I told you all about the Kickstarter and 28 Days of Joy last week, so I’m not going to repeat myself today. Instead, I want to tell you where I was exactly six years ago.

On August 17, 2020, I woke up at a campsite at Chain O’Lakes State Park waiting for the results of my breast biopsy.

Jim and I had gone camping because we needed the escape, and because I needed something to do besides stare at my phone and wonder when the doctor would call. That morning, I sat at a picnic table surrounded by birds and trees and wrote in my journal:

I’m doing okay, and then I’m not. I woke up scared.

Later, I climbed into a hammock strung between two trees and let myself do absolutely nothing. I listened to birds. I watched the leaves. I noticed a little boy proudly telling us about a tiny toad he’d found. I wrote that his grin was “big enough to swallow my fear.”

I didn’t get the results that day.

The next morning, August 18, I wrote that I felt better. More relaxed. I’d spent the previous day swaying in that hammock, letting my mind go quiet.

Then my doctor called.

I had breast cancer.

I’ve been going through those journals again as I work on Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist, and I keep finding moments I’d forgotten. Not the big things, necessarily. I remember the diagnosis. I remember surgery and chemo and radiation. But I don’t always remember the trees. The birds. The tiny toad. The fact that on the day before my life changed, I was already trying to figure out how to be present while I waited for something I couldn’t control.

Tomorrow, exactly six years after that phone call, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist.

Choosing August 18 was deliberate. I didn’t want the anniversary to be only about the day I was diagnosed. I wanted to mark it by creating something, by finally bringing this book into the world, and by doing something joyful at the same time.

That’s why tomorrow also begins 28 Days of Joy.

If you already followed the campaign and signed up last week, thank you! Your first joy prompt will arrive tomorrow. If you haven’t signed up yet, there’s still plenty of time. You do not have to pledge to participate. Follow the Kickstarter campaign, look for the pinned update, and you’ll find the information you need to join us.

Follow Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist on Kickstarter

It’s strange to sit here six years later and think about that woman in the hammock. She had no idea what the next day would bring, let alone the next six years.

She was scared.

But she was still paying attention to the birds. To the frogs. To joy.

Much love,

Theresa

One week from today, on August 18, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist! If you’ve been subscribed for a while, you know I’ve been working toward this for a loooong time, and now it’s almost here. Woohoo!

The date is intentional. It’s the sixth anniversary of the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I wanted the launch to mark that anniversary in a way that felt meaningful. So from August 18 through September 15, the length of the Kickstarter campaign, I’m also inviting you to join me for 28 Days of Joy.

If you’ve already followed the campaign and signed up for the emails, thank you! I’ll have a non-Kickstarter related story later this week.

So what is 28 Days of Joy? It’s simple! I’ll send you one short email every day with a quick prompt to help you find a little more joy in your life. Nothing complicated or time-consuming, just one small thing to notice, think about, remember, or do each day.

Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist grew out of the journals and essays I wrote while I was going through cancer treatment, but the Cockeyed Optimist actually began a few months earlier. In March 2020, when the pandemic effectively erased my travel-writing business overnight, I started writing about fear and frustration and anger and hope and silver linings and the thing I always say when something goes wrong:

COVID was bad enough, but then, in my personal world, it got worse. Months of appointments, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, uncertainty, bad news, good news, ridiculous medical experiences, gratitude, anger, fear, laughter, and a whole lot of waiting followed that gut-punch diagnosis.

I wrote through all of it.

And despite it all, I kept coming back to joy. Not happiness all the time, and definitely not pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. I had days that sucked, and I said so. I was scared. I was angry. I cried. I worried. I also laughed, cooked, walked, watched birds, ate peanut M&Ms, appreciated the hell out of my husband, noticed kindness, and paid attention to the things that made me happy even when the larger picture was decidedly not. I wrote in April 2020 that expecting myself to be happy and optimistic all the time was unrealistic and frankly delusional. That became even more true in the following months, and I still agree with it.

That’s the idea behind 28 Days of Joy. This isn’t about forced positivity or pretending bad things aren’t happening. Joy can exist right alongside the icky stuff. Sometimes it’s something big. Sometimes it’s a really good meal, a song you forgot you loved, a bird doing something ridiculous outside your window, or the way the light hits the trees. Sometimes it’s simply paying attention long enough to notice that, in this particular moment, something feels good.

I wanted to do something to celebrate the people who are helping me bring Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist into the world, and inviting you to spend these 28 days looking for joy felt right.

Everyone who follows the Kickstarter campaign can sign up to receive the daily emails.

You do not have to pledge to participate, and there’s no purchase required. I’m not even going to ask you for a screenshot to prove you followed it. All you have to do is follow the campaign.

Simply click here, create an account if you don’t have one, and then click Notify me on launch. Once you’ve followed, look for the pinned update. That’s where you’ll find the information on how to give me the email address where you’d like to receive 28 Days of Joy. (Check the video below.)

In addition to the daily joy emails, I’ll be sharing some behind-the-scenes looks at the memoir and the Kickstarter, and I’m planning to share audio recordings of some of the journal entries that are forming the book.

It’s a little wild to realize the launch is only a week away. Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist is the most important thing I’ve ever written, and I’m genuinely happy that it’s finally almost time to bring it into the world. I’m grateful to everyone who has encouraged me, followed the campaign, shared it, read my work, and helped get me to this point.

And I’m joyful. Oh, so joyful!

So, what would happen if you focused on joy for 28 days? Let’s find out!

Here’s to a joy-filled life!

Much love,

Theresa

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Much love,

Theresa

Finally, because of the pandemic, which killed my business, I was able to get Medicaid. (Thank you, ACA, but that’s another story.) I began checking boxes. The first: a visit to a PCP that revealed high blood pressure and high cholesterol.

The second revealed cancer.

I celebrate today. I celebrate that devastating diagnosis. Not because I was happy to get cancer. Because I’m happy to find out I had this interloper, as I called it, so I could do something about it.

I’m happy about the doing, not the disease.

I did something. I did a lot of somethings, with a lot of help, support, and love.

I look back on that newly-minted fifty-year-old woman with tenderness. She was naïve, believed she was invincible. (She’s Gen X, after all.) She was scared. So scared.

But her grandmother—my grandmother—had breast cancer much later in life, and she survived. Mine wasn’t genetic, but I had evidence the disease didn’t dictate a death sentence.

Death sentence.

During my biopsy, the technician told me not to be worried because breast cancer was no longer a death sentence.

My brain latched onto those two words the way burrs clung to our Shih Tzu’s fur. The only way to get rid of them was to shave him. Since a lobotomy seemed a bit extreme, we went camping instead. I unplugged. I lay in a hammock staring up through the canopy as the leaves rustled in the breeze, the partly cloudy sky a backdrop I felt like I could fall into. Jim sat beside me, gently nudging me back and forth like a baby in a bassinet.

My journal entry from the next morning was, in hindsight, painfully optimistic.

I was actually joyful about getting my boobs squeezed in a vice, but it didn’t take long for my world to crash. They called me back and said I needed a second mammogram, then a biopsy. We know what happened after that.

I’ve lived so much since that day. Experienced so much fear and joy and love. And wonder. Wonder at the possibilities. Wonder at what I’m capable of. Wonder at the kindness and generosity of people.

I remember when I mentioned a medical marijuana card and that it was expensive, and three people, one I barely knew, offered to send me the money. I remember the friends who drove out of their way to porch-drop things they knew would help me. So many big and small acts that made it all bearable.

Cancer wasn’t a gift. (Despite the unfortunate title I gave one of my posts about it.) But it revealed the true gifts of love, kindness, and generosity.

My life is so good now. And I’m going to celebrate today. I don’t know how. Will it be a dinner out? Or just an intentional evening? I don’t know, but I’ll do something to mark this day.

It’s the day that saved my life.

Ever since then, I’ve felt like I should create meaningful things for the world. Because I want to say thank you, yes, and because I feel so much joy at being given this second chance.

I truly am grateful and am so happy to be here. So very happy.

And now I’m ready to bring this story into the world. I’d written and shared much of it as I lived it, and now I get to tell the rest of the story.

Two weeks from today, on August 18—the six-year anniversary of my diagnosis—I’ll launch the Kickstarter for Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist.

The campaign is already live in preview, and you can follow it now to be notified the moment it launches. I would love to have you there when this next chapter begins.

Follow Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist

Six years. A blink and a lifetime.

Before I go, consider this your reminder to get checked. The appointment you make could save your life.

Much love,

Theresa

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It’s delightful.

What is not so delightful is our proximity to I-90. We’re a couple of miles off the interstate, and on some days, like today, the sound of traffic can make it feel like we’re right next door.

It’s loud. There’s a constant whine of vehicles speeding along at 70 mph–or closer to 90, if we’re going to be real about it–and on cloudy or humid days, the noise is amplified.

But with all those trees, there are also birds. Lots and lots of birds. I can now identify cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, mourning doves, and more (thanks, Merlin!) by their songs alone, and hummingbirds by the buzz of their wings as they strafe me on the way to the feeder. There are chipmunks and bunnies (so many bunnies!) and squirrels and deer and coyotes and at least one raccoon.

Like I said, it’s delightful.

For the last three years, I’ve lamented humanity’s intrusion on my idyllic soundtrack. Until Monday. I had an epiphany: maybe the whine of traffic isn’t degrading my experience. Maybe it’s a connection.

