Nary a Clue
November 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic tagged as short fiction, Thanksgiving, writing
Thanksgiving was three days ago, and I’m still reeling at what I witnessed. My sister hosted, as she has for the last twenty years. That was the only thing predictable about the holiday, though. I was there, of course. She assigns me a dessert every year, and as the dutiful sibling, I oblige, although it’s always store bought. Me, bake a pie? For the sixteen others in attendance, it was more or less potluck. By that I mean both the dishes shared and the personalities that came with them.
Will, my brother-in-law, made a mistake by suggesting we try a team effort at cooking. Sister Steph wasn’t buying it. “Out,” she said, when the horde attempted to breach the kitchen walls. Instead, she selected four of us (yes, me, always) to run the prep, allowing Will in only to check on the turkey. The rest dispersed to the family room for football or the basement for games.
That’s when the screaming started. I was the first to react, given that the only thing I was busy with just then was peeling potatoes. The scream pierced the holiday music that Alexa was playing in the kitchen, and I dropped the peeler and sprinted for the door.
There was confusion among the football crowd, most seeming reluctant to abandon the game underway to locate the screamer. I passed them by and pulled open the basement door.
“Auntie Rhea, you’ve got to help.” That was my nephew Shawn, eyes wide as dinner plates. Behind him on the stairs crowded another nephew and a second cousin.
Expecting to mediate a fight over who was winning at a board game, I had to blink several times to take in the scene at the bottom of the stairs: Instead of just a small knot of preteens, the room now included several adults, none of whom I’d seen before.
I walked up to the nearest person, a middle-aged man dressed in clothing straight out of a Victorian era film. “Who are you?” I couldn’t let the children know how alarmed I was. “What are you doing here?”
The man had the look of a vulture—his six-foot-plus stature to my smidge-over-five-feet height. “We have a crime to solve, madam.” His brow furrowed. “We suspect that one of these scamps is the culprit.”
The narrow basement had somehow expanded to include several new doorways, a brick fireplace in which flames crackled, and picture windows that overlooked … a broad, wooded valley. On a suburban street in Doylestown?
“What crime would that be?” I kept up my no-nonsense demeanor even as I struggled to understand what was going on.
He pulled out a small notebook and flipped several pages. “A murder.”
Quickly I counted the youngsters in the room: eight. That seemed correct. “One of the children is dead?” I said, my legs suddenly wobbly.
The man grimaced. “Hardly. It’s someone related to the Colonel. Mustard’s cousin.”
Mustard? The other adults in the now-sumptuous room also wore period clothing, one of them in a khaki military uniform complete with a few medals pinned to his chest.
“Are we talking about the game Clue?”
Shawn tugged at the sleeve of my cardigan. “Auntie?” His lower lip trembled. “We were playing, and Amanda sprinkled what she said was stardust over the board.” He pointed at the adults. “And then they all appeared.”
Miss Scarlett, Mr. Green, Mrs. Peacock, and Chef White nodded curtly at me. Each carried a weapon in their hands.
“As you can see, we are in a dreadful predicament,” the tall man with the small notebook said. He had to be Professor Plum. “They’ve elected me to find out who—”
He was interrupted by the loud clanging of a bell from upstairs, my sister’s way of calling everyone to the table. I’d missed out on the rest of the dinner prep. Too bad.
I patted the professor’s arm, impressed with the high-quality tweed of his sleeve. “The kids and I aren’t going to be able to help you right now. Thanksgiving meal is waiting.” All eyes were on me. “You all are welcome to join us. Cranberry sauce, stuffing, roast turkey—and pumpkin pie.”
The entire group, kids and interloper adults, followed me up the stairs. We added another leaf to Steph’s table and made do with several folding chairs Will found in his garage workshop. The kids sat at their own table, in the kitchen, where they could argue over who got the drumsticks.
The newcomers introduced themselves as everyone settled in at their places.
Will raised an eyebrow at them. “Aren’t you all from—?”
“Shush,” I said, putting a finger to my lips. “Let’s eat.”
More of Dianna’s Books
Do You Have Time to Write? by Kitty Bucholtz
November 9, 2025 by Kitty Bucholtz in category It's Worth It by Kitty Bucholtz, Writing tagged as It's Worth It, Kitty Bucholtz, Perimenopause, time management, writing
I’ve always been one of those people who’s trying to get more done, looking for ways to be more efficient so I can do more in the same amount of time. I even taught a time management class for writers for over ten years, sharing everything I learned so people could try new ways to get more writing done. It worked delightfully well for me for years.
Until it didn’t.
Stress and burnout and perimenopause collided a few years ago, and it felt like I got hit by a train. I struggled to get writing work done while I tried to realign my health. Now on a good day, I’m working for 4-6 hours (down from 10-14 five years ago); a bad day might give me 30 minutes. It can be depressing, and that adds to the stress, which messes with my hormones, which clouds my brain even more.
