Writing News and Updates
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Since 2013 I've taken a moment every December to look back over the previous year and, instead of lamenting all I did not accomplish, enumerating what I did, primarily in the writing department, but also in other areas of my life. This year I felt like I spent a lot of time spinning my wheels. Let's see how it actually shook out!  Writing In 2025, my creativity group went through Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, over the course of 12 months rather than the prescribed 12 weeks. Part of this program is to write "morning pages"--three pages written long hand every morning. Although I missed a fair number of days, and occasionally did not fill three whole pages, this practice resulted in my filling up six Decomposition Books (by contrast, in 2024 I filled four of the same notebooks), plus two small travel journals. Also, in an effort to be less precious about writing tools, I stopped buying refills for my favorite jell pen and instead tried to use up some of the several million ball-point pens cluttering up the house. The good news is that I used up a lot of them. The bad news is that my husband replaced them with ones brought home from work at least once a week. Whether any of this morning "brain dump" writing did me any good is still an open question. I did not have any major epiphanies, but I do often mine my old brain dumpings for essay material, so you never know... Aside from journal pages, I wrote:
 Travel & Adventure
Trips taken in 2025:
I recently read the advice to "local like a traveler" (an inverse of the "travel as a local" philosophy), and this is something I want to intentionally put into practice, although I think I did a pretty good job making the most of local cultural opportunities and attractions, in addition to taking a few trips. I didn't set out to visit two museums (or museum-like places) a month, like I did in 2024, but I still managed to visit 21 museums, some of them more than once, which averages out to about two a month:
I also saw four plays and a ballet at local theaters. I went on a few local hikes (and did one volunteer trail maintenance day on the trail nearest me) and paddled a few nearby ponds. Arts & Crafts
Overall, some things I want to keep doing--traveling, making art, visiting museums--and some things I want to concentrate on doing a lot more of--writing, submitting (and publishing), hiking, kayaking--in 2026. NATIONAL DES BEAUX-ARTS DU QUÉBEC
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 I started last month by reading the last book* in Elizabeth Peters's Amelia Peabody series, The Tomb of the Golden Bird. After that delightful romp through Egyptology, I turned my attention to attacking my TBR pile, which had once again grown out of hand, starting with several books I'd begun reading over recent months but had set aside for various reasons (mainly because my attention had been diverted by rereading Peters).
When I saw a series of capers by Peter Mayle at a used book sale, I was reminded of the summer before I went to college, when my best friend's mother loaned me Mayle's A Year in Provence. Perhaps she thought it would make me more worldly, or inspire me to move to France, but it did neither, since I never cracked the cover and returned it to her unread, but much battered from riding around in my tote bag all summer. I do love a good caper, however, so I gave the first in the series, The Vintage Caper, a go. Now, the term caper refers to the way the action in these stories (which often center around a heist) resembles a goat scampering around with no apparent purpose or direction. I'd say the action in this book was a little less goat-like and more like a languorous house cat, lying in the sun and talking about wine and food and the difference between Marseilles and Paris, a lot. I started reading Strangers on the Train by Patricia Highsmith a year or so ago, after I picked up a book of hers on the craft of writing suspense. I figured I should be familiar with her writing before I take her advice. She does suspense very well. So well that I had to set the book aside for a year to calm my nerves. It was just too stressful waiting for what you inevitably know will happen (that the protagonist will be driven to commit a murder). It's a brilliantly written book (although to be honest I'm not sure I'd have handled the ending the way she did), but I don't think I want that level of anxiety from the books I read. I'm not sure why I picked up Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha from the used bookstore a couple of years ago. It's an older book---1993 Booker Prize winner--about a 10-year-old boy growing up in an Irish village in the 1960s, written from the boy's perspective in an engaging, nonlinear fashion. The cover says something about it being a comic novel, and while many of the incidents, and the way the child sees the world, are humorous, it is ultimately really sad. For Father's Day, I sent my dad The Book of Flaco by David Gessner, about the Eurasian Eagle Owl that escaped the zoo in Central Park and lived "wild" in New York City for a year, and he sent it back to me after he read it. It's an interesting meditation on freedom and wildness, versus captivity and peril, as well as human interactions with birds in general and this bird in particular, and each other. Interestingly, Gessner never saw the owl in person, but writes the whole book from the perspective of after (spoiler alert) Flaco's death, relying on interviews with the most involved humans on his beat. Laura Jackson was an editor at Literary Mama for part of the time I was there also, and she and I were in a remote nature writing critique group for a couple of years. I always enjoyed her wry humor and enthusiasm for the less-loved elements of nature (I recall an endearing essay about earwigs). So I was thrilled when her first book, Deep and Wild: On Mountains, Opossums, and Finding Your Way in West Virginia, came out earlier this year. Whether you've spent time in WV (I think I nipped through a corner of it on a