Working from home, I don’t get a lot of social interaction besides my husband. I get the casual “good mornings” with neighbors on our morning walks, but unless I’m traveling, that’s it.

As an extroverted introvert, or an ambivert, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I traveled sixty-six days in the first six months of 2026 (that’s a lot of sixes), and by the time I got home on July 7, I was ready to nest. More than ready.

It’s been three and a half weeks and I’m still happy to be here. More than happy.

Except for that traffic, you may say. And frankly, it’s loud enough today I’m feeling a bit like shaking my fist and yelling at them all to go home themselves. But maybe they are. Or maybe they’re going on an adventure. Some of them, those semi drivers, are working. One truck is delivering a new microwave for a young man getting his first apartment. A family’s on their way to shop for school supplies. The siblings in the back are buried in screens while Mom and Dad decide where they’ll take them to lunch if they behave themselves in the store. A couple is heading to Galena for a romantic getaway weekend, and a young woman cries as she heads off to college, ready to spread her wings but oh, so sad about leaving her parents.

Humanity has been speaking to me for the last three years, and I’m just now hearing their stories.

The realization has brought balance. I no longer hear the dichotomy of man vs. nature. I hear the blend, the coexistence. It’s an uneasy balance, to be sure, but it’s also the reality, and I’d rather listen to these previously conflicting sounds as part of a symphony of the world I live in.

We plan to move next year. Will it be to someplace far away from the noise of man? Heck yes it will. But until then, I’ll be a little more comfortable in my new awareness that traffic can be an intrusion, and it can also be connection. In this situation, like most, two things can be true.

Happy reading,

Theresa

“Two things can be true” is one of the primary themes of Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist. It’s even implied in the title. My upcoming memoir is about pain and joy, fear and gratitude, anger and love. It’s about death and rebirth through loss and hope. It’s about the strange truth that something can break you open and make you whole at the same time.

Follow the Kickstarter campaign and be part of bringing this book into the world. It launches August 18, the six-year anniversary of my diagnosis!

I’d truly appreciate it if you’d also share it. Thank you so much!

The first half of this year was a whirlwind. I traveled every month, and during some, I was gone more than I was home. That’s fairly typical for me, but this year felt different. I will always have wanderlust–I’ve been home for a week and a half and I’m already starting to get a bit itchy–but I’m feeling this intense need to nest. To create routines.

Beyond my morning meditation and journaling ritual, I’ve never been much for routines. One I did keep was consistently publishing 10 Things To To in Chicago This Weekend on The Local Tourist. Every week, for more than a decade, I sent out an email helping people figure out what to do.

But then the pandemic hit. Then cancer joined in. And everything changed.

I looked back on the nearly twenty years I’d spent building The Local Tourist and realized so much had been focused on what was current and new that I had little that lasted. My body of work had an expiration date.

Finally, in 2017, I wrote my first book, Turkeys are Jerks and Other Observations from an American Road Trip, a travel memoir about a 31-day road trip. (At the time, I thought Two Lane Gems, Volume 1, was the title, and Turkeys etc. was the subtitle. Now I know better.) Now that was a legacy. That was something I could hold in my hands, something readers could hold in their hands. It was something that would last.

I was hooked.

After that, impermanence annoyed me. Fleeting posts that would be irrelevant in less than a week became something I could no longer spend any time or effort on creating. I wanted to create things that last, that have meaning far beyond a date on a calendar.

Cancer drove that point home. We caught mine early so I knew from the beginning my chances of survival were quite high. But it still smacked me with my own mortality. It screamed at me that you never know what will happen and that tomorrow is not guaranteed. That was amplified by the timing; getting that diagnosis when millions were dying during a pandemic was, to me, the universe saying STOP WAITING. DO. IT. NOW.

In the intervening years I’ve still traveled, but the more I immerse myself in worlds I create, that have a deeply personal connection and meaning, the less inclined I am to write about things that are transient.

I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen with TLT. I love travel. I love writing about the places I’ve been. But lately, and for more than a year (closer to two), I haven’t been drawn to it. Sometimes I feel the pull, but after 24 years of obligation, I’ve felt an incredible resistance.

At times, I’ve felt angry. Like I want to punch something. (And I am not a violent person.)

I keep thinking maybe I’ll combine my travel stories with the rest of my writing. I want to build a community that is less about the different genres I write and more about a mindset of possibilities, hope, joy, redemption, wonder. I want to connect with readers who enjoy my particular brand of storytelling. I don’t want to split my focus, which is what maintaining two different newsletters (The Local Tourist and The Joyful Storyteller) does. My travel stories belong here. They’re part of my adventure, part of my ecosystem. Part of my ethos.

I think I just answered my own question, one I’d been asking myself: do I resume writing travel stories on TLT and keep this newsletter for everything else? Or do I combine them?

Because I’ve felt torn, I haven’t known what to say. But I’m not going to let that stop me any more. When I don’t know what to say, I’ll start with the first thing. Whatever comes to mind. Whatever’s waiting to come out will emerge, as it did this morning. I began with uncertainty and within a few hundred words have focused and come to a realization that’s been eluding me for months.

Sometimes it’ll be about places I’ve been. Sometimes about places I’ve made up. And sometimes, it’ll be about a revelation, an idea, a fear, a memory, a hope, a smile.

I’m knee-deep into my memoir, and it’s giving me this unfiltered lens into the choices I’ve made in the last six years. I’m finding increased clarity in my purpose, my reason for being, and that’s enabled me to say No to things that don’t align and Yes to things that do.

I’m learning how and why storytelling drives me and fills my soul. I hope my joy translates. And I hope, that be simplifying my life and letting go of expectations I’ve outgrown, both my own and others’, that I’m able to create more things that last, and more things that bring you joy, too.

It’s funny. When I began writing this, I thought I’d be filling you in on all the stuff that’s been consuming my days and my mind. I ended up finding a way to quiet some of the noise.

OH! Before I go, I did want to tell you one big thing: last Saturday I took my LAST dose of Exemestane! I’ve been on endocrine therapy (estrogen blockers) for five years. I am now OFFICIALLY DONE WITH CANCER TREATMENT!

On that note…

Happy reading!

Theresa

p.s. I’ve pushed the launch date for the Kickstarter for Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist to August 18 - the 6-year anniversary of my diagnosis. Please follow the campaign, and I’d truly appreciate it if you’d share it. Thank you so much!

The converse is also true. For everything you say No to, you’re saying Yes to something else.

And let me tell you, I’ve gotten to be really good at saying No.

I don’t know if I’d say I’m a people pleaser, but I like pleasing people. I’m not sycophantic and I do have boundaries, but I like making people happy. It took a bit to realize that saying Yes to every request might have temporarily made someone happy, but in the long run (and sometimes in the short run), I was doing a disservice to myself and to them.

It can be hard to say No, to turn people down. But there’s only so much time in your day/week/month/life, and you don’t know how much you have. Do you really want to spend it doing things that don’t bring you joy?

Granted, not everything you do is going to fill you with happiness. There are obligations and responsibilities and tasks that may not exactly be fun, but are necessary. Scrubbing toilets comes to mind. Paying taxes. The administrative minutiae that accompanies any entrepreneurial or professional endeavor. Unless you like that kind of stuff, and sometimes, I do.

But what really lights me up and sets my soul on fire is creating. Writing. Immersing myself in worlds both real and imagined and translating that experience through story.

I’m grinning just writing that.

One of the hardest times I said No was when I told my fellow authors I wasn’t going to publish a third Midwest Adventures book. Dedicated to museums, it was in the works. We had target deadlines and were starting to research. Some of us had started writing.

But every time I’d think about it, every time someone asked about it or we had a discussion in our private Facebook group, I’d clench up. I’d feel sick. I’d get downright angry. “I have an obligation,” I thought. I’d committed to it.

The year before we’d published Midwest State Park Adventures. It’s a wonderful book and we’re all proud of it. However, as the publisher, it took a TON of time and effort. Time and effort that meant I couldn’t say Yes to anything else. It was my sole focus for a month and a half, and I even roped my husband in to help.

When I thought about going through that experience again, I simply couldn’t.

I said No.

Oh, let me tell you–the relief I felt. My brow unfurrowed, my gut unclenched, and I could breathe.

Because then I could say Yes to my dreams. My goals. My happiness. *

Later that year I attended my first author conference. It was an intimate affair of about sixty people, and the lineup of speakers included authors whose podcasts I’d been following. I soaked up that knowledge like a sponge and made my first author friends.

The next month I bought my ticket for Author Nation, the largest conference in the US for independent authors. That led to my first weekend of book fairs the following summer, which led to being on stage with a seven-figure author in front of 1200 people at the 2025 event.

Indie Author Magazine publisher Chelle Honiker interviewed us and I shared a bit of my story. Because of that, I’m this week’s featured author in the magazine. (Squeee!!)

This year? Author Nation asked me to create and moderate a panel for nonfiction authors.

I said Yes.

And I am living my dream life!

Saying No is hard at first, especially when it impacts others. And you have to weigh what that impact will be. If your No will hurt someone in a material (or especially physical) way, then you’ll probably need to do whatever it is.

But your decision to choose yourself, to choose what brings you joy, is an act of self-determination that I truly believe can make the world a better place.

I thought about this last weekend when I was in downtown Chicago for the American Library Association Annual Conference. I didn’t go on Sunday. Instead, I grabbed my binder and notebook, found a shaded seat on the riverwalk, and worked on Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist.

