film again as much I enjoyed the reactions of the others in the theatre, especially those who were watching for the first time.

Having already been a newbie, I was able to experience the movie differently. I noticed things I missed the first time. My anticipation still built even though I knew how the story rolled out.

Project Hail Mary is breaking records and bringing people back to the theatre in droves. It made $140 million on its opening weekend, which is a lot, but not as record-breaking as the media says it is for a non-franchise movie (as in anything Marvel or DC or Star Wars). The Barbenheimer weekend in 2023 was way bigger. Barbie brought in $356m; Oppenheimer brought in $180m.

So why is everyone making such a BIG DEAL about Project Hail Mary?

As a former film student with some experience with the industry, I have thoughts on this.

First of all, this movie is a cinematic masterpiece. The colours, the soundtrack, the acting, the construction of the whole thing is almost perfection in my opinion. The framing is so carefully crafted, a technique meant to draw us in slowly. Let me explain.

At the start, we see Ryland Grace dwarfed by his surroundings. He is lost and confused. He doesn’t remember who he is or why he’s in space. The framing helps us mirror the character’s feelinbs of overwhelm.

Gradually, things get closer and more intimate. The deeper we are in the frame, the more emotionally attached we get. Again, the framing is meant to bring us closer to the character. As his confidence grows, so does our emotional connection.

Yet from the beginning of the movie, the camera angles throw us into as much confusion as Grace. The camera spins and moves in a manner much like a ship in space. We are confused, maybe with a little motion sickness. I found myself wanting the spinning to stop, which is exactly how Ryland must have felt after a long, medically-induced coma.

Here’s some other reasons why this movie is all everyone wants to talk about.

There is almost no green screen or CGI in the film. The sets were built, not created on a computer. Rocky is a puppet with actual human puppeteers manipulating him. The sound outside the ship in the scenes that take place in space, have no sound because, well, there is no sound in space.

I think our subconscious is picking up on all this. I don’t know how, but I suspect that our brains can pick up the “realness” of everything. At least, I’m hopeful that’s what it is.

With all the turmoil swirling around us, I want to believe that our subconscious is seeking and holding onto anything that makes us feel good. How else can we explain that we have completely fallen in love with a rock? Or that a wardrobe (in the Earth scenes) has become its own charming character?

And Ryan Gosling is incredible. It’s not easy to carry 2/3 of a movie engaging with an alien life force. Also, he’s so damn easy on the eyes.

I think one of the core reasons Project Hail Mary is such a hit is because we recognize that Ryland Grace is a flawed human being. He makes mistakes. He has to fake it till he makes it. He’s struggling with his shitty situation and has to make decisions that not only affect him, but the entire human race - and the alien one too. It’s a hopeful story that weaves together science, the alien world, and an unlikely friendship.

References from this movie have already ingrained itself into our daily lexicon. “Two thumbs down” and “amaze, amaze, amaze” are now part of daily discussions, in real life and on the web.

I am now questioning my original review of the book. I will re-read it, and I will probably resurrect my audible account to listen to the audiobook. The narrator, Ray Porter, is one of my husband’s favourites, and by all accounts from strangers on the internet, Porter knocks it out of the park.

This movie will make you laugh and cry, will fill you with wonder, will have you on the edge of your seat. You will be transported somewhere else for two hours and thirty-six minutes, to a world not free of complications, but one that feels better at times than the one we exist in right now.

In a world where we can’t believe anything, it’s nice to willfully suspend disbelief for a couple of hours. Isn’t that something we all need right now, question?

xo Dana

For those of you with 3D printers, the Project Hail Mary has a downloadable template.

And of course, because I am a science nerd, here’s how NASA explains the science of Project Hail Mary.

Good morning friend,

The nice thing about putting this newsletter on a bi-weekly schedule is that I can collect all the things I want to share and hit you with many all at once. The down side is that if I don’t make a note on my phone or email myself, I will forget the brilliant idea immediately. An aging, menopausal brain is no joke.

That being said, I am not likely to forget a recent lunch date with a writer friend at French 50 Bakery in Okotoks, AB. This place has been on my to-try list for ages. I’ve bought their sourdough bread at markets. It’s so good, I growled at my younger son when he tore off a hunk. I did not want to share. So when I finally had the opportunity and a booked date to visit, I was counting down the days.

