
Tari Lynn Jewett lives with her husband of nearly thirty years (also known as Hunky Hubby). They have three amazing sons, a board game designer, a sound engineer and a musician. For over fifteen years she wrote freelance for magazines and newspapers, wrote television commercials, radio spots, numerous press releases, and many, MANY PTA newsletters. As much as she loved writing those things, she always wanted to write fiction . . . and now she is.
She also believes in happily ever after . . . because she’s living hers.

One of Tari’s newest title is Love and Mud Puddles, available now.

Hannah loves her accounting job, the condo that she purchased herself, and her best friend Melinda. What she doesn’t love is baking. To be fair, she’s never tried. But when her cousin shames her into bringing homemade cookies to the family Christmas Eve celebration, she begins a quest to make the perfect holiday cookie.
Paramedic Josh also occasionally teaches kids’ cookie baking classes at his family’s bakery. When a beautiful accountant mistakenly signs up for a children’s holiday baking class, he realizes immediately that she’s in the right place.
Can this local hero help to save Hannah’s Christmas? Or will it all go up in smoke?

life spills . . .
forming red rivulets in sand
in the vast desert
man’s fury against man
reasons I do not understand
why or how this came to be
who knows the rationality
in the circle of history
with unending repeats
I see blood . . . I see man
a glinting rifle
in his hand . . .
for a broken piece of land
© Neetu Malik

Anniversaries are festive occasions marking milestones and accomplishments. We recount experiences and memories; some sad, but hopefully mostly joyful. We celebrate the depth and richness of our shared lives.
Anniversaries are also a time for looking back to where we have been and how far we have traveled. We also peek forward to catch a glimpse of that which is to come.
It seems fitting that the United States of America is doing the same in 2026 during its 250th anniversary. Documentaries, films, community activities, art, and books continue to explore the American experiment of democracy, freedom, and the equality and rights of all people as the nation, in its ever-changing cultural and political metamorphosis, engages in ongoing discussions of education, free speech, the role of the arts, and banned books.
So, I was delighted when on a recent trip to St. Petersburg, Florida, I chanced upon a restaurant named, The Library. Bookshelves lined the walls filled with volumes of books. Giant round lighting hung from the ceiling reminding me of the light bulb that appears in comic strips on the top of a character’s head when a brilliant idea illuminates them. The aroma of coffee and good food wafted through the air in this space modeled after the George Peabody Library in Baltimore, Maryland. Peabody believed in the power and importance of education and built an institute for the citizens of Baltimore dedicated for that purpose. What a great place for nourishment of body and mind.





At the nearby Museum of Fine Arts, The Last Library IV Written In Water, an installation by Ward Shelley and Douglas Paulson, intrigued and energized me. On tilted shelves filled with banned books, the artists also placed fake archives, and political propaganda alongside the Magna Carta and the Declaration of Human Rights.
According to the information plaque, the installation, like a real library, honors the written word, but the artists challenge the viewer to find the truth among alternative facts, confusing sources, and language shaped by artificial intelligence. We are asked to think about how much we can trust the written word, and causes us to even wonder about the future of democracy.
Art and books reveal that these important topics will always remain relevant and are conversations worthy of continual study and exploration for a nation and its people to live up to its founding principles and values.
Happy Birthday, America. Keep the dream alive. Make it a reality for all.
Veronica Jorge
See you next time on August 22nd!

Tari Lynn Jewett lives with her husband of nearly thirty years (also known as Hunky Hubby). They have three amazing sons, a board game designer, a sound engineer and a musician. For over fifteen years she wrote freelance for magazines and newspapers, wrote television commercials, radio spots, numerous press releases, and many, MANY PTA newsletters. As much as she loved writing those things, she always wanted to write fiction . . . and now she is.
She also believes in happily ever after . . . because she’s living hers.

One of Tari’s newest title is Love and Mud Puddles, available now.

Hannah loves her accounting job, the condo that she purchased herself, and her best friend Melinda. What she doesn’t love is baking. To be fair, she’s never tried. But when her cousin shames her into bringing homemade cookies to the family Christmas Eve celebration, she begins a quest to make the perfect holiday cookie.
Paramedic Josh also occasionally teaches kids’ cookie baking classes at his family’s bakery. When a beautiful accountant mistakenly signs up for a children’s holiday baking class, he realizes immediately that she’s in the right place.
Can this local hero help to save Hannah’s Christmas? Or will it all go up in smoke?

We’re in the midst of summer here in Southeast Pennsylvania, a time for hiking in the woods, camping in the forest, picnicking near a lake—even walking on the beach at the Jersey Shore. Nature is ours to enjoy, right?
We often view nature as “safe,” but seen through the lens of a horror writer, nature can also be unpredictable and dangerous. That’s the horror sub-genre of biological or ecological horror, in which nature has the final word. These days, with a rapidly changing climate, the natural world can pose an even greater threat.
Even though the term eco-horror may seem new, the idea of (hu)man vs. nature has been around for hundreds of years as a plot device. The natural world can be a pretty scary place, even when it’s not depicted as evil, and especially if you think you have it all figured out. Consider the films 27 Hours or All Is Lost.
“In eco-horror, nature isn’t good,” says JP Ruz on Slow Burn Horror. “But it’s not evil either; it just is.”
In mid-20th century films, natural horror frequently focused on creatures: Godzilla, that Creature from the Black Lagoon, giant ants (Them!). It was a way to address humanity’s fear at that time of nuclear annihilation and radiation exposure.
Creatures continue to be a common eco-horror trope because we can anthropomorphize them, from aliens (Alien) to yetis (Yeti) to sharks (Jaws)—all critters we can “fight.” Other living entities are harder to deal with (or stop) because they are so not human: plants (Little Shop of Horrors), fungi (The Last of Us), viruses (The Stand). Or they are meteorological: tornadoes (Twister), gales (Perfect Storm), snow (Avalanche), floods (The Wave).
Like life in general, humans are usually happiest when they feel in control. When they aren’t, the horror seeps in.
But author and poet Ashia Ajani, writing in Atmos Magazine, asks: “Even when there is a moral at the end of the tale, too much ecological horror begs the question: Should nature be conquered? Subdued?”

Ajani notes that “many of the movies recycle the same tropes: possessed creatures, gory vengeance, and supernatural phenomena that speak more to our own fear of annihilation instead of addressing the uneven wounds we’ve created all over the globe.”
Several recent novels that explore eco-horror include Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer, also a movie; The Marigold by Andrew F. Sullivan, and The Brood by Rebecca Baum.
Naomi Booth, writing in the New York Times, adds, “In eco-horror, we witness acts of environmental violence currently hidden from sight; we might see who suffers most and who gains by that suffering.”
That’s because climate change doesn’t treat everyone equally, Ajani says. Instead it worsens existing inequities.
This is good fodder for story creation. As Booth says, “at its most effective, eco-horror compels us not to look away. It attempts to close the distance between the reader and sufferers of environmental disaster, and when it really gets under the skin.”
Speaking of skin, author Erica Ferencik, whose novel The Blooming releases early next year, noted at a recent conference panel on eco-horror noted that our internal body temperature is cooling (it’s no longer 98.6F, but roughly 97.5F), making it easier for fungi to invade through that very skin . . .
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