I wrote about how cancer directly led to these incredible, delightful experiences. How it led to writing seven novels, to speaking, to creating a whole fantasy world (a series that will come out next year!).

It led me to stop going on press trips, to stop writing listicles, to focus on creating and storytelling.

It led me to a life of saying Yes to me and to my dreams. Now I’m living them.

By saying No to things that aren’t aligned with who you are and where you want to be, you’re giving yourself the opportunity to do what is. It’s not simple, of course, because of those obligations and responsibilities, so we can’t chuck it all and go skipping down that yellow brick road. But we can make one decision, and then another, and then another until we find out the wizard behind the curtain was us all along and we can choose a reality of joy instead of the illusion of obligation.

Cancer during the pandemic was a GIANT No for me, one I didn’t choose. So much I couldn’t do! My business disappeared! It took it all away.

Except it didn’t. I chose to write Living Landmarks of Chicago, and five years later, it’s still my bestseller. I chose to start writing a novel, twenty-five minutes at a time, and now I’ve published seven.

Start small. Say No to that acquaintance you don’t really like who wants to pick your brain for a cup of coffee in a cafe an hour away. You don’t have to go to that dinner if you’d rather rest. Start setting small boundaries.

Your time is valuable, and you get to choose how you spend it.

You have permission to say No.

One thing I’d love for you to say Yes to is following my campaign for Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist! If you liked this piece, you’ll love the book. It’s all about choices and giving yourself permission to live the life of your dreams, no gut-punch diagnosis required.

CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW!

(I’ve pushed the launch date from July 14th to August 18th, the six-year anniversary of my diagnosis. After my crazy June, I gave myself permission to say No to WAY too ambitious deadlines.)

And with that, I hope you have a wonderful weekend.

Happy reading,

Theresa

*The authors understood my decision, and one even called me to ask how I’d had the courage because she wanted to say No to something in her life. I told her I had to choose what was best for me. We all do.

If you’ve read my Alex Paige mysteries, you’ve heard that phrase before. Write what you know, right?

Anyway… Wednesday I saw Dr. S. for my 5-year post-treatment checkup and yay! Good news! I’ll see him in six months (not a year, as I’d thought), and then we’ll switch to annual visits. The best news, besides being c-free, is that I get to stop taking the darn estrogen blocker in 35 days.

Now that’s cause for celebration, which Jim and I did, bopping around and enjoying being together.

And then when we got home, I read my journal entries from the day of my first mammogram through a few days after my diagnosis. Why would I do that to myself? Because I’m recording them in preparation for my book, Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist.

Yes, it’s hard. Yes, I cried. And I’m also laughing. Both at my excitement at getting my first mammo in a pink truck, and at my life now. I’m living the life of my dreams and it’s because I made choices, big and small, after getting that diagnosis. Those choices have led me here.

That’s what the book is about. Not woe is me, cancer sucks. It does. You’ll see that, if you read it, but it’s not what it’s about.

Anyway… I said I’ve got a lot going on. Next week is the Midwest Travel Network Annual Conference. I’m speaking. My topic? Substack! It’ll be geared towards travel writers, but the advice I’m getting translates across topics, so I may host a webinar at some point. It’d be free, of course. Would you be interested in that? I’ll drop a poll below.

The conference is in McHenry County, Illinois. I live about a mile south of the border, and was a resident for five years. I even wrote most of their previous visitors guide! From Tuesday through Saturday I’ll get to explore like a Local Tourist and learn from friends like Michelle Murray and Veronica Bareman.

The week after that, I’m speaking about Route 66’s centennial at Wilmette Public Library. It’s at 1pm on the 18th if you want to join me.

That weekend, June 20-21, I’ll be at both the Kenosha HarborMarket and the Kenosha Book Festival. And then on the 23rd, I’m at Waukegan Public Library talking about road trips from Chicago.

Tired yet? But wait, there’s more! June 25-29, I’ll be at the American Library Association Annual Conference. Peril on the Peninsula will be on display at the Independent Book Publishers Association’s booth. I’m a member, and membership has its privileges. Because I signed up to participate, I also get to attend, and I’ll hear the likes of Rachel Maddow, Jill Biden, and Wayne Brady.

SQUEEEE!!!

Did you think I was done? Well, there’s still one more day in the month. That’s when my friend, who’s moving later this summer, will come spend the day with me. I see bookshops and crystal stores in our future.

While all of that is going on, I’ve got freelance editing and ghostwriting.

And the most important project of all is my Diary. It’s hard and fun and uplifting and cathartic. I’d love your support to bring this into the world, and all it takes is a quick follow. And if you’re so moved, a share with your friends.

Before I go, if you want to know a little more about me, check out this fun interview with Alyssa Lund. She featured Peril on the Peninsula in her ReaderCrate subscription service, and we chatted about my path from travel writer to novelist and more!

Happy reading (and viewing),

Theresa

The trip’s now reached that surreal state, where I think back in wonder. We actually did that? Drove narrow hedgerow-lined lanes, toured Jim’s ancestral castle, drank pints with Aussies and Canadians and locals?

It feels like yesterday and last year. Responsibilities took over almost the moment we landed, like freelance work and prepping my presentation for next week’s Midwest Travel Network conference.

I didn’t quite return to business-as-usual. I knew this trip would change things. Change me. I’ve added an hour walk each day, and our diet’s been much healthier than it was before we left. Despite eating bread and drinking hand-pulled ale daily, I lost weight, and while I generally try to avoid processed foods, I’ve been even more diligent.

I liked how I felt in England. Strong. Vibrant. Filled with energy. (That’s usually the case, but this was different.)

My health is heavily on my mind. Tomorrow I see my oncologist. It’s my five-year post-treatment visit. Last week I had my mammogram and my bloodwork. The mammogram: benign. Cancer markers: all clear.

I’m anticipating he’ll take me off Exemestane. I’ve been on estrogen blockers for five years. Chemo put me into chemically induced menopause, and those blockers made it permanent.

They also (probably) have impacted my weight, although I have lost forty pounds since my diabetes diagnosis in ‘24. They definitely impacted my joints. Side effects include bone density loss and joint pain. Let me tell you, those commercials and ads showing women who can’t sleep on their side because their hips hurt so badly? Yep. That’s been me.

It’s been a lot, and yet… I’d rather have that than the alternative.

I’ve known since I started writing publicly about my breast cancer that I’d write a book about it, and that I’d wait until I reached that five-year mark. Then it feels real. Then it feels like I made it.

And now I have!

When I wrote my first “Hi. I have cancer.” post in August of 2020, I wasn’t planning on writing a book. I was too busy living in the uncertainty. But I chronicled my experience, and Jim’s, sharing the raw emotions. The anger love hope fear etc. A friend of mine, who I met in 2024 and had breast cancer the same time I did, often says, “Two things can be true.” It’s a philosophy I hold and have held, and this book is going illustrate that.

It’s not a “cancer memoir.” At least, I don’t want it to be. Yes, it’s about my experience with cancer and that’s the canvas, but it’s not the whole picture.

It’s not “about” cancer. It’s about surviving with your sanity, sense of self, and joy intact. About embracing seemingly opposite emotions and beliefs and realizing both can be true. It’s about generosity, love, and optimism.

And it’s about that fear and anger. What it looks like to let yourself feel what you feel, acknowledge it, and take from it what you can.

It’s also about recognizing that your own individual experiences aren’t like anyone else’s, and it’s not fair to you or them to compare. A friend revealed he had Stage 4 colon cancer shortly before I received my Stage 1 diagnosis. I often found myself feeling like I wasn’t allowed to be devastated because mine “wasn’t that bad.”

It’s still cancer, Theresa. You’re allowed.

Most of all, this book is about facing difficulties–and crap on a cracker, things are difficult right now–AND thriving. Because yes, two things can be true.

Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist will be launched through Kickstarter. If you’d like to support this project, please consider following the pre-launch page. The more followers I have, the more likely Kickstarter is to share the campaign.

I’m in the process of refining all those “diary” entrees, and it. is. hard. But, I need to get this book into the world. If it can help one person smile, well then, it’s worth it.

My goal is to launch the campaign on July 14. It will finish on August 4, the anniversary of that first mammogram. Because that date is a celebration!

(And I plan to be celebrating tomorrow after that appointment. I’ll post a note and let you know how it went!)

I’ll be sharing an excerpt with my Pollinators tomorrow. If you haven’t signed up for my free community yet, you can do so here.

If there’s something you want to do, that’s calling you, do me a favor: don’t wait.

Happy living,

Theresa

It’s Day 2 of a few new habits I’m incorporating after my first-ever two-week vacation. One of those habits is the gift of two hours of creating time every morning. In the past, I’ve allowed half an hour, when I could. That worked well and I’ve written seven novels that way, but I want more. I’m a writer, and thirty minutes a day is not enough.

So here I am. Thinking about England. Thinking about the stories I want to tell. Not just for readers, but for me. For us. To solidify those memories and experiences so they don’t disappear into the ether.

That’s the gift of being a writer, but you don’t have to label yourself as such to receive the benefits. I always recommend keeping a journal when you travel. It doesn’t have to be a tome; it can be one sentence. “We saw this today.” That alone can be enough to jog a memory.

Gifts seem to be my theme today. I know why. It’s because yesterday I began the process of writing my cancer memoir.

Oh, that sounds so weighty, doesn’t it? So heavy?

It is. It could be. But it doesn’t quite feel like that to me. Because cancer was a gift.