But I’m still the same Kitty, wanting to share what I learn so that I can help others. So I’m writing two nonfiction books right now. One is on perimenopause and menopause for writers. I’m taking everything I’ve learned and all my resources and compiling it all, aimed at writers. I’d love to add more stories from other women writers who have gone through mental and physical health issues, especially related to menopause. Please contact me if you’d like to share your story (kitty at kittybucholtz dot com, and put “Menopause for Writers” in the subject line).
The other book is called Going the Distance: Time and Project Management for Writers. I’ve taken ten years’ worth of my lectures and broken them down into the core elements, and then I’m updating all of the material as well as adding new tips. I’ll start blogging about it soon, but I just finished the outline and I wanted to share it with you.
The 10-chapter book will include the following topics:
- Chapter 1: Your Story — Looking at the successes in your past, how does your brain create the best environment for writing?
- Chapter 2: Mastering Self-Talk and Cultivating Joy — Creating attitude habits that increase your creativity.
- Chapter 3: Dreams, Goals, and the SMART System — Turning goals into dreams is more than just will power; it requires systems to make it happen.
- Chapter 4: Prioritizing to Conquer Fear — What to do first and what to do next seems easy at the beginning of the day, but how do we keep working on what’s truly important to us while living in the real world?
- Chapter 5: Finding Your Available Days — One aspect of reality is that for most of us the answer to “How many days do I have to write this year?” is not 365. So how many days do you have?
- Chapter 6: Translating Goals into Word Counts — This is where we take the real number of writing days and figure out how much we can write or, vice-versa, figure out how much we need to write to hit our goal for the year.
- Chapter 7: Habits and Rhythms — All of us have our good days; it’s the rest of the time that gets us down. So how can we create an environment for more good days?
- Chapter 8: Flow and Energy Management — So many things can help us get more done in a shorter amount of time! We’ll look at commitment, daydreaming and white space, physical and mental health, distractions, prewriting, and more.
- Chapter 9: Organizing Your Writing and Your Workspace — The crucial organization needed to avoid stress and wasted time.
- Chapter 10: Progress, Rewards, and Reassessment — Sustainability is the name of the game here! What’s the perfect amount of writing work that keeps you moving forward long-term without burning you out?
If this sounds interesting and helpful to you, let me know! In my post here in December, I’ll start sharing some of my tips and ideas so you can plan for a good writing year in 2026. It’ll be worth it!
0 0 Read moreMidnight Snack
October 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as dark fiction, Halloween, short fiction, writing
At the chiming of eleven bells, the retreat’s evening session began. Squeezed around the table, six people scooted chairs until no one brushed up against anyone else. The room’s reddish glow came from a candelabra on a nearby shelf, and the air hung thick with cedar incense.
Jana coughed into her hand and took side glances at the five others. Duvan, whose laughter burst out at the oddest moments; Metrie, whose face was as pale as the ivory cloth that covered the table; Tartas, who kept shifting among her multiple forms so that Jana wasn’t exactly sure who she was at any moment, and two others, whose names and peculiarities she couldn’t recall.
“This meeting, on Allhallows Eve, marks the time of year when we can at last show our true faces,” Metrie intoned, her voice just above a whisper. Somewhere in the darkened room came the slow ticking of a clock. “Place both your hands on the table, and please remain silent.”
Palms down, Jana let her gaze rove, careful not to engage with anyone. She had heard that one of the five—four, if she didn’t count Metrie, the leader—was a transformed cryptid. More precisely, the Pocono Polecat. Research had pointed her to this Pennsylvania gathering, on this night, when transformers slipped however briefly into their original shape.
A tiny camera, attached as a bead to her necklace, would capture the change when it happened. She hoped. Then she’d have the proof needed for the article she was writing for The Cryptozoologist.
Metrie recited a prayer in an ancient language filled with hard glottal stops and velar clicks. A breath exhaled through the room, bringing with it a rank smell that wrinkled Jana’s nose.
Polecat.
The seat where the black-haired woman wrapped in a white shawl had been sitting was now filled with a human-sized black-furred mammal, a thin white stripe down its nose. It laid its two long, sharp claws on the table.
“Welcome, Shkak,” Metrie said, in English. Duvan exploded in laughter, and Tartas blinked through three form changes in as many seconds. The sixth person at the table, the one with close-cropped hair the color of burnt leaves, collapsed off their chair with a moan.
Jana felt her necklace, rubbing a finger next to the embedded camera, hoping it had recorded what she needed. In response, Shkak bared her teeth at Jana, who gasped. The stomach-turning stench overwhelmed the smoke of the cedar incense.
“You’re real,” Jana croaked, trying and failing to hold her breath. Duvan and Tartas fled the room.
“Of course, she’s real,” Metrie scoffed. She held a lace handkerchief over her nose. “Be careful what you ask for.”
A low-pitched rumble vibrated the table as Shkak stared at Jana. It had to be a growl. The polecat’s claws tore through the table covering, making long slashes.
Covering her mouth and nose with her hands, Jana dropped her gaze. “I’m so glad to meet you … as yourself.” Taking a breath and holding it, she dug out her cell phone, opened her camera app, and turned to Metrie. “Can you snap a photo of the two of us?”