I was not expecting the absolute charm of this place. Not only do they have coffee, tea and pastries, the also have savoury foods. It’s not just a bakery, it’s also a bistro. My friend, author Laurie Carmichael, and I each ordered a beverage and some food. I chose a cup of mushroom soup; she selected carrot ginger soup. It was a brisk but sunny day, about 1º Celsius (34ºFahrenheit). There is limited seating inside, but the bakery/bistro has an added solarium made with walls that roll up and a retractable roof. There was adequate seating out there. I mentally prepared myself for a chilly lunch.

This was not the case at all; they have heaters. But I swear I squeaked with delight when I discovered the sheepskin seat covers and blankets hanging along the back wall. It’s a tiny detail that makes a huge difference. And from a business perspective, it’s an investment that has a big payoff, giving a summer space utility in the winter months. So. Damn. Smart.

I can wholly get behind this small, family-owned business, not only for their innovation, but for how they took a 110-year-old historic home in the Okotoks downtown district on Elma Street and made it even more special for the community.

And the soup, paired with the sourdough I love so much, was the best I’ve had in years. I’ll be back, and I’m bringing friends.

Jeff and I have been married for more than 20 years. With that comes this weird superpower of being on the same page and having the same thoughts. While we are in different places. And not talking about anything related. Here’s an example.

One night, Jeff is looking at Skip and he says, “I don’t know why, but I have a craving for sweet & sour chicken balls.”

I laugh, because I, too, for some unexplained reason have been thinking about Chinese food in general and chicken balls in particular. I tell him that, then follow up with, “but I’d really love some chop suey.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh as he turns his phone towards me, showing me he’s already on the chop suey menu page. Same cravings. Same brain wave.

What make this so deliciously weird is that in the two decades of marriage, we’ve ordered those items exactly twice. Chop suey and chicken balls are far outside the realm of our normal Chinese food take out orders. So why were we both craving these things at the exact same time? Are we so deeply connected that our brainwaves pass between us without our knowledge like Facebook delivers ads about things we talked about once? We will never know. It freaks me out when it happens. The husband and wife brain thing, not the Facebook thing - that one I understand completely (ask me to explain geo-fencing if you are curious).

The chop suey was okay; the chicken balls were a massive disappointment. Hard as rocks and tasteless. The sauce was too watery to do anything other than slide off the ball.

Craving not curbed in the slightest.

I might be able to stave off my craving if I can get my hands on Needoh. Do you know what that is? It’s the latest fidget toy. It’s soft and squishy and so deeply satisfying. We had 1000s of units in the bookstore over Christmas. It was a stocking stuffer and teenage favourite. We were bursting at the seams with it. So. Much. Needoh. Until late February, when a TikTok video went viral. It took maybe three days for us to completely sell out. We still get multiple calls per day from customers looking for it. When it’s stocked, it’s gone in hours. We now have limits on how much a person can buy at once since the re-sellers are becoming predatory about it.

Sigh. NeeDoh? More like NeeDon’t. But I secretly want to get my hands on one now so I can play use it as part of my physiotherapy hand exercises. Like all viral things, the craze will fade as soon as something else gains viral fame.

@needohofficialYou really NEED-oh to start your cube collection today!🧊✨ Keep it cool, calm, and squishy with @terratoys🥹💙 #NeeDoh #NeeDohOfficial #SquishyToys #SquishySensation #NeeDohNiceCube #NiceCube #IceCube #NeeDohNiceIceBaby #NiceIceBaby #NiceBerg #NeeDohNiceBerg

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Have a wonderful week!

XO Dana

NEED SOMETHING TO READ OVER MARCH BREAK?

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Good morning friend,

You might have noticed that my email landed in your inbox with a new title and a new photo this morning. I have been chewing on a name change for a while, but nothing I came up with stuck. On Friday though, when I pulled out my current notebook to start re-working the next novel (for, like, the fifth time), I was getting a new idea. I have a shelf on my bookcase where I house all my notebooks: book planning notebooks, a manifesting journal, the notebook where I take notes when I have calls with clients, gorgeous leather journals I fill with educational stuff from workshops and classes I’ve taken as well outlines for courses I offer, a camping logbook, a travel journal, and a notebook where I practice craft with prompts, freestyle writing, and other quirky exercises.