road trip between Georgia and Western Pennsylvania) or you only know the state from less-than-flattering television and movie portrayals, this book will open your eyes to the land's beauty and richness and make you want to pack up the car, buy some dramamine, and hit the country roads. It will also make you laugh. And we need a lot of that these days. Finally, my sister passed on her copy of Blood, Sweat, Tears, a collection of women's writing on the outdoors (mainly hiking and trail running). There were some really lovely and moving pieces of writing here, and also several that made me worry about women today---there seems to be a drive among a lot of them to punish themselves through grueling outdoor pursuits, not just pushing personal limits and challenging oneself, but depriving one's own body of food and water while causing injury. It seems almost like another variation on diets, eating disorders, plastic surgery, and other ways women contort and harm themselves in order to conform to impossible standards and/or to take up less space. It makes my heart hurt to read about.  In October, I continued my avoidance of reality reading spree and finished *most* of the rest of the Amelia Peabody series by Elizabeth Peters, except for the very last book (in chronological order; stay tuned) and the one posthumously finished and published book, which I'd found disappointing when I first read it, and real life is disappointing enough, I don't need to read a disappointing book. (They might not be in the correct chronological order in the stack, but rest assured they were read in the proper order.) Interestingly, reading books that I know so well I was even more compelled to get to the resolution of the various plot points than I would be on a cold read--knowing what was coming didn't tune me out; it made me more invested.
I also read/finished a handful of nonfiction titles: More than Hope: Lessons from the Colorado Trail, edited by Jared Champion. I have an essay in this collection, along with 10 other writers. It was interesting to read about other people's approaches to and experiences on the trail. I especially enjoyed Champion's piece, "Backpacking, Ideally" and "Wild Geese" by Katie Jackson. As well as my own, "Eight Kinds of Joy on the Colorado Trail," natch. Women in the Field: America's Pioneering Women Naturalists by Marcia Myers Bonta is a collection of mini biographies of 25 women naturalists from the 19th and early 20th centuries, which I've owned a long time but had only ready as far as the introduction. It's a fascination view into the challenges and the triumphs of women finding their way and making their mark in a field dominated by men. Deranged: Finding a Sense of Place in the Landscape and in the Lifespan, by Jill Sisson Quinn, is a collection of braided essays exploring her childhood landscape of Maryland, her home as an adult in Wisconsin, and what it means to belong to a place.  Tomorrow evening (November 18, 2025) I'll be a guest on the YouTube channel Outside Comfort Zone, talking with Jared Champion about the book More than Hope: Lessons from the Colorado Trail, which Jared compiled and edited and in which my essay "Eight Kinds of Joy on the Colorado Trail" appears. We'll also chat about writing, art, and adventures. If you want to join us, you can tune in here at 7:30 p.m. eastern time. Hope to see you there!
I don't remember how I stumbled on Amy Stewart's newsletter, It's Good to Be Here. I've been a fan of her Miss Kopp lady detective novels for years, and have enjoyed many of her countless other books about plants, trees, and, forthcoming, birds. So when I did come across her newsletter, I was intrigued. And when I discovered that it was mostly about sketching, with a lot of emphasis on travel sketching, I was sold. A prolific writer of historical crime(ish) novels and books about nature, plus an inveterate traveler and artist? Yes please. (It's like she's living my dream life--or as she might put it, wrote my dream job description. Her posts include a lot of thoughts on creativity, introduction to other artists' work, and a ton of tutorials on various aspects of painting and sketching, which I enjoy a lot, because they're short and down-to-earth, and she doesn't present only "perfect" works of art--she is happy to share videos of art attempts that don't go exactly as planned, and she has the perfect attitude when that happens: oh well. One of the perks of being a subscriber is that she will occasionally do a painting (and painting tutorial) from a photo sent in by a reader. I recently sent her this photo that I took from the wall of Dubrovnik on our last day in Croatia two years ago:  Here is the painting she did from the photo:  I love how she used red ink plus a very limited color palette. It really conveys the depth of the endless red roofs of the city with the Adriatic Sea in the distance, plus the energy of this ancient city. Her tutorial is here, and here's my attempt at the same:  I used a maroon Micron 0.5 pen, rather than a fountain pen, so I didn't quite get the variation in line, but I think it worked well enough, and I really love how the color is softer and earthier than black ink. I would never have thought of using purple for shadows, and it was liberating for me to sketch in the buildings in a slap-dash fashion, rather than using pencil and neat, straight lines (what in real life is neat and straight anyway? Certainly not a Medieval city!). Here is the painting I did of a similar view (from a slightly different perspective) in my travel journal:  This was also done from a photo, after the fact (I gave up on drawing/painting onsite after the first couple days of our trip). This image was done in all watercolor over pencil--no ink--with a wet-in-wet technique. I like it fine, but it doesn't have the energy the other one has, the texture of the tile roofs is totally lost, and it took much longer to paint (wet-in-wet takes forever to dry!), so it would be impossible to do in real life. I'm excited to try some on-site sketching using a similar technique, with red ink and a few quick swipes of color.