Is it one I’d ask for? Hell no. Is it one I want again? Also hell no. But, I can’t deny how much I gained from going through the hardest time of my life.

I’m reading The End of My Life Is Killing Me, and while Annabelle Gurwitch’s experience was completely different from mine, she approached her stage 4 diagnosis and the ensuing years with insouciance, turning something devastating into what she calls “carpe diem too much.”

My friend (I think I can call them a friend) CJ recommended this book when I told them I planned to write my story. As the owner of Wordhaven, my favorite bookstore, I trust them implicitly. Next time I visit I’ll hold out my hands and tell them to fill me up.

I was public during my diagnosis and treatment. From “Hi, I have cancer” to “Hi, I DON’T have cancer,” I let people into the ups and downs, the emotional tsunami of going from checking a box with my first mammogram to months of chemo followed by radiation.

During a pandemic.

I called it Diary of a Cockeyed Optimist, a title I’d landed on when the March 2020 launch party for my third book was canceled due to COVID. Before August 18, I used it to write about trying to keep spirits afloat as millions died.

After the 18th, I focused on me.

I was honest. Forthright. Facebook friends knew my joys, hopes, fears, anger, and pain. They watched as we shaved our heads the day after Thanksgiving, and laughed at our 12 Wigs of Christmas antics.

Many of them told me I should put these “Diary” entries in a book. And now I am.

It’s going to be hard. So very, very hard. I have the public posts, and I’ve also pulled my journals from that time and put them on the bookshelf next to my desk. Recently a friend told me how she’d read her journals aloud, recording them, so she’d have a digital record. I’m going to do the same.

I’ll cry. A lot. I already know that and will have my Costco supply of tissues at the ready. Because while six years later I know how much I gained from that time of my life, reading the raw emotions is going to take me right back. Back to the first time I saw my bald reflection. To the first time I saw my shadow and didn’t recognize it because my signature long curly hair was gone. Back to getting shingles right before teaching a (fully-masked) writing workshop in Gulf Shores.

Back to Jim sitting in the car in the freezing cold for two hours while I had my Neulasta shots, because he couldn’t come inside, no place was open, and it wasn’t worth it for him to go home.

But it will also bring me back to gifting a toy Lamborghini to my surgeon because of an inside joke. To my nurses asking me every week about my work-in-progress and what chapter I was on. To the cavalcade of gifts that appeared on our front porch. Our doorbell didn’t work and the drivers never knocked, so we started looking out the window daily because we never knew when there’d be another package.

To the treats our neighbor would leave on our patio table, including dragonfly earrings and a bracelet she made for me after I finished chemo. Her mother had died from breast cancer.

There were those literal gifts and the more existential ones, and those have compounded with time.

Next week I’ll see my oncologist. It’s the five-year post-treatment visit, where (hopefully) he’ll tell me I no longer have to take the estrogen blocker that put me into menopause. I won’t see him again for a year.

I’ll have a mammogram tomorrow, and I’ll feel the same anxiety I do every time. Never again will I feel that blind confidence I did in August of 2020.

That’s something cancer took from me. But it gave me so much more, and that’s what this memoir will be about. That’s what my life is about. Paying attention to the lessons and living them.

Now I have my dream life. I just returned from a magical trip to England. I get to play with words for a living. I’m writing this while sitting outside with a verdant view of trees and wildflowers and birdsong as my soundtrack.

Would I have done all this, had all this without cancer?

Maybe, but there’s no way to know. So I take what I do know, and that’s the reality that I am HERE, strong, in love with my life, and joyful.

I’ve always been a cockeyed optimist, and I always will be. If you’re in your own hardest year, I can't take the hard part away. But I can share gifts of kindness, love, and inspiration, and hopefully help you feel a bit of joy.

Happy reading,

Theresa

In two weeks, I opened my computer three times. I rarely checked email. I barely posted on social media. Except for days when we had to be somewhere, I woke up when I wanted to (which was still unbearably early for many people, but worked for me).

I journaled, some. I didn’t write. I took notes. Hundreds of pictures. Maybe even thousands. Walked for miles on the streets of London. Drank a hand-pulled pint every single day. Ate bread and biscuits and scones with jam and clotted cream and managed to lose weight. Had Korean barbecue on my birthday. Sang along with locals in a pub in the West Midlands on Jim’s. Bought a book on Welsh folktales in Wales. Rode a boat on the Thames to stand in two time zones.

We met an artisan from The Repair Shop and went to where the show’s filmed. One of those was planned; the other wasn’t. A woman named Lisa gave us the best hugs after filling us in on her boss, the knight, who’d recently had lunch with the king.

We soaked in the golden hour illuminating the River Wye before turning around to catch a double rainbow.

This is what vacations are like? This is what’s possible?

I’m blessed to call travel my job. I’ve seen more than many in my frequent travels, but I’ve never approached a trip purely for pleasure. Even during our honeymoon and our one-year anniversary trips, the last time I actually took vacations, I had one eye on what I would post for The Local Tourist. It’s not a bad thing, and my profession has afforded us countless opportunities, but this was different.

This was magical.

The thing is, I knew the entire time I’d end up writing about our experiences because I’m a storyteller. I’m a writer. That’s what I do. I want to share these adventures. I want to take you along with me, metaphorically speaking, as I wander the cobblestones of Oxford and try not to get blown off the hill of Old Sarum.

But it’s different to experience a place while being completely in the moment, paying attention only to what we’re doing and who I’m with, not worrying about making sure I get a photo of that and that and that and interviewing people because I’m here, so why not, and wouldn’t that make a great story.

Yes, it would. I know this. And what also makes a great story is our lived experiences, our fully-present attention to driving two-lane roads the width of one in a car with the steering wheel on the opposite side of what I’m used to. Of silly moments like deciding that the word bucolic meant that sheep had to be present, so every place we saw sheep instantly became such. And believe me, we saw a lot of bucolic places… (There are sheep everywhere!)

Of squealing “Horsies” at almost every bend, when I could see them through the wall of hedgerows. Of walking a town absolutely stuffed with second-hand bookshops and, at the end of the day, climbing steep narrow stairs to fall asleep in a building older than my country.

We didn’t plan much. We didn’t see nearly as much as we could have. We didn’t go see a show in London, despite staying on a street crowded with theaters. We didn’t have afternoon tea or visit the Tower of London or Parliament or watch the changing of the guard. We stayed in Salisbury without entering the cathedral.

Some might think we did England wrong.

We know we did it absolutely right.

I miss it. I miss the language, the towel warmers, the “You alright?” greeting at nearly every entrance.

And I’m also glad to be home, with my computer open, writing. I’m glad to be catching up on my email, which is a bit of a sticky wicket since I never set up my out-of-office responder. I’m finishing up my Kickstarter fulfillment and awaiting copies of Trouble on the Tracks, my seventh novel, which I completed shortly before we left.

I’ve recovered from jet lag, and I’m fighting my tendency to do all the things and leave no time for reading and relaxing. For being present. Because that was one thing I told myself I wouldn’t do—I would not return to my sixteen-hour days and my constant habit of over-committing and creating arbitrary deadlines that push me too hard and allow no time to simply be.

Will I be writing about this trip? Definitely. I want you to experience all of the above.

I will take my time. I’m not committing to a post a week or anything like that. I’m still in the liminal space between being there and being here, and I want to hold onto that for as long as I can. Of course, writing about it brings me right back there, which will be delightful and, probably, slightly melancholy.

The stories will come. In the meantime, I’m going to go for a walk, say hello to my favorite tree, check in with my mastermind group this afternoon, walk with my husband to the neighbor’s for this summer’s first Drinks on the Drive.

And in between, I’ll do the things that made this trip possible in the first place, with love, gratitude, and joy.

Happy reading,

Theresa

p.s. Trouble on the Tracks is now available directly through me! Live on retailers May 31, 2026, but why wait? (She says cheekily, because she’s English now.)

Every morning, I pour a cup of coffee and open my journal. It’s the same thing I did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Some mornings I write about what I’m grateful for. Some mornings I work through what’s tangling me up. Some mornings I just list what needs doing. But I always show up to the page.

In just a few days, I’ll be doing it in England.

May is our birthday month and we’ll be spending both of them in the UK. Both of us can trace our ancestry to the isle–nearly all of my DNA is from southeastern England/northwestern Europe, Wales, Scotland, and across the narrow sea, Ireland. (A tiny 1 % is Mali. I’d love to learn the story behind that.)

Pretty cool, right? But do I have a castle? Nooooo.

Jim does.

Goodrich Castle protected the River Wye for centuries. Built in 1101, it’s been the site of numerous consequential events. One of them, for me, anyway, was the birth of Jim’s ancestor.

Back in February, I proposed we visit for his birthday. He’d never gone and it had always been a dream.

Next week, we board a plane.

I have my own dreams about our trip. Those are coming true, too. As have so many of my hopes.

Ever since I was old enough to read books without pictures in them I’ve wanted to write. I wanted to tell stories and write books and captivate others in the way I was captivated. And yesterday, I published my seventh novel and my fifteenth book. I get to play with words for a living, both my own and others’. My travel writing hobby has been my full-time job for nearly two decades, and for the last three years, I’ve gotten to make things up, too.

I’m married to my person, to my partner. I have incredible friends, intimate relationships with people I love and respect and whose strength constantly inspires me.