I’m telling you this because when I looked at the shelf, I saw the last decade of my writing career. That’s how the new name for this newsletter came to me.

The Writer’s Notebook.

This new name will be more reflective of the content you’ll find in your inbox on Sunday mornings: stories about writing, books, and the bookstore. Notes where I reflect on life and travel. Weird stuff that makes me laugh. Ranting when I need to vent. Oh, and I plan on including more photos, because a wall of text is boring.

I am also changing the frequency. This email will now be sent bi-weekly. Our inboxes are inundated with emails we don’t have time/don’t want to read and I’d rather my newsletter not be one of those. The byproduct of this change is twofold: it will make for more interesting content and it will ease the pressure off me to come up with content every week. Working at the bookstore takes chunks out of my writing time and sometimes drains my creative well. I don’t want either of these passions to suffer. I can’t choose a favourite, so I have to find the way to give both of these endeavours the time to flourish.

Last week went by in a blur. We came back from an 11-day vacation and I was right back to my desk, editing a legal video, working on book layout for two authors and getting things ready for my launch at Owl's Nest Books. After days upon days of disregarding the time of day and the day of the week, it was nice to have purpose.

The launch was intimate and exactly what I needed to realize how lucky I am to have great people around me. Those who matter show up for you, online and in real life.

Friday morning, I grabbed a notebook to make notes for this newsletter. Two sentences in, my fountain pen ran dry. I can’t think of anything worse than being in a richly creative space and having it derailed by an empty pen. Couldn’t I just grab another pen? No. My fountain pen is part of the process. I cannot just use another pen anymore than you can decide to start sleeping naked after a lifetime of getting into your pyjamas at bedtime. That’s not how life works.

Fortunately, filling the pen is not hard. A little messy, though. I did not have inky fingers on my list today, but…

I am closing off this week’s email with four important photos from our vacation. We were in Florida, heading onto a cruise. We spent one day at DisneyWorld. Jeff is a Disneyphile; me, not at all. I agreed to a single park on a single day. Look how happy he is.

I survived the day at the park and was all smiles from there on. These next two photos are an example of just how good I am feeling now that I have lost about 65 pounds. For the first time in 46 years, I wore a bikini. I didn’t care what other people saw because this was my celebration. I felt great. Proud. Lighter (both physically and emotionally).

When we hit the mall, it dawned on me that I was able to shop off the rack again. I spied this Karl Lagerfeld dress and immediately decided if it fit it was coming home with me. I had so many emotions in that fitting room. Disbelief. Joy. Confidence. I can’t wait for warmer weather so I can wear it every day.

Stay tuned for more good things from the new and improved newsletter and the new and improved me.

xo Dana

RSVP here for February 26th at Owl’s Nest.

RSVP here for March 5th at Chapters.

I hope to see you there!

Good morning friend,

I only had one shift last week at the bookstore, but holy heck was it a good one.

I walked into the staffroom to be greeted by an ARC (advance reader copy) of Heather Marshall’s upcoming novel, Liberty Street. Heather is an auto-read author for me, so I might have screamed a little when I saw that book waiting for me to take home.

We had a couple of sick calls, making me one of four people working the closing shift. Bare bones staffing meant there were periods when I was the only person on the sales floor. This is not an issue for me. I like to keep busy and when you are the only visible person, you get asked ALL the questions.

I helped a dad find The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens. I showed a couple of teenagers where to find the NeeDoh (sensory squishy stuff that is all the rage among this demographic). I put a copy of Stephen King’s The Wastelands into the hands of reader who wasn’t able to locate it. I made recommendations for memoir, romance, and history. I talked to a couple who were curious why Kobo is better than Kindle (short answer: Kobo connects to Libby).

When I was on cash, I had time to really engage with customers. One woman hadn’t updated her email or phone number on her Plum account for six years.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but that’s a lot of 20% off birthday coupons you missed,” I said. “Let’s make last year the last time that happens.” I updated all the things in her account, including adding her birthdate. I reviewed the program benefits for her to ensure she could get the most out of her free membership.

It took me a few minutes, but there was no line, and I firmly believe customer retention is just as important than acquisition. Before she left, I advised her to make a list of books she might want when she comes back in April for her discount.

