This month I have been deep in edits on the new book, the kind where I fix one scene, break another, and end up staring at the ceiling at three in the morning because a character refuses to behave. Thank you for being here while the book is still in that wild, secretive stage. You get the thoughts that never make it onto the back-cover copy.

The part I cannot shake is the research.

I spent months learning how cyberattacks actually happen, and I came away looking at my own life differently. My inbox. My phone. The café Wi-Fi I join without thinking. The lazy comfort of an old password that feels harmless because it is familiar.

What unsettled me most was this: the weak point is not always code. Sometimes it is history. Some breaches are not only data breaches. They are intimacy breaches. The person who knows your birthday, your first pet’s name, the street you grew up on, and the password you have never changed, is not always the one who builds the strongest lock. Sometimes they are the one who slips right through it.

Last week I changed the passcode on my phone. Nothing dramatic happened. No suspicious alert. No breach. I was standing in line for coffee, typing the same numbers I have used for years, and I had the unnerving thought that someone who knew me well enough could probably guess them. Not a stranger. Someone who had watched me unlock my phone. Someone who knew which dates mattered to me, and why. I changed it anyway, then kept thinking about it for days.

Because passwords are not only practical. They are revealing. Sometimes they are tiny confessions: a birthday, a name, a date we never fully got over, a fragment of ourselves tucked behind a lock screen and called security.

That is the part of this book that has its hands around my throat in the best possible way. My heroine walks straight into that kind of danger. She enters a world where trust is currency and half the bills are counterfeit. The man closest to her could be her safest ally, or the threat she did not see coming. And the digital trail she thinks she has buried? It is still warm.

Now I want your honest answer.

Would you rather have a partner who knows all your passwords and never looks, or one who has no access at all but checks your lock screen every time you leave the room?

And tell me this too. Is there someone in your life, past or present, who could probably still guess your password? You do not have to name them. Reply with yes or no, or tell me which question made you squirm. I read every reply, and hearing from you is my favourite part of sending these letters.

That’s it from me.

Angela

P.S. I changed my password to something no one would ever guess. It’s the name of a fictional character who keeps me up at night. I’ll never tell you which one. But she’s trouble.

Until next time . . . . let there be . . .

I’m twenty pages away from finishing The Course of Love by Alain de Botton—a beautiful mashup of fiction and philosophy.

A couple chapters in, I caught myself wondering: when does the need for “happily ever after” begin? After the first fight? After you stop performing and start living?

That’s when it hit me: transformation works the same way. It doesn’t begin on January 1. It begins when you decide it does.

Every romantic suspense novel asks the same question: who controls your fate?

In fiction, it’s the villain. The double agent. The lover with secrets.

In real life? It might be you.

The version of you who made the rules years ago. The de facto person still running the show.

She made the rules to survive. But she doesn’t get to run your life forever. 

She built habits for hard seasons: late nights numbing the loneliness. Overcommitting to prove her worth. Playing small to avoid rejection.

These weren’t flaws. They were survival strategies. She was resourceful. She kept you safe.

But the crisis has passed. Now the solution is steadiness.

And she’s still hoarding the control you need, deciding for a future she can’t imagine. So you keep living by rules you’ve outgrown.

So who decided January gets all the power?

We did.

We treat a calendar date like it has authority. Like it can give permission to change. It can’t. We give it that power. Automatically. Without question.
  
On the journey to becoming an author, I’ve learned the hard way not to ask Monday for permission. Not to wait for January’s blessing. I decide. Then I act.

That trust? It means everything. Every reply, every “spotted it” note, every confession you’ve whispered into my inbox has reminded me why I write. You’ve made this journey richer than any plot twist.

As 2026 approaches, I’m wishing you pages that captivate you. Moments that make your heart race. And love stories, real or fictional, that leave you breathless. I promise to keep delivering newsletters that make you think. Fiction that keeps you guessing. And characters worth losing sleep over.

Here’s to another year of romance, mystery, and us.

P.S.: 🥂 May 2026 bring you the kind of love that surprises you.

Reply below to share your hopes for 2026.

Until next time . . . . let there be . . . 

All signs point to the calendar. With the holiday season as the main accomplice.

Case closed. Right?

Not so fast.

Every romantic suspense reader knows this moment. The obvious suspect looks guilty. But the real mastermind hides in plain sight.

Let’s step into the crime scene. The usual suspects line up without a fight.

The deadlines.

Everyone wanting a piece of you.

Holiday prep.

The year hurtles to a close.

With five weeks left in 2025, time suddenly feels precious and thin.

Compelling evidence.

Look again.

These are red herrings.

Summer freedom ends. Our angst shoots up like Labour Day fireworks. Back-to-school rhythms and regular work hours snap into place. The colourful leaves put on a show, then drop, while the stress climbs. We can already see the end of the year before the calendar flips.

We love our external villains. They’re convenient. They keep us busy, useful, in the know. And who doesn’t want to be needed?