Every day, I get to spread joy. Sometimes in tiny ways, by giving the cashier a giant smile and wishing them a fantastic day, and sometimes in big ways, by speaking to a crowded room and letting them know that yes, their hopes can become reality.

That’s why I’m writing this. Because I think, too often, we don’t give ourselves permission to dream.

We have to be “responsible,” and that means getting the education, the job, the 2.5 kids. We have to follow the rules. We have to do what’s expected of us. At least, that’s what we hear. What I, as a mid-fifties woman, grew up being told by society.

Except…that’s not what my parents told me. That’s not how I was raised.

My dad’s an artist. My mom’s an accountant. They met in music school. Our home was filled with appreciation for creativity and beauty and defying the norms. Dad worked from home, his easel set up in the family room. Mom went back to school with two pre-teens at home, and by the time I started high school, she’d graduated summa cum laude. The two of them gave my brother, another creative, and me both inspiration and permission to follow our dreams.

And we have.

Has it been easy? Heck no! I have struggled. Oh my, how I’ve struggled. I’ve worked my tail off, and can count the number of days I haven’t worked in the past decade on my fingers.

But the most important question is, has it been worth it?

Yes. A resounding yes.

It took me a while to make that dream of writing a book come true. About four decades. My first book, a travel memoir, came out in 2017 when I was 47 years old. I’ve wanted to take a real vacation with Jim since we met sixteen years ago. Besides our honeymoon and our one-year-anniversary, England is that vacation.

(To be fair, we’ve had our adventures, including a few cross-country trips. That’s the benefit of being a travel writer.)

I lead an unconventional life. I haven’t worked for The Man since 2008. I’ve had freedom in a way that most people don’t, but it’s meant sacrificing stability and, for much of my adult life, material abundance.

But I chose that. I chose the hand-me-downs and the mismatched furniture and the fear and stress of wondering how I’d pay tomorrow’s bill, until suddenly I didn’t have to worry about that any more and could plan a trip to England.

I’ve lived with a level of risk that is, frankly, untenable to most. It’s been untenable to me. But I kept at it, kept going, because I kept dreaming.

I’m not saying you need to quit your job, throw caution to the wind, and sail off into the sunset. But you can take little steps to make it happen. You can find that spark that lights you up. You can still find things that bring a smile to your face, even in today’s AARRGGHGHHH world.

Next week we’ll be strolling the streets of London. Not long after that, we’ll cross a now-dry moat to an ancient castle.

Give yourself permission to dream. Picture your perfect day. Start by creating a ritual that’s just for you, whether it’s coffee and a blank page or something entirely different. Give that spark some oxygen.

Even if today, your tiny flame is just a really good smile at the cashier.

Happy reading!

Theresa

p.s. Get a preview of Trouble on the Tracks - read the first chapter here!

I think that warranted giving myself a present, so I broke out my hummingbird purse. I saw this purse in March while on a wine walk with my friends Lori and Shelly.

My new company name is Pollinate Ink. My spirit animal is a hummingbird (if you know me, you’re nodding your head). I saw this absolutely gorgeous purse with a hummingbird and flowers stitched on the vegan leather and fell in love. But, it was more than I’ve ever spent on a purse.

“It’s got an RFID chip,” I justified, meaning my credit cards’ll be safe when we’re in England. “My foldable keyboard and my journal fit perfectly.”

But… it was more than I’ve ever spent on a purse.

I didn’t buy it. Shelly would be leaving the next day and I’d have her house to myself, so I planned to finish writing my seventh novel while I was there. Never mind I had about 16,000 words to go and a week to do it. I told myself the hummingbird purse could be an incentive. Said I’d go back to the store at the end of the week, and if it was still there and I’d finished the book, it was mine.

Five days later, Lori and I went to lunch and just happened to drive right by the store. So guess what we did?

Yep. We walked in and I bought it.

(The store’s name? TLC. My initials for my fiction pen name, which is also my maiden name? TLC.)

I got back to Shelly’s and set it on the table. Then I took it with me the next week when I house sat for another friend for another nine days. I hung it across from where I sat, every day, writing.

It stared at me. I stared at it.

On March 31, I came home. We kept staring, to the point where I was beginning to wonder if, instead of a hummingbird, it was a mockingbird.

Well, take that–because yesterday I filled that baby up and took it with me as Jim and I celebrated finishing my seventh novel!

I’ve never used rewards as incentives before. I’m intrinsically project-based, and as I mentioned earlier this week, I love checking boxes. Would I have completed this book without a gorgeous purse taunting me?

Yes.

So did I need to buy it? No. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

I would’ve finished the novel, but having that incentive was fun. Gamification, as they call it.

Lori said she didn’t know how I resisted, and honestly, I’m surprised I did. I’m an instant gratification kinda gal. I have ideas and I implement them, whether that’s deciding to finally buy a Mac so I can use Vellum (a Mac-only book formatting software) or starting another Kickstarter.

Which is why yesterday was such a big day. Part of having ideas and implementing them, part of that instant gratification, is the completion. The checked box.

And yesterday, I checked a LOT of boxes.

It felt good. It felt rewarding. And now, as I dive into writing the short story for the anthology and plan my Simple Self-Publishing Kickstarter in earnest, I’m dreaming about my next incentives.

I’ll complete them no matter what, but why not make things even more fun? They don’t need to be physical items (unless they’re journals and pens, because you can never have too many of those). They could be something like a date to a special restaurant, or a visit to a museum that’s been on my list for ages but I can’t seem to get to, or even giving myself permission to spend a whole day reading. (That last is something I should do regularly, to be honest.)

The point isn’t the reward. It’s the celebration. I’ve now written seven novels and fifteen books, and yet I rarely celebrate. I check the box and move onto the next project.

And I’ve realized I’ve been doing myself a disservice. Accomplishments deserve to be celebrated, so even though I know I’m going to finish something anyway, when I do, I’m going to pat myself on the back and give myself a reward.

I’ve earned it, and it adds even more joy to a joyful moment.

I’m also realizing it doesn’t need to be a huge thing like finishing a book. Maybe it’s a mini-celebration for doing another writing sprint, or going for a ten-minute walk. Doing a little happy dance and saying “Go YOU!” any time you make a choice that feels good for you and your dreams.

I’m in danger of proselytizing, so I’ll wrap this up. Do you give yourself incentives, and if so, what do those rewards look like to you?

What gift could you give yourself that would celebrate the wonder that is you?

What’s your hummingbird purse?

Happy celebrating,

Theresa

p.s. Since Trouble on the Tracks is done, how about reserving your copy! It’ll be in your hot little hands in a few weeks. Pre-order here.

p.p.s. That quick timeline is part of the benefit of being an independent publisher. I’m sharing how to make your book a reality in Simple Self-Publishing, so if you’re curious, go ahead and follow the campaign.

About a year and a half ago I took Gallup’s Clifton Strengths assessment. It was eye-opening and also told me things I already know.

The test breaks aspects of your personality down into 34 “themes of talent.” Everybody has all 34; it’s a question of which ones are more prevalent. These are mine (surprising no one):

1. Achiever

2. Intellection

3. Input

4. Maximizer

5. Learner

They’re spot on. I like to get stuff done. I like to think, absorb information, make things better, and learn. All good qualities, right? Except I’ve frequently been told I’m “too much,” that I’m “Type-A,” that I should learn how to relax.

That’s not how I’m wired, and seeing it in black-and-white helped me realize that’s okay. Honestly, I love it. I love that I’m never bored, that I’m always curious, and that my obsession with notebooks and office supplies is fully justified because hey, that’s how I’m built.

One of my favorite things about this test is that it frames your personality traits as Strengths–it’s in the name. These are my superpowers.

And this week they’re doing a happy dance, because it’s a week of completion.

Yesterday I saw, clearly, the remainder of Trouble on the Tracks, and it’s now flying! By the end of this week I’ll write The End in my seventh novel.

Yay!

I’m also fulfilling my Kickstarter for Travel is Murder, Volume 2. I’ll send out the ebooks by Wednesday and paperbacks and hardcovers by the end of the month.

Both of those are HUGE projects, and it feels so good to move their giant to-do lists to the Done pile.

Part of the reason I’m excited is because that means I can move onto the next projects. For example, my fantasy series. I’ve already written 10,000 words in the first book, but I put it on hold to finish Trouble. Now I can dive right in, and the timing’s perfect since I’m going to England in May and will immerse myself in inspiration (#3 Input, #5 Learner).

I’d planned to submit the first 5,000 words to a contest, but discovered it was only open to unpublished writers. So, I’m going to send them to my Pollinators this afternoon! It’s, ahem, quite a bit different from my mysteries. Here’s the opening paragraph:

Her scream cut through the night like a fire-forged blade. The woman, her red ringlets dripping, her skin bathed in sweat, every muscle clenched, bore down, bending towards her straddled legs. Even the warmth of the water couldn’t soothe her.

Want more? Join my Pollinators here. I’m emailing them later today. If you don’t see this until later, sign up and then let me know and I’ll send it to you.

It’s an intimate group of 88. If we get to 100 before I send the email, I’ll also share a glimpse of my grimoire where I plan this epic tale.

That’s it for now. I’ve got more boxes to check.

Happy reading!

Theresa

p.s. Reserve your copy of Trouble on the Tracks!

What I’m Reading

I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org, so if you purchase through any of these links, I’ll get a small commission at no cost to you. You’ll also be supporting independent bookstores!

