Throughout my career in medical device marketing, I developed detailed audience personas, positioned products in competitive landscapes, and crafted evidence-based messaging. These skills helped launch innovations that genuinely improved patient care.

When I became an author and my books started winning awards, I assumed those same marketing skills would transfer easily.

They didn't

In Newfoundland, when people want to know where you come from, they ask, "Who knit you?"

It's a question that's been on my mind lately, both in life and in fiction. In my newsletter this week, I wrote about the people who shape our stories without necessarily getting center stage. The mentor who redirects a career with a single question. The friend who sees possibilities we've dismissed. The spouse whose expectations cast shadows long after they're gone.

"Is Maddie based on you?"

It's the question I get most often from readers. Here's the thing: I've never worked as a structural engineer in 1960s Toronto, and I certainly wasn't born in 1938. So no, my novels aren't autobiographical.

But my life experience? That's been an essential writing partner from day one. I borrow emotions, not events. The feeling of being professionally out of place? Those emotions I borrowed wholesale.

In research, you gather far more data than you'll ever use in your final paper. You need to understand the complete picture before you can distill it down to the essential elements that tell your story. Fiction writing works much the same way.

“Is the hollandaise is as good as Brandon's?" My husband asked, referring to a character from my novel as if he were a real person. I thought it was just spousal bias until I read a review praising my "unique talent of letting readers unabashedly peek into the lives of characters." That's when I realized: writing in first person POV means I don't create characters—I live inside their heads. When I'm writing as Maddie, I'm literally thinking her thoughts. When I switch to Nate's chapters, I become him. It's like method acting for writers. Maybe that's why readers feel like they're "peeking into lives" rather than being told a story.

From Yasujirō Ozu films to a 1964 Fodor's guide found on eBay, here's how I'm bringing 1966 Japan to life in the final Maddie & Nate novel. Historical accuracy matters, even in fiction exploring quantum possibilities!

Watching young fans in Summerside, PEI watching the Canada-US Women’s Hockey Rivalry Series , I couldn't help but think about how far we've come. Today's girls don't just dream about playing hockey – they dream about Olympic gold. They don't just hope to work in STEM – they plan on running the lab or the company. That’s the power of role models. When girls see women succeeding in previously restricted spaces, whether on the ice or in the boardroom, it transforms their sense of what's possible.

The Identity Alchemy of Becoming a Writer - The process of building fictional identities has unexpectedly illuminated the way my life choices have shaped my own sense of self.

Creating my characters' lives has made me think about the differences and similarities between Maddie’s era and my Gen X perspective. When considering the ongoing battle for workplace equality, the fight to maintain women’s reproductive rights and societal expectations surrounding marriage and motherhood, it’s sometimes disheartening to think that as much as things have changed… we haven’t come far enough in the last four decades.

One of my favorite rituals when I arrive at my home in Italy is stocking the fridge. Not just with essentials like milk or eggs. With cheese. By the time I'm done, my fridge looks less like sensible meal planning and more like I'm preparing for a cheese-themed apocalypse. But here's the thing: that's when I know I'm home.

Nate’s Crab Cakes

There’s a lot of food in your book is a comment I received from one of the early readers of my manuscript. There’s really no surprise how that happened.

A camera falls into the ocean. A diver sees something yellow lodged in the reef. He could swim past. He doesn't. That's not fate. That's choice. Here's the true story that reminds me why I write about parallel timelines and second chances.

It never fails that travel teaches me things. History I never learned in school, cultural nuances that make the world suddenly more layered and complex, the way different places solve the same human problems in completely different ways. But sometimes—and this is the part that always catches me off guard—travel teaches me something about myself.

Yesterday was my birthday, and there's something about blowing out candles that makes you reflect on the path that brought you to this exact moment.

As someone fascinated by quantum physics, I think about parallel universes—where different versions of me are celebrating this same birthday with completely different lives. There's the me who took that PhD position in Switzerland and became a full-time scientist. The me who never picked up those black notebooks and started writing.

But in this reality, here's the chain that led to celebrating as a published author: an MBA pivot to medical marketing, a move to Arizona, meeting Mike who asked "what would you write about?"—and everything changed.

Sometimes the smallest choices create the biggest ripple effects.

Stepping into Pompeii is like walking through a portal to the past, where the whispers of ancient life echo through remarkably preserved streets and buildings. My recent trip sparked my imagination as our guide, Barbara, unveiled a glimpse into a sophisticated society tragically frozen in time by Vesuvius' catastrophic eruption.

Super excited that Out of Time is available at Sherman’s!

Out of Time was the book of the month for August for the Once Upon a Time Book Club.