Living the Dream

Welcome to June and almost summer as well as the sixth month of the year, which means we’re halfway through 2026. So far the first half of the year has been so-so, with sales lower than usual, but I’m hoping that will improve. I need to do more promoting, I guess, but that is my weak spot.

I finished the A to Z challenge in April, met several new bloggers, whom I hope will continue to follow my blog as I follow theirs. In addition, I’ve written two new books so far this year, one romance suspense, the other cozy mystery with a lot of rom-com in it. I seemed to have crossed over the line between the two genres. We’ll see what happens with sales. I’m hoping to write two more before the end of the year, but I have a month long holiday planned for August which will cut into my writing schedule this year. Hoping to write only in the morning and enjoy the rest of the warm summer days. Winter seemed especially long this time around.

This month’s question: Do most of your story ideas come from one place (the news, dreams, etc.) or do they hit from all over the place?

My stories come from all over, but world events and the news do give me lots of ideas. In some situations, my stories are reactions to current events. My characters can be very opinionated at times, and at others, they can be more open-minded than many of the people around me. My ideas tend to be influenced by current events and the reams of misinformation and disinformation that abounds on the Internet, so I walk a thin line.

I would say that my holidays also give me story ideas. I’ve been known to set my tales in places that I’ve visited, such as Scandinavia, The British Isles, the Carribbean Islands, and Mexico, as well as here in Canada, adding details from my own experiences and the things I learn while I’m there. My stories also come from a sense of national pride since I’m setting most of my latest books in Canada and adding in its beauty and culture.

The third source for story ideas has to be my overactive imagination and the ideas that manifest themselves in my dreams. I may not recall the entire dream, but something will stick with me, and I’ll feel the need to let the idea play out. As all of my books are character driven, a lot of the time I don’t know where I’m going with a story until I get there. That’s the joys of being a pantser. Even you can be surprised in the end.

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It’s June! Summer is only three weeks away, and while the weather continues to be erratic this year, we have had enough nice days for me to plant my flowers. This week, the authors from Tuesday Tales are crafting scenes in their WIP to the word prompt sugar. I’ve used a form of the word. This is the last post from The Case of the Missing Prince, since the book goes to the editor this week. Hope I’ve left you wanting more.

“The newspaper editor, a member of the anti-royalist coalition, claims the king has been hiding the information so as to influence the upcoming elections.”

“How could knowing whether or not the prince was alive do that?”

“It all goes to trust,” Petrov admitted. “When questioned about the fact that the prince was in Canada to sign treaties to bring nuclear energy to Zobora—a rather specific concern if you ask me—the energy minister denied all knowledge of such, and as for the prince being dead, he reminded the reporter that the prince had long been a fan of green energy initiatives of all kinds. Crown Prince Stanislav was expected back in Zobora in October to take over the reins at Zobora Copper and Fine Metals and could answer their questions himself.”

“And did it help.”

“Perhaps it buys us a little more than a week to show proof of life. The king addressed the nation three hours later, denied the allegations concerning the prince’s death, telling them that he and the queen have been in contact with their son and that they look forward to his return before his birthday on October 23. He stressed that Stanislav wasn’t in Canada to sign any agreements, but to gather information and start a dialogue on the issue. He added that the prince will share his vision for the country at his birthday party, well ahead of the election.”

I let out a slow breath. Everything had just changed and not for the prince’s benefit. Once his picture started to circulate, someone was bound to recognize him. Knowing the tabloids, one of them would probably offer a reward to anyone who could point them to a living prince or his remains. It was far from an ideal situation, and if the people searching for the prince were to offer to foot the bill, Prince Stan could be in far more trouble than he thought. I had to get to him first.

“And you’re sure all of this is legit? Not some AI fabrication meant to deceive and confuse?

“Completely legit as you say. To use one of your expressions, there’s no need to sugarcoat it. The article contained details only someone close to the prince would know.”

“Or a damn good spy. So, who is it? Anton, Zandro, Emile, Jacob, or a spy in the palace? Let’s be practical here. Other than those directly involved and the immediate royal family, who else knows the truth?”

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I hope you had a happy Memorial Day weekend. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Today, the authors are crafting scenes to the word prompt BUTTER. I’m continuing with The Case of the Missing Prince. The story has taken a few twists and turns since our last encounter. Hope you’ll be able to follow. Enjoy.