When I asked a gentleman if he had a Plum account, he immediately said no. This is a trigger response for anyone who doesn’t shop Indigo on a regular basis. I always follow up by asking if there is a phone number I can look up for anyone in their household. Often, a wife will have the account. Or the mom. Or the uncle. Or the sister or brother. This man standing in front of me shrugged then shook his head.

“I don’t think so. It’s fine.”

Normally, I would then pitch they sign up, but something made me ask him this: “Throw me a phone number and let’s check.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced, reciting a number. Yep, he was in our database, and he had enough points sitting in his account to redeem for $10 off his purchase. Yep, he was super thrilled I pushed.

I told the next customer who tried to shrug me off about the last guy who did that and almost walked away from a $10 reward. That person had $5 in redemption points. I was giving away money.

But the absolute—ABSOLUTE—pinnacle of the night was when a woman came to the cash register with a couple of mugs. I tuned the first one over to scan the bar code on the bottom and something fell out onto the counter.

I picked it up and could not stop the laugh that ERUPTED. It was a tiny, 3D printed penis. Complete with flat-bottomed balls so it could sit upright.

I paused to examine this inch-and-a-half marvel and the customer blurted out, “Is that a penis?”

“Yup. It just fell out of the mug.”

We looked at each other for a moment. Eyes wide. And then we were laughing together. My eyes, and hers, were tearing up. It was a joyous moment shared between strangers.

“Do you want to keep it?” I asked. She did not.

My colleagues were delighted when I shared my little discovery. According to my manager, this is not the first time a little prick has been found in the store. Cue even more laughter, not only at the pun, but at the visual in my head of tiny penises surreptitiously planted throughout the store.

Good lord, I love this job.

XO Dana

PS: I’m going on vacation, so the next newsletter won’t be out until March 1.

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Last week felt heavy. Book sales have tanked, and the month ended with zero sales. The last time I had no book sales was August 2025.

It’s this kind of thing that makes it so hard to keep going as a writer. I have seven books in the world and not one of them landed in readers hands during the entire month of January. Not even my new release.

It’s a terrible and mostly impossible thing to earn a living solely as an author. Most of us have full-time jobs. Many, like me, are juggling multiple streams of income. I have my legal video work and my job at the bookstore to sustain me (and get me out of the house so I don’t go loopy). This is just the reality of not being a high profile author.

Just because I accept this doesn't mean I like it. Being an indie author is hard and that's why I decided that every month this year, I'll buy an independent, self-published author's book. In case you missed it on socials, January's pick was Living with Fire by Tamara Rene, a fun and spicy firefighter romance.

I finished the week by reading a substack by Kathleen Schmidt, a publicist who has worked with some very big names. I reached out to Kathleen four years ago when I was considering hiring a publicist. Her monthly fee was more than some people earn in a year, so obviously way out of my budget. I love her substack because it’s informative for anyone, not just authors.

But this one poured a gallon of salt into my failing-as-an-author wound. It’s absolutely worth taking the time to read. The piece looks at how broken the bestseller list system is and how it’s manipulated to fit the needs of the media publishing said lists, not the desires or actual purchases by readers.

Publishing Confidential

A Tale of Three Bestseller Lists

I hope you are safe and warm wherever you are. We got about 10-12 inches of snow where I live at the Jersey Shore, which is highly unusual, so, as you can imagine, everything is shut down. I was supposed to start teaching undergrads at Fairleigh Dickinson tonight, but the class was cancelled, so I gave them an assignment: find an example of PR writing i…

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7 months ago · 172 likes · 55 comments · Kathleen Schmidt

Look, I know I’ll never make it onto a bestseller list. I won’t win any awards unless I pay for them. I’m okay with that. I don’t want to be famous, but it would be nice to sell some books every month.

I’m going to stop the whining here, because I don’t like dwelling in the negative. I’m going to pull myself together and head out into the world, delivering books to the small bookstores that have supported me since I published The Girl in the Gold Bikini and continue to carry my books. I creep their inventory, my spirits instantly lifted when I see that number go down, even by one.

That’s one of the ways I find to build myself, levelling up one day while other days I’m starting at square one. That’s life for most people.

I did have two victories last week. I am on mission this year to take back control of my work and my sales.

1) I created a form to enable independent bookstores to order directly from me.

2) I killed my Linktree and built my own. It lives on my website.

