I thought it would be easy to find the time to write. It should have been, but even the best intentions can be thwarted by living your life.

That is what happened to me. I had plenty of time in the tiny village where I lived and started writing. My husband was at work, and I only had to amuse myself and a big ole yellow Lab. I had the time to focus on plot points and cliffhangers.

Then, we sold our old house and built a brand new one in the Sonoran desert. My life had complications like packing, moving, and unpacking. Add all the new distractions I acquired — activities, friends, and social gatherings, it left little time for Clare Thibodeaux’s world on the page.

Frankly, I turned my energies elsewhere for a spell. I have worked on and off again on another book Empty Chairs, Empty Promises. The new story is about Libby Crenshaw, a widow who goes on a mission to find purpose in her life after her husband’s death. (Spoiler alert: look for a cameo from another character you might know.) That is all I’m saying. The book is nearing completion, and I will post more when it is available.

Needless to say, I’m psyched to complete this new book and looking forward to working diligently on the next one. It feels good to be back.