Shkak rose to her full height.
Metrie smiled and put her hand out to take the phone. “Be glad to.” She added, “You do realize that polecats are omnivores, not herbivores, right?”
Read More of Dianna’s Stories
When the world was black and white but the circus was a colorful place by Jina Bacarr
October 11, 2025 by Jina Bacarr in category circus, Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as cirucs, Paris, thriller, trapeze, writing, WW2
Hitler loved the circus.
According to classified reports uncovered after the war, the Fuehrer would sit in the front row of the circus and cheer on the performers he perceived to be ‘working class folks’ putting their lives on the line.
He loved the ‘woman in danger’ element in the acts, as my heroine Lia di Montieri discovers when she appears in a circus in Germany in the 1930s. I shan’t spoil the surprise, but we follow Lia’s career, her heartbreak over losing her baby, and how she makes a daring leap to join the Resistance to save Jewish children.
I’ve always been fascinated by circuses since I was a little girl. Especially the trapeze. We had a swing set in the backyard when I was growing up and I’d try every crazy trick I could think of, pretending I was flying under the big top, that I was ‘an angel without wings’ until one day the swing broke. Then we moved. As we did a lot in those days.
And so ended my circus dreams.
Finally, I can fly again! In my Boldwood Books upcoming WW2 novel about Occupied Paris and the circus.
‘The Stolen Children of War’ is…
The heartbreaking story of Lia di Montieri, Queen of the Flying Trapeze, who loses her own baby and risks her life to save innocent children from the Gestapo.
An adorable baby elephant named Bebe.
And lurking in the background is a serial killer preying on circus queens who threatens to destory what Lia holds most dear.
I wanted to write a story about circuses with a twist — there’s danger under the big top at every performance… lions, tigers… knife throwers… high wire walkers, trapeze artistes flying 100 mph from the flybar to the catcher, but what if there was also a killer watching their every move, ready to strike?
You’ll find all that and more at Le Cirque Casini!
It’s a psycological thriller with a mad doctor serial killer, beautiful circus queens in danger, heroes willing to die to protect them, baby animal ‘cuteness’, and ‘stolen children’ who will steal your heart.
Step right up, ladies and gents, and let’s go to the circus!
Now on NetGalley for all you book bloggers and reviewers.
My own private war to write ‘The Stolen Children of War’ by Jina Bacarr
September 11, 2025 by Jina Bacarr in category circus, Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as children, circus, France, Paris, writing, WW2
War is hell.
Writing can also exact a toll on you that’s hard to come back from. I don’t propose to compare the valiant efforts of our soldiers, amazing servicemen and women, to me sitting safe behind a computer and writing about war. Not at all. I never served in combat, but I did counsel men who did (this was before women were allowed to fight in combat) and I heard the stories late at night sitting around a big, ole aluminum coffee pot in the US Army Service Club or playing pool with the men. We had a lot of soldiers passing through on their way ‘back home’ who felt more comfortable talking to me about their experiences than their families.
I was so young… and not a trained counselor or psychologist. But I did have one thing: I’m a good listener. Something taught to me by the nuns, especially the wise and round-faced Sister Mary Celestine at St Peter’s. I learned a lot from these Army and Air Force soldiers about brotherhood and loyalty and being ‘blooded’ and that unbreakable bond these men had with their units. I envied that. I wondered how we women would fare in such tense situations under fire.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to write about women in war.
My last several books are about Paris during the Occupation by the Nazis and the brave women who fought in the Resistance even as they fell in love and raised children. But writing about such intense times does take a toll on you. Especially when you’re fighting your own pain from an accident and struggling to make a deadline. (I thank God for my fabulous editor Isobel who was with me during this time and never gave up on me.)
Then I remember the sacrifice made by the women and men fighting the Nazis. My God, would I have had the courage to do as they did? I like to think I could and every day I strive to do what I can to help others… whether it’s at the market and someone needs help, or a nervous, new receptionist at my doctor’s office starting her first job.
The world is a scary place.
I also give thanks every day for what I have. Shelter, food, my treasured books I’ve collected since I was a little girl. And the Internet. Which allows me to share my heartfelt stories with you.
So, here we are… the hot days are slowly giving way to cooler temperatures. And with the advent of Fall, I’m so excited to announce my next Paris WW2 book, The Stolen Children of War.
I’m so thrilled with this fabulous cover.
It’s so circus-y!
That’s Lia, my heroine. A trapeze artist and trick rider since she was a kid.
The two children she saves will steal your heart as they did mine!
There’s also a stolen baby, handsome heroes, and an adorable baby elephant.
And a mystery, too… a madman threatening circus queens….
It’s a glorious ride of heart, passion, and razzle dazzle under the big top!
Can’t wait to introduce you to the world of circus during the Occupation of Paris 1943 when the children needed the joy of circus more than ever!
Out 10th November https://mybook.to/ChildrenOfWar
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