I’ll keep on keeping on. I’m about to start writing a new novel. I’m working on some back end things that I’ll share in future newsletters. In the meantime, I’d like to remind you to claim your tickets for the launch of Raising Kane. Jeff says it’s my best book yet, and I have to believe my husband is right.

There are two dates to choose from:

February 26th at Owl’s Nest (7-8:30pm): Reserve here

March 5th at Chapters Chinook (6-8pm) : Reserve here

I hope to see you there!

Xo Dana

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I'm not sure where I went wrong, but it appears that Raising Kane is now available for sale on Amazon. Clearly I was too excited and wanted to release this book ASAP. Order here.

If you haven’t already reserved your seat(s) for the book launch for Raising Kane, please do so at one of the links below. Even though they are free events, it helps the venues prepare adequately when they have a rough idea of how many people are attending.

February 26th at Owl’s Nest (7-8:30pm): Reserve here

March 5th at Chapters Chinook (6-8pm) : Reserve here

Good morning friend,

I apologize if you are getting tired of reading about the book I gave up on at 50,000 words, then picked up again, then dumped once more, then approached again with a different character’s point of view.

But here’s what I figured out last week: NOTHING was working because the story was all wrong.

Last Tuesday, I sat down at my desk, pulled out all my craft writing books and got down to business. My goal was to re-read some parts of each book, hoping to get back to the drawing board.

When a book isn’t working, this is what I have to do. I have to pick up the books that helped me refine my writing. I have two that I go back to over and over: Lisa Cron’s Story Genius and Jessica Brody’s Save the Cat Writes a Novel. Each is brilliant in it’s own way. Story Genius is wonderful for drilling into what Cron calls the third rail - the live wire, like what powers subways. The third rail is the internal struggle of the protagonist that connects all the external events to what’s at stake. It’s what gives a story emotion and impact and keeps things interesting for the reader. Save the Cat Writes a Novel is perfect for figuring out pacing and structure. Brody breaks down story into 15 beats - the rhythmic framework for a novel.

I started with Story Genius. I haven’t cracked open this book since I started working on Raising Kane in 2021.* I had barely re-read 10 pages when all the synapses started firing. I opened up my notebook to a blank page and began writing down whatever came to mind.

I absolutely love putting pen to paper. It slows my brain down, forcing me to unpack my ideas one at a time. I liken it to thinking out loud, but without moving my lips. As I finish writing one idea, another is already forming. This doesn’t happen to me at a keyboard.

As I was scribbling, the energy inside me was flowing. I was getting excited. I knew what was happening: I was getting close to finding the core of the story. I kept writing, letting my mind go wherever it needed to go. And then it happened.

The pieces started to fit together. The stakes for my main character became clear. The layers of the story revealed themselves. I wrote faster to capture this train of thought before it escaped me.

The feeling is akin to finding a perfect and free parking spot in the downtown core of any city. It’s a victory, one that you want to brag about. I was so excited I yelled for my youngest son to come downstairs so I could share this immensely good news. He listened for ten minutes as I laid out the plot, the secondary characters, the interwoven storylines, and the stakes for everyone on the page.

He smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve figured out what the story is about.”

I’m not done with this process yet. I still have more to work through in Story Genius, but I have leaped over the first hurdle: figuring out what makes this story interesting to write. I am so excited to finally—FINALLY— have direction for this next novel.

Last week, when I pulled out the fountain pen my sons bought me for my birthday last year, I was surprised it was dry. Through Google I learned fountain pen ink evaporates. Actually, the water evaporates while the ink residue stays behind. What's the fix? Adding water to the cartridge. Easy, right?

Nope.

The cartridge opening is so small that when I tried to add water, it just bubbled out. Water and newly wet ink dribbled all over my fingers. A needleless syringe would work, but who has those sitting around their house?

I tried letting only drops of water come out of that tap, but that didn't work either. After I cleaned up a second blue mess, I gave up. I'd have to find time to pick up a syringe somewhere.

And then I had a breakthrough moment, my second one of the week. I needed a conductor for the water. More specifically, I needed adhesion - a conduit for water drops to stick to and drip into the cartridge.

I put my physics cap on. What could I use? When I opened my desk drawer my eyes landed on a blue paperclip. Unbend me, it whispered. I stuck the end of the unbent paperclip into the cartridge opening, let the water drip slowly out the tap, and slipped the other end of the paperclip into the flow. I watched the water travel down the paperclip and in seconds, the cartridge was full. A few flicks with my nail and the ink was blended in.