“Do you recall why you asked me to come with you on this job?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I stated looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “I remember all of the reasons I wanted you with me.” I ran my hand along his arm.

“We’ll discuss some of those other reasons after, but for now let’s talk about this one. How can I watch your back when you leave like that? Now that we know that the prince is alive and hiding from those who tried to grab him, the danger is greater than ever. They’ve killed at least once to set this up. They won’t be happy if we find him first. I’m not saying I expect you to take me to the can with you, but I am saying that I was worried, although I did suspect you were making a call. So what did the queen of hackers have to say?”

“I’m sorry, and to be fair, I didn’t expect to be gone that long.” As succinctly as I could, I shared what Hallie had with him concerning Andreea and her husband. “Despite his background he was very anti-nuclear energy—maybe it was because of it, but whatever the reason, it looks like Andreea picked up the torch after he died.”

I shoved my hands in my coat pocket to remove my gloves when a slip of paper fell to the floor.

“You dropped this.” Al handed it to me.

I reached for it. “It must be something old from before we left Ottawa,” I mused before opening it, thinking it was a receipt from Tim’s since I hadn’t worn this coat since last spring.

It wasn’t. The note was short and far from sweet.

Leave this area. Mind your own business or become a casualty of war. You’ve been warned.

War? Since when had this become a war? There was no signature, but I recognized the upside down horseshoe as the last letter of the Greek alphabet, Omega, the end, or the name of the person behind ZOE. Who had put it there?

Knowing who was after the prince should make everything easier, but it didn’t. What it did was send my brain into overdrive once more. How did I know this wasn’t a red herring, something to get me off the right track and send me in the wrong direction?

“What is it?” I handed the slip of paper to Al.

He read it and scowled. “Damn it, Evie. This is exactly what I was saying. Anyone who was close enough to drop a note in your pocket could’ve done a lot worse.”

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Good morning. Yesterday was Victoria Day, the unofficial first day of summer. When I was a child, it was alos the day they had fireworks as part of the celebration. That changed after our centennial in 1967 when fireworks and other festivities moved to Dominion Day, the anniversary of the July 1, 1867 Confederation Day. While it’s celebrated July 1, each year, it was officially renamed Canada Day on October 27, 1982 and is our day of national pride and activities as well as fireworks.

Today, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt SCREEN. I’m continuing with The Case of the Missing Prince. Evie is working hard to reconcile everything she knows with what she’s about to discover. I’m a few words over thisweek, but I needed to give you the whole picture!

Al reached to open the door but discovered it was locked. I frowned. It was daytime. I could understand locked doors at night as a security measure, but during the day? It wasn’t as if the patients were in any shape to run away. I pressed the intercom.

“Yes?” a woman answered the buzz. “How can I help you?”

“Evelyn Chambers, Al Binette, Petrov Bukowski, and Viktor Opole. We have an appointment to see Janek Dulik.”

“Of course, Ms. Chambers. We’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

The door buzzed, and Al held it open as I led the pack through the entrance. We walked through an x-ray machine, similar to the ones used in high security buildings and airports and stopped at the desk where the receptionist waited, staring at the screen in front of her.

“Ms. Chambers, we’ve been expecting you. Janek and Zoya are excited to be getting visitors. You’ll be the first company they’ve had since arriving here last month. I see some of you are armed.”

I frowned. Obviously, just because the machine hadn’t beeped, it didn’t mean it hadn’t done its job. Since when were rehab centers locked down this way? Something else she’d said struck me. Zoya was staying here? That didn’t seem normal. I would get to the bottom of that later.

“I am, and so is Al.”

There was no point in denying it since my weapon and his had shown up on the scan.

I glanced at Viktor and Petrov, who shook their heads.

“May I see your credentials?” Her voice was frostier than it had been.

I handed her my ID and looked around. While I couldn’t see anyone but nurses, patients in wheelchairs, and orderlies in the hall, I was certain that had I said no, the situation would’ve deteriorated quickly.

What the hell is going on here?

In another time and place, I could picture this woman in uniform, although whether it would be prison guard or military escaped me. She typed the information into her computer, checked my ID with whatever had come up on the computer, and nodded.