I read multiple books at once, which keeps my curious brain happy! It tends to be an eclectic mix of fiction, research, and craft. Here’s what I’m currently reading:

A Forty Year Kiss, by Nickolas Butler - I normally don’t read romance, but I’m giving a presentation tomorrow night at Glenview Public Library on Romantic Getaways in Wisconsin. They’ve been reading this book and that’s why they invited me to speak on this topic.

Celtic Gods, Celtic Goddesses, by RJ Stewart - SO MANY NOTES! I’m maybe a third of the way into this book and it’s inspired so many ideas. I found it at Inklings Used Books in Sheboygan and it’s not on Bookshop. You might be able to get it through your library.

Anam Cara, by John O’Donahue - Also found at Inklings, this one is available at Bookshop. When I first thought of writing my fantasy and realized it would be inspired by Celtic and Druidic traditions, I heard of this book and it was so highly recommended I knew I had to get it. It’s the only title I wrote down. And I happened to find a pristine copy last September.

The Creative Act, by Rick Rubin - Recommended by my friend Lori Helke, I picked this up at Wordhaven, which is my favorite bookstore and also in Sheboygan.

What I’m Writing

I also write multiple projects at the same time. Gotta keep those squirrels happy.

Trouble on the Tracks: the seventh book in the Alex Paige Travel is Murder series. Status: 92% complete!!!!

Epic Fantasy Series: Join my Pollinators to read the first 5000 words! Status: 8% complete.

Simple Self-Publishing: Step-by-step guide to bringing your manuscript to market. Status: Development - Kickstarter in the works!

Where I Am

Home home, for at least a couple of weeks.

Where I’m Going

Heading to Asheville soon for my dad’s birthday. In May, my husband and I are celebrating our birthdays in England. We’ll spend five days in London and then we’ll be tooling around the countryside, visiting Dover, Salisbury, Ross-on-Wye, and dipping our toes into Wales.

Thanks for joining me this week! I’d love to know what you’re reading, so please reply or leave a comment.

Last August I bought a membership, and it was one of the best choices I’ve ever made for myself. My friend and I do monthly (give or take) artist dates–we go to the museum, split up, and then meet in the member lounge. When she needed someone to take care of her kitty, I knew exactly what I’d be doing.

Before getting the membership, going to one of my favorite places was a rare treat. But now? I’ve decided as long as I’m in the Chicago area, I’ll be a member, and if/when we move, I’ll find another place that fills my well and support it, too.

“Filling your well” is a phrase I hadn’t heard often until I joined the author community and began spending more time among creatives. Now I hear it all the time.

The idea is that you can’t create from an empty place. How do you fill your well? By consuming art. By reading. By watching television and movies. By touching grass or sand or water or trees.

Basically, by doing anything that brings you joy.

When I got back to my friend’s on Wednesday after a fun day of surprise encounters and visits with some of my favorite artists, I wondered why this concept feels like an indulgence. I think we’re so indoctrinated to “earn” our fun. To be worthy of our joy. Rest and adventures are something we do on the weekend and on vacation (at least, here in the U.S.).

To that I say, poppycock and balderdash. We deserve to do things that make us happy.

A new friend of mine does what she calls the Everyday Adventure Experiment. I met Annie Sisson last year at Author Nation. As fellow travel writers, we bonded, and then she told me about The Everyday Adventure. It’s a simple concept: you can have an adventure every day. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be as simple as taking a different route to work or ordering something unfamiliar the next time you go to a favorite restaurant.

Try something new. Get out of your routine, even for just a little bit.

We don’t need to wait. It doesn’t have to look like going to the Art Institute as many times as you can. It doesn’t need to be a bucket list trip. It can be giving yourself permission to sit down for twenty minutes before dinner to read that book that’s been calling you.

Life is short. The world is like Animal and the Tasmanian Devil had a baby and Wile E. Coyote is babysitting, but the anvil and chaos are real. Find joy where you can. Find that spark that puts a smile on your face.

Give yourself permission to fill your well.

Happy reading!

Theresa

p.s. It’s been a great week writing Trouble (on the Tracks). I’m nearing the finish line! Reserve your copy here!

What I’m Reading

I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org, so if you purchase through any of these links, I’ll get a small commission at no cost to you. You’ll also be supporting independent bookstores!

I read multiple books at once, which keeps my curious brain happy! It tends to be an eclectic mix of fiction, research, and craft. Here’s what I’m currently reading:

Woven in Time, by Jessica Ann - I’ve had to put this on hold, but hoping to dive back in next week.

Celtic Gods, Celtic Goddesses, by RJ Stewart - SO MANY NOTES! I’m maybe a third of the way into this book and it’s inspired so many ideas. I found it at Inklings Used Books in Sheboygan and it’s not on Bookshop. You might be able to get it through your library.

Anam Cara, by John O’Donahue - Also found at Inklings, this one is available at Bookshop. When I first thought of writing my fantasy and realized it would be inspired by Celtic and Druidic traditions, I heard of this book and it was so highly recommended I knew I had to get it. It’s the only title I wrote down. And I happened to find a pristine copy last September.

The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield - Almost done! I really want to write a whole essay on this book.

What I’m Writing

I also write multiple projects at the same time. Gotta keep those squirrels happy.

Trouble on the Tracks: the seventh book in the Alex Paige Travel is Murder series. Status: 78% complete

Epic Fantasy Series: I’m submitting the first 5000 words to a contest next week. Want to read them? Join my Pollinators! Status: 8% complete.

Simple Self-Publishing: Step-by-step guide to bringing your manuscript to market. Status: Development - Kickstarter in the works!

Where I Am

Sweet home Chicago!

Where I’m Going

Next month is dad’s birthday celebration in Asheville. In May, my husband and I are celebrating our birthdays in England. We’ll spend five days in London and then we’ll be tooling around the countryside, visiting Dover, Salisbury, Ross-on-Wye, and dipping our toes into Wales.

Thanks for joining me this week! I’d love to know what you’re reading, so please reply or leave a comment.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yeah. I’ve got 13,750 words to go. It’s Thursday.

Not gonna happen.

And that’s okay. Even though it’s been over a year since my last release and I’m anxious to get it done, this book is taking the time it needs to take. It’s been challenging, but not so much because of the story or the writing, but because of everything else I’ve got going on. I don’t make a full-time income from my fiction, yet, and that means most of my energy is directed to other projects. My freelance work (which I love) gets the majority of it. Plus I’ve been traveling and speaking.

I am a little frustrated, though. This week I’m catsitting for a friend. It’s supposed to be an epic writing retreat. I’ll write ALL the words, I thought. But life doesn’t stop just because I’m in a different location. I also tend to sabotage myself by setting goals so wildly unrealistic I stop before I really get a chance to start.

Don’t do that, Theresa.

Yesterday was a fill-the-well day. I slept in. I went to Miesfeld’s Meat Market and was pleasantly surprised to discover they had a sale going on. (Yay for Wisconsin brats!) I watched Maleficent and planned more of our England trip.

This morning I woke up refreshed. I realized that no, I don’t have to finish the book this week. I’d promised my Kickstarter backers and pre-orders it would be out in May, so I’ve got time.

I want to write it faster because I’ve got so many more stories to tell. And I also want to enjoy my quality of life. I’ve chosen this wild profession because it brings me joy. If I approach it like a prairie dog on a spinning wheel (an image that just appeared on my phone screen saver!), then pretty soon I’ll want to stop the darn thing and get off.

So, yesterday I took a break. This morning I wrote some really good words. Tomorrow I’ll write more, and I’ll do that every day until I get to the last two.

I’ve got another writing retreat next week. I’ll be in Chicago, and I’m promising myself right now that I won’t give myself any wildly unrealistic goals. I’ll stick with what works: my reliable and consistent practice of meditating, journaling, and then setting a timer and writing, and doing that as many times as I’m called to do so.

Side note: did you know writing is physically exhausting? It’s the most bizarre thing. After sitting on my tuchus for an hour and creating, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Not that I know what running a marathon is like. Let’s say I feel like I’ve run around the block, ‘cause even that would tucker me out.

Anyway…

I’m finishing up one of my freelance projects tomorrow, so I better get to it. That’ll free up some space, and I’ve got plenty of Trouble waiting to fill it.

Happy reading!

Theresa

*Pollinators are my budding community of readers! Join us here.

p.s. Before I leave Sheboygan I’m meeting with an artist to discuss character art! I’d purchased one of her pieces last time I was here and realized a couple of weeks ago it’s an image of a younger version of one of my fantasy characters. I just happened to run into her last Saturday. I’m so excited!

p.p.s. Want to get into Trouble (on the Tracks)? Reserve your copy here!

What I’m Reading

I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org, so if you purchase through any of these links, I’ll get a small commission at no cost to you. You’ll also be supporting independent bookstores!

I read multiple books at once, which keeps my curious brain happy! It tends to be an eclectic mix of fiction, research, and craft. Here’s what I’m currently reading:

Woven in Time, by Jessica Ann - This is the first book by an author I follow on Substack, and she’s a delight! It’s been lovely to see her journey and pride.

Welsh Witchcraft: A Guide to the Spirits, Lore, and Magic of Wales, by Mharla Starling - Fascinating! Research for my upcoming fantasy series. I’m up to the section on spells. Mwahaha.

The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield - Wow! These vignettes into the creative life are like a masterclass in succinct insights. I could learn a thing or two from his brevity (and plan to). I’m almost done and then I’ll read it again, pen and commonplace book in hand.

What I’m Writing

I also write multiple projects at the same time. Gotta keep those squirrels happy.