 Okay, well, this book stack is a little embarrassing. That's 12 books in one month--all but one a re-(re-re-re-)read. Let me tell you how it happened:
Fiction When I got home from my week-long writing retreat on September 1, I started reading Crocodile on the Sandbank, the first Amelia Peabody mystery by Elizabeth Peters. This was supposed to be a research read. During the retreat, I'd decided to go forward with writing a historical mystery novel that I'd begun toying several years ago and which I'd set aside due to the pandemic shutdown making research a challenge. My book will take place in a similar time period to Crocodile (although in a very different place), and I thought, since I'm so very familiar with the story, I could concentrate on the mechanics, reverse-engineering the novel. Haha, joke's on me. Instead of deconstructing the book, I delved in, as delighted with every twist and turn as if I'd never read it (several times) before. And when I closed the last page, I couldn't stop, and picked up the next book and the next and the next. I won't list them here, but I read the first 11 books, from Crocodile through Guardian of the Horizon. And, as you might have guessed, I've kept going this month. Why fight it? Perhaps, on a subliminal level, I'm learning a thing or two about plotting and character and dialogue and all the other elements of putting together a book. But most of all, I'm having a grand time. As for how and when do I read so much: Normally I only read fiction at bedtime, but I've made an exception and read these books while I'm eating lunch and breakfast, as well as during any lull I might experience at the end of the day, either before I embark on making dinner or after I've made it and am waiting for C to get home from work. I also probably stay up reading a teensy bit later than I usually do, especially if my current read is less exciting. (Something about knowing how a book will end makes me want to get to that end even faster than when I'm trying to figure out what will happen.) One good thing is that reading has largely taken the time previously occupied by doomscrolling, which means I'm in a happier frame of mind. Nonficiton I did manage to squeeze one nonfiction book in among the tombs and pyramids: We Are Animals, by Jennifer Case, a collection of essays about pregnancy, birth, and early motherhood in modern America. Case is unflinchingly honest about her feelings about her second pregnancy (i.e., not happy), and her personal experiences are fleshed out with thorough research about our country's incredibly horrid, misogynistic, and racist birth industry. It's a timely book, when women are losing their access to choice around conception and birth, and it's engagingly written. In last month's newsletter, I wrote about my ambitions to both travel more and document those travels more regularly and skillfully. I've kept travel journals for many years: First row: Ireland 2013; Colorado road trip 2015; Colorado Trail 2016. Second row: Mexico 2022; Slovenia & Croatia 2023; Prince Edward Island 2024. Some notes about these journals: All in the top row are in Moleskine Cahier blank books. These are thin enough that I can usually fill them up in a week or ten days, and they are light and small enough to be portable while big enough to not feel cramped. But the thin paper is not great for watercolor. The first one on the next row is Field Sketchbook, with heavier paper, smaller in size but with a lot more pages (and a ribbon bookmark and elastic closure, which I love!). The middle one is a landscape oriented watercolor sketchbook whose brand I can't recall. Great for watercolors, but not great for writing (partly because I didn't want to "waste" watercolor paper with words). I couldn't keep up with painting while on this trip, which was jam-packed, so I ended up writing daily in a Moleskine Cahier and then I did watercolors from photos after we returned and summarized my notes from each day into a single page. It took two years. The third is a handmade blank booklet, about half the size of a Cahier, which I bought at a farmer's market in Charlottetown maybe the second day of our trip. My mode of travel journaling is always to write a lot and put in sketches and ephemera in varying amounts. I really do love my past travel journals, especially seeing them laid out together like this. But I also want to up my game--more and better illustrations, more on-the-spot sketching (rather than after-the-fact), neatly lettered headings (since neat handwriting is probably too much to hope for at this point). In preparation for a trip to Quebec City in August, I watched several online videos on travel journaling and urban sketching from Amy Stewart's newsletter It's Good to Be Here and The Piegeon Letters. I spent quite a lot of time looking for the right journal and assembling my kit.  