Looking up, she said, “The ID for the other armed man, please?”

Al handed her his personal information which included his new investigator’s license.

She repeated the process she’d used for me.

“Your security clearance allows you to keep your weapons.” She smiled, the gesture changing her demeaner. “Please sign in.” She indicated an old-fashioned ledger.

I reached for the pen. “Is security always this tight here?”

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Hello. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Around here, May is a confused ar April was, so we’re all praying for consistancy. This week, the Tuesday Tales’s authors are crafting scenes around the word prompt BIRTH. I’m coninuing with my cozy mystery, The Case of the Missing Prince. Enjoy!

I swallowed. “But he wouldn’t bother with an injured man or a corpse, would he?”

The idea of Leo meeting the giant grizzly had the burger in my stomach revolting.

“Ms. Chambers, survival of the fittest is a way of life especially in the animal kingdom. Sooner or later, everyone becomes part of the food chain. Grizzly bears are opportunistic carrion eaters. Food is food, and if it isn’t going to fight back, so much the better. They’ll eat road kill, winter kill, calves that don’t survive after birth, and whatever the wolves take down and leave behind, especially in spring when they’re hungry and the crop of berries is sparce. Hell, male grizzlys will eat their own cubs without even thinking twice about it, seeing them only as food and nothing else. To the Boss, a human corpse would just be another free meal. If your man wandered out there and died, the animals could’ve scattered his bones over almost seven thousand square kilometers. The odds of finding him wouldn’t be good.”

Perhaps some hiker will come across a bone or two, and DNA can verify it as belonging to Leo. The man is dead. Leave him in peace.

Zandro’s words flashed through my mind. Had he known the size of the park? As an environmental toxicologist, he could be aware of animal habitat as well as diet. Could he have known about the Boss?

Once again, I regretted consuming that large burger for lunch. I had to hope that Leo hadn’t met the Boss or any of the other predators Hank had mentioned.

He signaled and turned into a large paved lot. The Buffalo Spring Convalescent Home was in a rural setting although it was still within the city limits. The three-story modern, red brick building featured many large windows, so there would be lots of natural light. There were several trees decorating the front of the building, all of them dressed in gold at the moment, heralding the arrival of autumn, and someone had placed giant flower pots filled with multicolored mums to add a little festive color to the place. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected when I’d heard Buffalo Springs Convalescent Home, maybe something along the lines of a refurbished mental hospital or one of the buildings that had once been a school, but this place looked friendly and inviting.

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Since my mother passed away, Mother’s Day has felt somewhat different. My husband gets me a card and flowers, my children always make a point of contacting me, as do my grandchildren, but I no longer have a card or a gift to buy, no one to visit, although I’ll probably stop by the cemetery. Those who live nearby will take me to supper tonight, maybe buy me flowers, but I will have no one to honor anywhere but here and in my heart.

My mother and I didn’t always get along, not that that is unusual. A lot of people have mother issues, but it took me a very long time to understand that just because we didn’t always get along, it didn’t mean that she didn’t love me in her own way, just as I loved her.

This morning, I was playing one of those silly games online where they use your picture to create something else. In this case it was mini you, you, and older you.

I was surprised to see that in the photo, older me resembled my mother so completely that I could be her and yet, no one has ever suggested that I resembled her–my sister, yes, but I was always told that I took after my father’s side.

Mom was my age when this picture was taken. I try to see the resemblance in it, and I suppose I do around the eyes and the shape of the chin, but her eyes were a much darker brown then mine, almost black, especially when she was angry or off in another world, one of her own making, as she frequently was in her latter years.

And suddenly, I miss her. I miss the good times. I wish she were here to see what wonderful things her great-grandchildren are doing, to see how I’ve grown as an author, using the imagination I must credit to her since she showed a lot of it in the world she created for herself. She never forgot who we were, always knew my sister and I, but her memories rarely were accurate. Was she unhappy in the nursing home? I don’t think so. She had a private room with everything she wanted, including her own television set. She had her hair done weekly, buweekly manicures and pedicures. The staff treated her well, even when she was less than gracious about it, and every two weeks, we sent flowers to brighten her room. We visited twice a week, and while she could, she participated in several activities, including BINGO! How she loved to win. We never knew how artistic and creative she was, and while things were good, she loved being part of things. She was 96 when she died.