Trouble on the Tracks: the seventh book in the Alex Paige Travel is Murder series. Status: 70% complete

Epic Fantasy Series: Title TBA - join my Pollinators to be the first to know! First in a quintology. Status: 8% complete. Expect this needle to move next week!

Simple Self-Publishing: Step-by-step guide to bringing your manuscript to market. Status: Development

Where I Am

I’m in my home-away-from-home, Sheboygan, Wisconsin. My friend’s on vacation so her cat and I are holding down the fort. I’m also using it as a writing retreat, and while those never go the way I plan (classic over-achiever), I’m making progress, and that’s what counts.

Where I’m Going

I’ll be home this weekend, then Monday I’m off to Chicago to help out another friend who’s out of town. She’s a 15-minute L ride from the Art Institute, so if you want to know where I’ll be, look for the Bruce Goff exhibit (closing this month!), Raqib Shaw’s Paradise Lost, or the Member Lounge.

In April we’re going to celebrate my dad’s birthday in Asheville, and then in May, my husband and I are celebrating our birthdays in England - and going to the Goodrich Castle, of course.

Thanks for joining me this week! I’d love to know what you’re reading, so please reply or leave a comment.

When I began hosting events, we christened those as gig days because I was the face. About eight years ago, I think, I started public speaking and I learned the pleasure and discomfort when swarms of butterflies take over your torso.

I no longer feel as much anxiety, but I do feel excitement. This morning a few butterflies are reminding me (as if I need it) how important it is to give it my all.

They’re fluttering because today I speak at the Los Angeles Travel and Adventure Show. Their energy feels more like anticipation this time, partly because I am literally clothed in love.

My shirt is from my friend Shelly. My earrings? My friend Kerrie. Mom gave me my pants, one of several items to celebrate my weight loss. My husband selected my med-alert bracelet because it was designed to look like jewelry (and it’s rainbow colored!) and, of course, I’m wearing my wedding ring. On my other hand, my emerald ring was a gift from my grandfather.

The necklace was my grandmother’s and oh, how I wish she could see me now. She adored reading, especially historical novels. She encouraged my love of books, defending me during family gatherings when I’d prefer to find out what happened next and my uncle would yell at me to get my nose out of a book. “Leave her alone,” she’d say, then give me another book.

Grandma loved Chicago. She grew up there and remembered passing the Century of Progress and wishing she could go. They moved away when she was a teenager, and then she met my grandfather.

They both loved travel, crisscrossing the country with their three kids in tow. When I was five they flew to Hawaii and grandma brought me a bikini. I can still picture that gold and brown floral-patterned bathing suit.

Reading. History. Chicago. Travel. Road trips.

Ya’ think maybe she had a bit of influence on me?

Grandma would have been a hundred years old last month. She passed away the summer of 2018.

I’d written my first book by then. I have the copy I’d given her. There’s a sticker with her name on it.

She loved Jim. Oh, how she loved him. I’d call and she’d say “Hi hon; how’s Jim.” I’d grin, though she couldn’t see it, and say, “I’m fine, Grandma. How are you?” She’d ask if she could adopt him, and every time he’d tell her he didn’t think his mom would like that very much.

She’d laugh. We’d laugh.

I’m on my way to the convention center with Jim and my in-laws. Jim’s seen me speak, of course, but not very often because he’s always manning the booth at the shows and doesn’t come with me to most of my other engagements. (Nor would I want him to! I speak frequently.) My in-laws haven’t seen me speak in about seven years, I think. I’ve improved quite a bit since then.

This year, I’ve chosen not to exhibit in LA and to only be on stage. I’m going through a professional transition and this is part of it. Instead of appearing as an entrepreneur with something to sell who also speaks. I’m there as an author and an entertainer.

The older I get, the more I can see not only my grandmother’s influence, but also how others who have shared their joys and their passions have impacted me in ways they may never know.

Gig day is always a little nerve-wracking. But today?

Today is a celebration.

Getting dressed this morning felt different. Intentional. Draped in gifts and witnessed by three of my favorite people, I’ll take that stage with the confidence of someone who knows she is deeply loved.

Love,

Theresa

After I got off stage, several people wanted to talk to me. A tall older man waited patiently, inviting others to speak to me first. Finally, it was just the two of us. He revealed he’d just been diagnosed with prostate cancer and asked if I had any advice.

Without hesitation, I told him he’s allowed to feel what he feels.

When you get a diagnosis like that, or when something tragic happens in your life, or when the world is in absolute chaos and is falling apart, you’re expected to be strong. When people see you being stoic or having a positive attitude, they praise you. It’s seen as a sign of resilience.

And it is.

I’m the first to proclaim the benefits of positivity, of finding the silver lining, of living a life of hope and optimism.

AND. And I’m also allowed to feel what I feel.

We’re allowed to be sad. To be angry. To feel hopeless. To feel resentful and, frankly, pissed off.

I told this man, it’s okay to be angry. I also told him a trick I used and have shared with others who’ve come to me for advice: kick pillow shams. It’s amazingly cathartic and nobody gets hurt. (But be careful where you aim! I usually directed my projectile towards a blank wall.) It also helps to scream. A wild, unapologetic, full-volume scream. If you can without disturbing the neighbors, of course!

Because I was diagnosed in 2020 during the pandemic and because I’m a writer, I was very public about my experience. I needed the connection with others as I went through the most terrifying time of my life. I shared the ups and the downs, and yes, there were a lot of downs.

Unfortunately, that prompted a well-meaning acquaintance who’d had his own experiences with cancer to send me private messages telling me that by doing that, by sharing the negatives, I was feeding my cancer.

Bullshit.

I was releasing those valid yet draining emotions and giving them light. I allowed people to see that no, I’m not a “warrior” and I’m not immune to debilitating fear and no, I don’t feel joy every moment of every day, not when I’m willfully having cell-killing drugs injected into my body. And people listened. They commiserated. They respected my request for no unsolicited advice (most of them) and they allowed me to be angry and sad and scared. (Most of them.)

And I also shared my joy and gratitude and my deep belief that I would get through it.

That was also hard. I shared joy during a time when millions were dying and we were on lockdown. I expressed gratitude even though it was hard to look at myself in the mirror and I couldn’t understand why I had this sudden obsession with cottage cheese.

I felt it all. And I allowed myself to feel it all.

Just like I’m doing now. I do not recognize my country (although I also realize what’s come to the surface has always been there) and I do not have the words to express the devastating emotions I and so many of us are experiencing while witnessing what’s happening. The abject cruelty. The profound lack of humanity.

Yet while all that is going on, I also feel almost overwhelming joy. I get to do what I love for a living. I have incredible friends and a loving family and I adore my husband. I am so very, very blessed and so very, very grateful.

The advice I gave to this man, and the advice I give to you, if you want it, is to feel what you feel.

And–and this is important–find something for which you can be grateful. Hopefully, find a lot of things. Whether it’s saying “I’m so grateful I have a device that allows me to connect with others,” or “I’m grateful to wake up for another day,” find something. Find something that brings you joy. That makes you smile. That lights you up.

And have those pillow shams handy.

Happy feeling!

Theresa

Apparently I’m now writing an occasional Permission series. Read the first one, Permission to Be Ridiculous.

What I’m Reading

I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org, so if you purchase through any of these links, I’ll get a small commission at no cost to you. You’ll also be supporting independent bookstores!

I read multiple books at once, which keeps my curious brain happy! It tends to be an eclectic mix of fiction, research, and craft. Here’s what I’m currently reading:

Woven in Time, by Jessica Ann - This is the first book by an author I follow on Substack, and she’s a delight! It’s been lovely to see her journey and pride.

Welsh Witchcraft: A Guide to the Spirits, Lore, and Magic of Wales, by Mharla Starling - Fascinating! Research for my upcoming fantasy series.

The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield - Technically I haven’t started this yet, but I brought it with me to California with a brand new notebook and I plan to dive in today.

What I’m Writing

I also write multiple projects at the same time. Gotta keep those squirrels happy.

Trouble on the Tracks: the seventh book in the Alex Paige Travel is Murder series. Status: 64% complete

Epic Fantasy Series: Title TBA - join my Pollinators to be the first to know! First in a quintology. Status: 8% complete

Simple Self-Publishing: Step-by-step guide to bringing your manuscript to market. Status: Development

Where I Am

Currently in Southern California visiting my in-laws and speaking at the Los Angeles Travel & Adventure Show this weekend. Woohoo!

Where I’m Going

Now that’s a question we’d all like to know! Ha :-) I’ve got a busy few months coming up, starting with a visit to Sheboygan for a few days, then some time in Chicago. I’ll be house/catsitting at both. (Not sitting on the cats. Although the cats may be sitting on me. Hopefully.)

In April we’re going to celebrate my dad’s birthday in Asheville, and then in May, my husband and I are celebrating our birthdays in England - and going to the Goodrich Castle, of course.

Thanks for joining me this week! I’d love to know what you’re reading, so please reply or leave a comment.

Fine. I can hear you groaning. I’m done with the train puns. For now…

At the same time I’m writing this book, I’m writing a fantasy, ghostwriting a thriller, editing a series that’s been translated from Korean, and prepping for this weekend’s Travel and Adventure Show. I also launched a new umbrella company, am fulfilling my Kickstarter (which could be a full-time job on its own), attending multiple courses and educational webinars, and trying to consistently email three separate newsletter lists all while traveling to see family and planning an epic birthdays trip for my husband and me.