I ended up with a very small (about 4.5 x 7 inch) book by Clairefontaine that has about 40 pages (of thin paper). I also picked up a pack of Tombow dual brush pens--and then a second pack, because I realized the first one didn't have a blue--as well as an Ivy photo printer (it makes the cutest little stickers of phone photos!). In addition, I brought many pens, two sets of colored pencils, a ruler, a glue stick, washi tape, a set of Vivia Colrosheets watercolors and water brush, two binder clips, a pencil sharpener, a kneaded eraser, two pencils, a white gel pen, and an envelope for ephemera. Plus a small shoulder bag for toting *some* of the supplies with me when we were out and about. I brought *way* more stuff than I needed, and most of it stayed in the hotel room. The first photo shows roughly what I brought with me each day (minus the Ivy and the glue stick--those stayed back at the hotel), and the second photo shows what I brought in my backpack on our last day when we visited Montmorancy Falls. I still did a lot of writing (that's not gonna change), and did most of my journaling in the evening when we returned to the hotel room. (It was hot as blazes the whole time we were there, so we usually declared defeat and retreated to cold showers and A/C by 6:30 p.m. This gave me plenty of time to document the day's events while C watched TV. Only once did we head back out into the inferno for dinner.) I did manage to do *some* on-the-spot sketching: the street lights and wine glass in the second row (photos 1 and 3); the St. Laurence River from the quay on Île d'Orleans (third row, third picture), a spot in a formal garden where we stopped to rest and pretend the shade offered some respite (fourth row, middle picture), and Montmorancy Falls, which I sketched while we waited in line for a gondola ride to the top (sixth row, middle picture). New things I tried:
 Is this really all I read in August? I feel sure there should be more, but I don't know what and I don't know where they are! I think I started a lot of books that were on the slow side, or not what I was really in the mood for, and set them aside. As a result, this will be quick!
Nonfiction I'm a big fan of Lia Purpura's pregnancy/birth/early motherhood memoir Increase. I reread it this month as part of a project I'm working on, along with two of her more recent essay collections, On Looking and Rough Likenesses. I found both of these a lot more challenging. Purpura is also a poet, and her poetic sensibilities are strong in these lyric essays, and they leave me craving a lot more detail and explanation. Fiction I pick up Rhys Bowen's Her Royal Spyness books whenever I see them at used bookstores, and as a result I'm reading them wildly out of order, but it's not too hard to orient oneself in the stories, and they're always great fun, including this one, Crowned and Dangerous. Also fun was this debut mystery novel by Harini Nagendra, The Bangalore Detectives Club. I loved reading about India in the 1920s and all of the cultural turmoil and political intrigue. Turns out Nagendra's first two books were about trees and nature, and so I find in her a kindred spirit of nature writer/crime writer. Next month's pile is going to be much taller. I've read some more books for research and I've delved back into a series that is my teddy bear/macaroni and cheese--i.e., my comfort read--and I'm already on the fifth one! I'm actually a little embarrassed about it and might not even mention it in this month's post... Now that September's here, I'm feeling that annual back-to-school energy: an urge to get organized and get going on some writing projects, new and old. Are you feeling the same? If so, I've got a slew of in-person writing workshops coming up, just for you! Whether you want to wander in the woods and write and sketch about your experiences or you want to sit down in the classroom and plan that book you've been dying to write, I've got you covered. The first two are free but require registration; the third is a bargain. Hit the link in the class title to learn more and sign up.