So, today, I remember Mom. I choose not to focus on the sad moments, but to recall the good ones, and there were many of those.

No one is perfect, and being a mother is one of the most difficult jobs a woman can ever have. Your body gives a lot of itself to the child growing inside you for nine months, and then when you bring it into the world, a tiny, helpless, bundle, the love you feel overwhelms you. There’s no manual to help you deal with this tiny creature as it moved through stage afte stage of development. You simply have to trust that you’re doing the best you can. It isn’t always easy, sometimes it feels as if you’ve failed over and over again, but the joy and pride you feel when things turn out well is priceless.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Here we are in May of 2026. Four months down, eight months to go. The calendar assures me it’s spring; the weather does not.

May 6 question – What was the most inspiring feedback you received from readers, including agents, editors, and beta readers?

The answer is easy. The best feedback I get is being told that readers enjoy my work. That’s what keeps me writing, what keeps me slogging away at the computer day after day because that’s what I intended to do when I started this journey. I didn’t expect to make a lot of money, although that would’ve been nice. I wanted to entertain people, to share the stories and characters that occupied my mind. I wanted to take readers out of the world they were in and give them something else to think about, restore their ability to dream and home. Did I make them laugh or cry? Did I inspire them to learn a bit more about something? Did I help to change their perspective on my country, my values, my beliefs? Did I make them want to read or listen to more of my work? If I touched them in any way, then I succeeded.

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Welcome to the month of May and Tuesday Tales. Around here, spring is still struggling to find her footing. Each week, a select group of author friends share a snippet from their current works in process with you, creating a scene designed around a specific word prompt. This week, our word prompt is SUNSHINE. Each scene is approxinmately 400 words long. I’m working on a cozy mystery called The Case of the Missing Prince. It’s a cold case filled with secrets and political intrigue which will require every ounce of my sleuth’s abilities to solve.

This week’s scene introduces you to Banff National Park’s denizen living legend. For the record, had I known about this guy, there is no way on Earth that my sister-in-law would’ve gotten me to go on a hike on the other side of the bear gates! Lucky for us, the Boss, was occupied elsewhere that day. Enjoy!

“This place is new and privately owned,” Hank stated. “They’re the top rehab center but mighty pricey. Got family in there?”

“No,” I shook my head at him since I could see his eyes in the rearview mirror. “When Leo disappeared, he was climbing with four other men, including Viktor here who broke his leg.” No need to go into details about crush injuries. “While two of the others are back home recuperating, one was more severely injured and required additional care.” I was careful not to mention where home was.

He nodded. “A couple of people were killed, too. My nephew—he’s in the last year of his forestry management degree—does a lot of hiking out that way. He and the other people in his class assisted in the perimeter search.” He chuckled. “Ned and a couple of his friends worked the ten to fifteen kilometer section. Didn’t find anything, not that they expected to. Lots of rough terrain there. Their last day, they spotted the Boss out fishing. They stayed a safe distance away, believe me.”

Viktor turned in his seat. “The Boss?”

“Yeah. He’s what you might call Banff National Park’s living legend and dominant grizzly bear. Officially, he’s Bear 122. He’s close to 30 years old, big, even for a grizzly, weighing about seven hundred pounds, and a horny bugger since they figure he’s sired 70 percent of the cubs in the park. He’s usually the first bear to come out of hibernation each year, lured by the early rays of sunshine in his cave. Folks in the area set spring by him not some damn rodent back east. A few years back, he got hit by a train and walked away from the collision. He’s learned to stay away from the rails when he hears the whistles. My nephew often hikes in that section of the park, but it was the first time he saw him. It seems the Boss, like Big Foot, is a mite shy when it comes to humans, but he won’t walk away from a fight with another Bear. The park rangers claim there was quite a dust-up this past summer between him and old Split Lip who occasionally wanders into his territory. While he’s been known to eat black bears, as a rule, he sticks to berries, roots, smaller mammals, and whatever he can steal from the wolf pack in the area, especially at this time of year when he’s fattening up for winter. Not sure how your man would’ve fared if he’d come across him.”

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