I had an awesome day today. And because it was so awesome, I want to share the love. So I’m giving away 10 signed copies of THIS MUCH IS TRUE (including a separate bonus epilogue in print)! Winners will be chosen at random from the comments below.
In my last newsletter, I promised to write an epilogue for THIS MUCH IS TRUE and I’m happy to report that it is ready and waiting on the “Bonus Content” page of my website!
I want to thank each of you again for reading and enjoying the three books in the Liars’ Club series, and especially for sharing your love for the Hartley family with me. It truly means the world to me.
And fear not gentle reader, 😉 you’ll see more of the Hartley clan in the not-too distant future. I plan to write Anna Snow’s story, as well as Truman’s story. I’ll keep you posted.
I awoke to the aroma of coffee this morning. Since I don’t drink coffee, I believe it was just nostalgia’s way of drifting through my subconscious, reminding me of the Sunday mornings of my early childhood, with my mother demanding at least two cups before anyone uttered a peep and a fog of my father’s Old Spice wafting from the bathroom as he stepped out, straightening his church tie.
Tugged by the memories, I trudged down the stairs like the anti-morning person that I am and shuffled to the kitchen.
Now, I’m not a coffee person. Never have been. Which is almost sacrilegious to say in my family. I come from a long line of hardcore caffeinators. My paternal grandmother kept a coffee pot brewing from dawn to dusk. Until recently, my dad would drink a cup of dark roast around 10 p.m. to “help” him sleep. But that trait skipped me entirely. My boys, however, seem to have inherited a love for the black bean, so I keep some grounds on hand for when they come to visit.
Using “Henry’s Blend” (purchased years ago because it was my grandfather’s name), I brewed a cup of (likely stale) coffee just to have the scent of it in the house. Then I made my usual chai. While it steeped, I carried the steaming coffee cup around the house like a priest bearing a thurible of incense.
Once the house was sanctified (or Sanka-tified?), I drank my lovely chai. But, when I finished, I still had that cup of coffee staring at me.
“Try it,” a dormant thread of my DNA seemed to whisper. “You’ll like it.”
Skeptical, I picked up the cup and took a teeny tiny sip. Then I promptly grimaced, grabbing a paper towel to scrape the offending sludge from my tongue. But feeling the pressure of disappointing a multitude of ancestors, I tried adding sugar. Then a little more sugar (brown this time), along with a hefty sploosh of milk.
And… it wasn’t terrible. I’m no convert by any means but I survived the Great Coffee Trial of 2025.
However, I’ve now consumed enough caffeine that NASA could use me as the first human hamster wheel powered rocket. So if you see something streak across the sky, just give me a wave and hope that I land somewhere near my laptop so I can get back to writing.
There’s a special audiobook promo happening for the month of April that includes HOW TO FORGET A DUKE! (I also noticed that the Kindle price is only $1.99)
Since today is all about watching the big game, here’s a little Viv trivia for you: I love sports movies! I even love sports movies about sports that I don’t ever watch in real life… Which, frankly, includes most sports, other than college football (Go IRISH!) and Olympic curling (it looks so fun!).
And since we’re all about romance here, I have to say that I also love sports romance. Which I didn’t know until the mid-90s when I’d read It Had to Be You, the first of Susan Elizabeth Phillips Chicago Stars series. I was HOOKED! Come to think of it, I might just have to grab my copy off the keeper shelf and dive in again.
Of course, I’m always looking for another great sports romance (or really any great romance). So, if you have any recommendations, I’d love to hear them!
By the way, who are you rooting for today?
In a recent phone call with my dad, our conversation meandered as it usually does, flowing from one topic to another like the familiar winding path of a creek over smooth stones. We talked of food, empty nesting and household chores that neither of us had gotten around to. He shared some old fishing tales and reminisced of his boyhood on the farm with his seven brothers and two sisters. We talked of music we love, both of us wishing we’d inherited his father’s talent for it. And we talked about dancing and how much his father had enjoyed trying to foxtrot with my grandma, who—according to my dad—didn’t share Grandpa’s sense of rhythm.
With a wry laugh, my dad added that he supposed he must have inherited his dancing skills and music ability from her.
I told him that I wasn’t sure if I had any talent for music, even though he reminded me that I used to play the piano by ear when I was little. As for dancing, aside from square dancing in elementary school gym class, the jr. high shuffle, and a lesson at a historical romance retreat in Spokane, I hadn’t really learned to dance. So who knew if I was any good at it?
I shrugged on my end of the call. Then I admitted with a laugh of my own, that ability or lack thereof didn’t stop me from trying. I take daily “dance breaks,” as I call them, turning up the music in my kitchen and just letting loose. And probably mortifying any neighbors who might spot me through the window.
But I don’t let that stop me. Science supports this practice, after all. When we listen to music and move our bodies, our brains release all the feel-good chemicals that are important to our overall health and wellness.
Then, with the curl of a smile tucked into my dad’s voice, he admitted that he liked to shimmy and slide his socks over the hardwood floor, too, giving his own neighbors something to talk about.
But I’d like to think that all of us are in our kitchens, dancing like no one’s watching. 🙂