Science is cool, right?

XO Dana

*My eyes bugged out of my head when I checked that date. How did five years go by so fast? 😲 I still remember the day I sat at the kitchen table in an Airbnb condo in Canmore, purple fountain pen in hand, filling out scene cards. My husband and sons were skiing while I was madly scribbling.

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February 26th at Owl’s Nest (7-8:30pm): Reserve here

March 5th at Chapters Chinook (6-8pm) : Reserve here

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Good morning friend,

Last week, I was in Toronto with my husband and one of our sons taking care of the last bits of my late father’s estate. I had planned for three days, but what needed to be done took about 2.5 hours. That freed us up to do something else, so we checked out of our Toronto hotel and went to Niagara Falls.

I lived in the tourist town for 2 years. I was part of the opening team for Casino Niagara. I had taken the job after being unable to find full-time work as a reporter. The Canadian newspaper industry had experienced a seismic shift in 1995-1996, the year I was looking for a job. Conrad Black’s Hollinger Inc purchased seven papers in Ontario from Southam.

Hollinger Inc., announced it was doubling its stake in Southam, Canada’s biggest-selling newspaper group, to 40 percent. That gave Black effective control of Southam, putting him in charge of 59 of Canada’s 104 daily newspapers.

Southam’s 20 newspapers, representing 28 percent of the daily circulation in Canada, include the Montreal Gazette, Ottawa Citizen, Calgary Herald and Vancouver Sun. In all, Black’s Canadian papers will hold 42 percent of the national circulation.

~ Associated Press, June 2, 1996

The fallout: editors-in-chief being let go; section editors taking on more desks (i.e. the city editor now has to cover sports and entertainment as well); reporters being canned because stories would now be syndicated (i.e. news rolled out from a central source and shared among all the papers).

The scoop: Finding a job was impossible, especially for rookies like me.

I had student loans to pay, so off I went to the Falls. The salary was ridiculously lucrative. I was able to pay off $36,000 (!!!!!) in student loans in less than two years while paying my rent and covering all my expenses and having a satisfying social life and driving over the border for shopping sprees.

I had never lived in a tourist town. Niagara Falls was crazy during the summer months. The sidewalks of Clifton Hill, where the flashing-light-cheese museums and attractions are, were packed edge-to-edge with people. There were line-ups at the more popular attractions. Every Maid of the Mist boat was sold out. People stood 10-15 deep at the viewing wall of the falls. Every hotel was filled to capacity.

When winter hit, the crowds thinned, but it was still busy. Niagara Falls is a sight to behold in the winter. The ice bridge is unimaginable with it’s giant jutting blocks of ice. The falls rage on, the river running underneath the frozen field. Once upon time, people could walk on the ice. The practice stopped after February 1912, when the bridge broke apart and three people died.

But tragic history aside, Niagara Falls was a fun place to live. There wasn't much to do at night, but I worked 4pm to midnight, five days a week. I sometimes headed to Toronto on my days off. Other times, I was fine with chilling in my apartment, getting my groceries, and doing my laundry. The casino life was fast-paced and high-stress. The small town quiet provided a good balance.

We haven’t done the drive from Toronto to Niagara Falls since 2011. The landscape along the QEW past the Burlington Bay Skyway has changed dramatically. Whole communities have erupted where once there was farmland or parkland. We used to be able to see the lake from the highway, but that view has been replaced by townhomes and condos. It was shocking, but we also understood the necessity. With Toronto becoming so unaffordable, Stoney Creek, Grimsby, Jordan, and St. Catharines expanded to become commuter towns.

Once we were checked in to our hotel in Niagara Falls, we were met with another shocking site: a ghost town. There were no cars on the Rainbow Bridge. No people on Clifton Hill. No one walking along the Niagara River Parkway. No ice bridge.

Even the five-star restaurant we went to for dinner was empty. We were the only people in the place for two hours (when a single diner came in and sat at the bar).

It was like we drove for an hour and forty-five minutes and arrived in a dystopian novel’s landscape.

I don't know why this is happening, but for the sake of the workers who depend on the tourism for their livelihood, I hope what we witnessed was just a blip.