It’s a LOT.

I’m often asked how I do it and if I sleep. The answers are by taking each project one step at a time and yes, I do.

The best thing I do for myself is write my words first thing in the morning. I get up at 5, spend a couple of hours meditating and journaling, and somewhere between 7 and 8 I set a timer and write.

If I don’t set that time, I don’t write my mysteries. I don’t write my fantasy. I don’t write any words for my own creative outlets. So I do it first thing. Some people call that eating the frog. But the thing is, this isn’t something I have to force myself to do. I LOVE writing. I LOVE creating. More often than not, I’m grinning while I type. Telling these stories brings me so much joy and I can’t imagine a better way to start my day.

I can’t do it every morning, of course. This Saturday I need to be at the convention center by 9am to finish setting up my booth. I’m speaking at 11:15, so that morning’s going to be all about preparing and getting my head in the game.

Will I write Sunday? I’m sure going to try!

So that’s my writing time. What about the rest? How do I keep from losing my mind?

HB90. That’s a 90-day planning method created by author Sarra Cannon. With her method, we set goals, create projects that help reach those goals, and then break those down into tasks. The biggest part of this system is figuring out in advance what your dream life actually looks like and how much time you actually have.

I took her course in December 2024 and it changed my life. No exaggeration.

You can learn more at heartbreathings.com. I’m not affiliated - I just love her and what she does for authors.

Another way I stay on course is limiting my exposure to trolls. I deleted the platform formerly known as Twitter last year. I’d resisted because I’d been on it since 2007 and I literally won an Emmy and met my husband because of it. But I couldn’t stomach being in that environment or supporting the person who bought it.

I also severely limit my time on Facebook. I now don’t check in until after 1 in the afternoon, and that’s mainly for the useful groups and to connect with my friends. I ruthlessly curate my feed and gave up rage-scrolling and commenting. Let me tell you, it’s freed up HOURS of my life. Hours I now spend playing with words and creating meaningful connections with readers.

Which brings me to my new umbrella company, Pollinate Ink, and my Pollinators. My goal is to nurture, adore, and spoil my readers. Earlier this week I gave them first listen of a short story audiobook. I’ve got more in mind (like sending an excerpt of Trouble on the Tracks very soon!), but my idea is to create a space where I can say thank you on a regular basis and get to know the people who read my stuff. If you’d like to join (it’s free!) our budding community, sign up here!

If you’re in the Chicago area, please come see me at the Chicago Travel and Adventure Show this weekend! I’m The Local Tourist in booth 1807, right next to the Destination Theater. I’ll have oodles of candy and almost all my books!

I better get back to it. My task list is waiting!

Happy reading,

Theresa

p.s. Trouble on the Tracks is available for pre-order! You can reserve your copy through my store.

I didn’t publish my first book until 2017. I had a publisher, for which I’m grateful, and I also learned that I wanted to publish my own books.

(My mom says she raised me to be independent, but she might have gone a bit overboard. How was she to know her daughter’s a #1 Achiever?)

If you don’t know your Clifton Strengths, I highly recommend taking the test. It’s enlightening.

I’ve been my own boss since 2008, and for several years before then I worked as a server, which is a career that gives you more control than most corporate jobs.

Today, while I do have a couple of freelance clients, I am, frankly, unemployable in the traditional sense.

The same is true in my publishing career. I’m afraid I was a bit of a nightmare for that first publisher, but we still managed to get my book out there and on time and it sold better than 90% of first books. (It’s a low bar, but still…)

My third book came out in 2021. Fourth, if you count my contribution to Midwest Road Trip Adventures. Since then I’ve written more than a dozen. My first novel came out in ‘22 and I’m currently writing my seventh and eighth, simultaneously.

Conventional wisdom among indie folks, who are anything but conventional, is that the golden age to be an independent author was about 19 years ago, when Amazon first came out with the Kindle, revolutionizing how people read. They also allowed authors to publish their own books, and that revolutionized how writers became authors.

Gatekeepers: gone. Waiting for years to see your book come to life: gone. Making, if you’re lucky, 10% royalties: gone.

Oh, traditional publishing is still alive and well, and I have nothing against it; it’s just not for me (unless, you know, I’m offered a 6-figure advance and complete control over my IP).

Do I wish I’d started writing books earlier? Do I wish I’d started publishing earlier?

Part of me, of course. I’ve wanted to be an author for pretty much my entire life. But I didn’t start earlier, and I’ve never been one to dwell on what I haven’t done or could have done differently. Instead, I focus on what I can do.

Today, that means writing what I want, when I want, where I want, and publishing it all my dang self.

And I began this portion of my career, one from which I will never retire, at exactly the right time.

I believe that now is the golden age of independent publishing. I believe that any time can be the golden age, as long as you’re pursuing that dream in a way that’s authentic to you.

We have so many unbelievable tools and opportunities available to us. We can deliver e-books and audiobooks, create paperbacks in multiple trims, including the endangered trade size, and design beautiful collectors’ edition hardbacks. We’re distributed everywhere the trad pubs are. Businesses exist, usually started by authors themselves, for the sole purpose of making our author lives possible.

The community itself is exhilarating. Sure, there’s drama, but I’m consistently, daily, blown away by the generosity of my fellow authors, from those who are making the vaunted seven-figures-a-year to those just starting out. It’s a magical time to be an author. A beautiful time.

The perfect time.

I’m so glad I began when I did. If I hadn’t? I’d be just as glad to start now.

The important thing is to start. Whether it’s writing or running or learning how to knit or whatever calls to you. And when you do?

It’ll be perfect timing.

Happy creating,

Theresa

p.s. Speaking of timing, my Kickstarter ends in one hour! If you've been waiting to jump in, now's the time! Check it out here.

p.p.s. Trouble on the Tracks is now available for pre-order! You can reserve your copy through my store.

Or as I like to say: The more you create, the more you create.

Up until a couple of years ago, I didn’t think I was creative. This shocked the people closest to me. They knew I was creative.

But I didn’t.

Now, however… Last year I embraced it. My word of the year was Create. Since I began writing fiction at the end of 2021, my synapses have fired at an increasingly more rapid pace, to the point where I can’t keep up with the ideas.

I’ve got a spot in my bullet journal as well as a digital notes app to keep track of them all, because there’s no way I can write fast enough to get to all of them and by the time I have another idea (which will be any minute now), I’ll have forgotten the last one. Will I write all of them? Nope. Even if I live to be 155, I’ll have so many more ideas I’ll never be able to catch up.

And I love it!

On Monday this week, something phenomenal happened. I went to the Art Institute of Chicago for an artist date with my soul sister. We visited one of our favorite works of art, a piece I’ve spent considerable time with in the past few months. This time, however, something happened.

I’ve got a fantasy series that’s been brewing for quite a while. I’ve written the Prologue and the first chapter, but they’ve been put to the side because I need to finish Trouble on the Tracks.

But as I stood in front of this work of art, my brain exploded with visions of scenes, so clear and so real I had to sit down and then go look at a blank wall to clear the sheer overwhelm of sensory input.

I knew I couldn’t wait any more. I need to write this book. I have to write this story.

So what about Trouble? Well, I decided to try an experiment. I’d do one writing sprint devoted to the new series, and one focused on Alex Paige.

And it WORKED! This morning, I wrote around 700 words in each. I was able to separate them, and immerse myself in each of these very different worlds.

But that’s not all. Then I wrote a quick post about Jane Addams as a romantic for my Living Landmarks of Chicago Substack. And now I’m writing an essay about creativity.

Four very different subjects and styles of writing in one day. Something I previously thought I couldn’t do, because it’s “too hard” to jump from one to the other.

Turns out, I just needed to give myself permission.

I’ve been working on my creativity for some time now, even taking ghostwriting jobs because they’ll teach me another genre. While I have no interest in writing that genre, I can still learn something from it, like pacing and plotting.

With the ubiquitous foisting of AI upon us, I believe being able to create, to pull ideas from our minds, to make up something from nothing, is vital. I admit, I use AI as a tool, but the creation? The words? Those are mine. It’s not just because the act of stringing them together brings me joy; it’s also because how I string them together and the act of doing it are mine and a computer can never replicate or replace that.

I’m human. Fallible, messy, and creatively human.

That’s why I started the Pollinators, a community of readers that I hope to foster and nurture. I want my readers to know Me, Theresa, the real person. I want to connect with them, with you–to share joy and hope and love.

(And yes, that’s an em dash, and no, that’s not a sign of AI. That’s punctuation.)

The act of creation is distinctly human, whether you’re creating stories or preparing a dish with care or making a pretty spread in your bullet journal. And the more you do it, the more you put those synapses to work, the more you want to. It’s addicting, but it’s a drug that heals instead of hurts.

The more you create, the more you create. And it could also be said, the more joy you feel, the more joy you feel.

What makes you happy? What brings you joy?

Whatever it is (and I’d love to know if you care to share), I hope you make the time for it. Because yes, joy is an act of resistance.

And it also makes life a heckuva lot more fun!

Happy creating,

Theresa

p.s. Trouble on the Tracks is now available for pre-order! You can reserve your copy through my store or by backing the Kickstarter - but hurry - that ends next Tuesday!

p.p.s. If you’re curious, the work of art that’s captured my attention and inspired my creativity is Raqib Shaw’s Paradise Lost. It’s a phenomenal work and is at the Art Institute of Chicago through November 15.