Nature Writing in the Field. River Brook Preserve, Waldoboro, ME, Saturday, September 20, 10 am - Noon Join Maine Master Naturalist Andrea Lani as we take our notebooks outdoors and seek inspiration in the natural world. Exploring River Brook Preserve, we'll engage in exercises designed to hone our observation skills and sharpen all of our senses. We’ll then observe an element of the natural world closely, working our way from description to metaphor, from metaphor to memory, and from memory to emotion. Through this process, we'll each generate a short poem or vignette and come away with a practice for close observation and writing that can be used anywhere. We’ll be outside the whole time, so dress for the weather, be prepared for ticks and bugs, and bring snacks and water. Please bring a journal or notebook and pencil or pen. You may also want a sit pad or small, portable camp chair. Nature Journaling: Story Mapping, Hidden Vally Nature Center, Jefferson, ME, Saturday, October 4, 10 a.m - Noon Join Maine Master Naturalist Andrea Lani as we explore Hidden Valley Nature Center and create story maps that depict our journey. Our illustrated story maps will depict the route we travel, interesting features we encounter, and events that occur along the way. We'll hike from the parking lot, around Crossbill Loop, and along Warbler Way, creating our story maps as we go. By noticing and recording the sights, sounds, and moments that draw our attention, we'll sharpen our observation skills and deepen our connection to the natural world. When we arrive at the barn, we'll spend some time at the picnic tables refining our maps, adding details and color, and sharing our creations. The program will end at noon at the barn, so please factor in an extra five to ten minutes to walk back to the parking lot. We’ll be outside the whole time, so dress for the weather, be prepared for ticks and bugs, and bring snacks and water. Please bring a journal or paper and clipboard and pencil or pen. The instructor will provide colored pencils and basic watercolors. Blueprint for a Book: Plan Your Novel or Memoir. Kennebec Neighbors Adult Education, Gardiner, Maine Tuesdays, October 7 - 28, 6 - 8 pm, $100 Do you have a story that you’ve always wanted to turn into a novel or memoir? In this workshop, we’ll take your dreams and set them on the road to reality. Over the course of three weeks, writer and Author Accelerator-certified book coach Andrea Lani will guide you into your deep-level why of writing your book, help you articulate the point your novel will make or the question your memoir will answer, and lead you in constructing the sturdy tripod of setting, character, and plot on which to rest your narrative. You’ll complete the course with an outline that will set you on the path to writing your best book. Please bring a pen and notebook or laptop to each class.  I think I was deeply imprinted by childhood summers that involved weekly treks up the block every Friday morning to the Bookmobile to load up on as many books as I could carry back down the street. (I was lucky to live, until age 13, on a street where the roving library--which was a big red bus with the Roadrunner painted on the side, and which these days would probably be subjected to a copyright infringement lawsuit by Warner Brothers--stopped once a week). To this day, summer is reading season for me--on the beach or in the hammock or at the campsite or in bed late at night, anywhere is a good place to devour a book--as July's reading stack can attest. Beginning from the bottom:
Nonfiction My friend Amanda K. Jaros released her memoir of hiking the Appalachian Trail, In My Boots earlier this year, and I finally sat down and read it last month. The book is really wonderful, and I'm not just saying that because she's my friend. There are two kinds of outdoor adventure books. First, there's the kind that purely relay the physical experience of a hike (or canoe trip or other expedition): I did this and I did this and I did this. These can be great, if the adventure is interesting enough and the storyteller good enough, but they can also be boring as hell in the wrong hands. Second, there's the kind in which the traveler takes an emotional journey alongside the physical one, which almost always makes for a better more interesting book--and this is what kind of book In My Boots is: the journey of a young woman growing from a self-doubting, timid, emotionally abused child into a hiking powerhouse who is not afraid to go after what she wants. Poetry I finished the third in James Crews's trilogy of poetry anthologies, The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace and Renewal, which I read a poem or two every few days for the last couple of months. As with the first two books in the series, the poems in this book express just the kinds of sense of goodness in the world--at least among poets--that I have needed to hear about in this troubled, troubled times. Fiction Another book I picked up during my trip to Colorado in May was Sabrina and Corina, a collection of short stories by Kali Fajardo-Anstine. These wonderful and wide-ranging stories featuring Latina characters showed me a whole different cultural milieu that exists in Denver and Southwestern Colorado, parallel to and overlapping with but still wildly different from what I grew up with. Short stories are tough, and sometimes they leave me with a feeling of incompleteness or confusion, but all the stories in this book landed and were beautifully rendered and deeply emotional. The Last Caretaker is a thriller about a woman who goes to work as a caretaker at a nature preserve and finds herself caught up in an underground network that spirits domestic abuse survivors out of town and into new identities. I'd heard about it on a podcast months ago, was intrigued, and then promptly forgot the title and author. But the premise stuck with me, and finally last month I dug around among the many (as my kids used to call them) "boring literary podcasts" that I listen to, found it, and ordered it. I was not disappointed. A really great story. I think Everyone Is Lying to You by Jo Piazza was another podcast discovery, and I actually preordered it, which I am almost never organized enough to do (I usually read books about 20-40 years post-publication). It's also a thriller, about a journalist who attends an influencer convention and finds herself in the middle of an instagram tradwife's disappearance after her husband's brutal murder and has to figure out who the real killer is. So much fun! (And so weird--even though I was on instagram for a long time, and involved in the blogging world for even longer before that, I had no idea how extensive and insidious the influencer world is!) The last three on the pile are used bookstore/library book sale finds:
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