Add to that weirdness: Jeff turned his phone to me and said, “Look what I just bought.” It was the audiobook for my first middle grade novel, Shift. I didn’t even know it was released. There was not a peep from my publisher, the agency that represents me, nor the audiobook publisher. The book just quietly appeared (without the cover art, I might add, which is also weird).

We listened to it on the drive back to Toronto. The narrator, Brian Holden, did a fantastic job.

It's an interesting thing to listen to someone else read out your words. Even though I know the text off by heart, hearing Brian bring life to my characters moved me deeply. I was teary eyed.

Here’s the Audible link where you can listen to a sample and buy the book.

Because we were in Toronto, I only had two shifts at the bookstore. It’s been quiet, which means I get assigned tasks now. On Thursday, I learned how to build a well (a deliberate and organzied stack of books on the floor) and I also built a display of Colleen Hoover’s latest, Woman Down, in the front window.

We’ve said goodbye to our seasonal employees and we have also been saying farewell to some long-term employees. It’s a testament to the calibre of people working in the store when the whole vibe changes with the departure of co-workers. I am saddened by the leaving of two of them, both who have been generous with their time, showing me how to do things, training me on the fly, and sparking great conversations. I am sad to see them go, but I know better and bigger things wait for them.

XO Dana

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February 26th at Owl’s Nest (7-8:30pm): Reserve here

March 5th at Chapters Chinook (6-8pm) : Reserve here

Pre-order Kindle

Pre-order Kobo

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Good morning friend,

A year ago, I decided to give Tok Tok a whirl. I had no plan and no strategy. I was going to give it six months. I started posting what I wanted, when I wanted. I created videos around my life, my observations, and my books. I was watching what gained traction. Any kind of shit-talking garnered big views. Anything with an intriguing cover image and text also did well. Content around my books? They languished like an earthworm on a sidewalk after the rain had long passed.

I checked my stats at the end of the summer. Not too shabby. Some videos were tagged as favourites and saved. I went from zero followers to almost 200. I decided to extend the experiment to the end of the year.

Last Tuesday, I deleted my account. I can say without hesitation that TikTok did nothing for my book sales. It provided me with another distraction, a time-wasting, mindless-scrolling outlet. Meh, I thought, I’d much rather be reading.

I thought I’d revisit Pinterest and see if I could gain some leverage over there. I started posting a miscellany of pins five months ago. The only one that performed well was a graphic I made of my book writing process.

I’ve decided to back off for now. I do not have the bandwidth to spend time on another platform I don’t enjoy. I’ll stick to the three I like: Facebook, Instagram, and Threads (links below if you aren’t already seeing my content on those platforms).

I have decided that 2026 will be the year I say NO to the things that eat my time with no reward. I’ve already unsubscribed from a bunch of newsletters I no longer want to read. I turned down an offer to do a school visit because they invited me to drive 45 minutes one way to read someone else’s book to three classes for 20 minutes. There was no offer of renumeration of some kind, either an honorarium or buying books.

Listen, I am 55 years old. I have seven published books in the world. It’s taken me this long to figure out that I have value and should not settle for anything less than my worth. I am officially waving buh-bye to anything with zero gains.

In that vein, I will be more selective about the markets for which I sign up. I kept track last year, so I now know exactly which ones were profitable. I made money at every market, but once I considered driving, setup, and my time at the table, the profit was often diluted almost into non-existence.

I guess this is a form of author self care. I want to protect my heart from disappointment. I want to nourish my relationship with my husband (and every weekend market in the summer starves us of time together). I want to lean into the things I love doing and that contribute to earning a living (the bookstore and working on book layouts for indie authors are top contenders).

I am fortunate to still love the craft of writing and I will continue working on the next novel, and the next, and the next. But I need to take better care of my author self. Right now, that means saying yes to the variety of things that pique my curiosity, fill my brain with dopamine, and bring a spring to my step.

xo Dana

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This week's bookstore story happened when I took my sons out for lunch. We were talking about friendships and friend groups when my 20yo confessed he needs some better skills in that area.

“I heard there's a book that can maybe help me with that,” he said.

I was already nodding my head. “That would be How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

He pointed across the table. “That's the one. Geez mom, you have really found your soul's home at the bookstore.”

An incredible warmth washed over and through me for two reasons. 1) he is right and, 2) he gives me goosebumps with his astute observations. My soul is indeed home.

I bought him the book that evening before my shift started.

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RSVP here for Chapters.

I hope to see you there!

Good morning friend,

I just got paid on Friday for the two weeks of work between December 14th and Boxing Day. I had to check the paycheque, because surely there was an error. I didn’t work that much, did I?

It seems I did: 70 hours in the two weeks. Huh. I survived my first Christmas in retail since 2003. It went by so fast, but it was incredibly hard. The absolute chaos, long shifts, and incredible pace—and holy shit ALL THE RETURNS EVERY DAY (even on Boxing Day)—took my breath away and had me sweating from exertion.

I described this insanity to one of my managers as the queen ant having died and the entire colony was in chaos. People were everywhere. I’d be helping one, and three others would call out to me for help. It was overwhelming. I felt like I was swimming upstream, trying to navigate my way through all the bodies. I did my best to acknowledge everyone and tell them I’d be right with them, but as I made my way back, two more would snag me. I felt bad for leaving people hanging, but I was also thriving on the busy-ness.

I hadn’t realized how the weeks leading up to Christmas and Boxing Day knocked me on my ass until December 30th. I was off that day and the next and I was so damn tired and glad it was over. I guess I hadn’t noticed because every time I walk into the store, I am so deliriously happy to be there.

When I went back to work on the 1st, I felt a bit rejuvenated. I had a gentle start to the day, filling the holes in the staff picks, re-shelving the returns, and chatting with my co-workers. It was nice. One of my colleagues apologized for sniffing candles while I was putting things away. I laughed; we are all burnt out and I did not begrudge him a moment to smell the balsam and cedar.

Things will settle down as we get further into January. I’ll be able to do that thing I love most: chat with customers, help them find the books they seek, and make recommendations.

Even though gift-giving season is over, I want to tell you about Brian, a vendor I met at the High River Christmas market. Brian’s table was packed with charcuterie boards, cutting boards, serving trays, and cribbage boards, all made by him. I’ve been in the market for a new cutting board since our current one is warped and in rough shape. I’ve been chatting with woodworking vendors at every market I’ve attended since the fall of 2024, searching for someone who could make a custom cutting board of large proportions.

I found several, but their prices were way out of my budget. After a brief conversation, Brian guess-timated what the cutting board would cost. With a handshake, the deal was made.

I was shocked when Brian sent me progress emails. “Wood chosen,” he emailed. “I’ll start putting the pieces together tomorrow.” Not only did Brian tell me what was happening at every stage, he sent photos. I was not expecting that level of communication.

The finished product was more than I expected. It’s a beautiful, sexy, 18x20 showpiece for our kitchen. The price was extremely reasonable. He asked nothing of me other than “Tell your friends” when I went to pick up the board.

So that’s what I’m doing. Brian doesn’t have a website nor does he have presence on social media. He’s just a guy who makes beautiful things from wood in his spare time. You can reach out to him directly via email zappeyb@gmail.com.

Last week, I had minimal meaningful interactions with customers. I spent the bulk of my time on cash, but I still managed to sneak in mini-conversations. One young woman was vibrating with excitement when she discovered we had copies of Rachel Reid’s Heated Rivalry.

“I live in New York and not a single copy can be found anywhere,” she told me. “Finding this made my day!”

Our store was lucky enough to receive a post-Christmas shipment of almost 50 copies (all gone now). Since the release of the gay hockey romance series on Crave, everyone wants to read Rachel Reid. It’s the hottest title right now, both in-store and on-screen. 😜

I was reflecting on this last night. Streaming services not only changed how we consume shows and movies, but how we choose what to read. Netflix’s Frankenstein sparked an increase in sales of Mary Shelley’s book. The upcoming theatre release of Project Hail Mary made that book one of the most requested this holiday season. The same is happening with Hamnet, a wonderful book by Maggie O’Farrell whose adaptation is now in theatres. In fact, this trend has so much momentum, the store has a display of books on a Page to Screen table.

It made me a little wistful for my days as a product manager for Chapters. Back then, it was up to the managers to come up with themed display ideas. One of my favourite tables to set up was the Oscar nominees. As soon as they were announced, I ordered the books on which some of the nominees were based. My display was smaller than the Page to Screen selection is now and it never sold out like these novels do nowadays. Still, I’m pleased to see books finding new homes, regardless of the path they take to get there.

Happy reading!

xo Dana