But what if the calendar isn’t guilty?

Under investigation, the questions surface:

Where has the time gone?

Who benefits from our burnout?

Follow the Motive

Your exhaustion serves you. Lean in for this one.

The inner critic lifts her matted head. “If you’re too tired to try, you can’t fail.” She calls it protection.

Some relationships only work when you’re depleted. Some people prefer you exhausted. You’re easier to… manipulate.

Oh. Did I say that out loud?

I meant… manage.

Then there are the dreams you’re “too busy” to chase. You can’t fail at something you never start. Burnout makes a beautiful alibi.

The hard conversation you keep postponing? “I’m just so overwhelmed right now.”

Convenient, isn’t it? Until you run straight into the uncomfortable twist.

Here’s where it gets dark. Stay with me.

Sometimes we benefit from our own burnout. It becomes the perfect alibi.
🔥 I would pursue that project, but I’m exhausted.
🔥 I’d tell that other person what really needs to be said, but another time.
🔥 I’d take the time to invest in me, but I’m barely surviving.

Burnout keeps you in the safe zone. It shields you from the possibility of failing.

What would you face if you weren’t exhausted?
❤️ Truth?
❤️ Longing?
❤️ Choice?

If burnout has been writing your story, you’re not stuck with that script. Let’s look at the clues for an alternate ending.

Clues, Not Homework

Three Tiny Clues to Exit Burnout

You’re standing in the middle of the crime scene. The burnout alibi lies on the floor between your feet.

Now what?

Not a life overhaul. Not a twelve-week program. Just three small moves that quietly ruin burnout’s cover story.

Clue 🕵🏾‍♀️ 1 — Name the Real Suspect

Pick one place where you keep saying, “I’m too tired.”

Not ten.

One.

• The project you keep circling.
• The conversation you keep dodging.
• The moments of rest you never quite let yourself take.

Action ➡️ Write this sentence, word for word, and fill in the blank:

“I say I’m exhausted, but what I’m really avoiding is ________.”

No one has to see it.

But once it’s on the page, your alibi starts to crack. You’re no longer wrestling “life is too much.” You’re dealing with this one thing.

Clue 🕵🏾‍♀️ 2 — Shrink the Scene

Burnout loves big, vague projects:
🛠️ Fix my life.
🏋️‍♀️ Get healthy.
📝 Write the book.

Too big. Too blurry. Perfect cover.

Take the one thing you just named and shrink it until it almost feels silly.

• Instead of “work on the project,” go for “a five-minute brain dump.”
• Instead of “have the conversation,” stand in front of the mirror and say one honest sentence.
• Instead of “rest more,” try closing your eyes while you listen to your favourite swoon song.

Ask yourself: What’s the smallest, least dramatic move I can make in ten minutes or less?

That’s your next step. Not the whole staircase. Just that one, tiny, almost-ridiculous action.

Clue 🕵🏾‍♀️ 3 — Flip the Motive

Before you take that tiny step, your inner critic elbows in:
“This won’t matter,” she says. “You need a full weekend off. You’re too behind. Why bother?”

She’s protecting her power with every taunt. “Why expend energy on something you’d quit anyway?”

Ouch!

I heard the best response to disarm the safety critic. It works in every situation. Here is your comeback for this one: “You take the weekend off. I’ll get started on my project.”

Then do the little thing. Not perfectly. Not impressively. Just… do it.

By Sunday night, notice the reduced angst.

• Maybe your breathing slows.
• Maybe a little excitement hums in the background, and you start looking forward to another half-hour with your side project on Monday. Tuesday even starts to look promising.
• Maybe you feel tired and a tiny bit proud.

You’ve found a new pattern. Your evidence.

Burnout says the story is already written. You’re too late.

If you buy that, if you give in, you let the villain win.

But you’re still here. Reading. Breathing. Scrolling the page. Which means one very important thing:

The ending is still being revised.

Your Turn: Name the Suspect

Every good mystery needs a reveal.

Comment below and tell me your Clue #1:

“I say I’m exhausted, but what I’m really avoiding is ________.”

You don’t have to give details. Just name the “suspect” in a word or two if that feels safer.

I read every response.

No judgement. No cross-examination.

Just one author on the other side of the page, cheering as you take your story back from the villain.

Manuscript Update

My next romantic suspense/thriller is making the rounds with proofreaders and soon it will be off to beta readers. Exhausting and exciting at the same time.

The story is a pinch of real life, and my imagination gone wild. I started writing this novel in 2021, then put it on hold at the beginning of 2022 when I enrolled in

Story Grid’s three-year Editor-Mentorship Writing Program.

Once I completed the program, I returned to the manuscript.

And oh my!

The knowledge I gained from SG grounded me in storytelling in a way I’d never experience, even though I already had a four-year University degree in writing.

But that was me, wrestling with the villain intent on sabotaging my goals.

That’s it from me. Catch up soon 👋🏾

P.S.: Just finished reading: R.F. Kuang’s Magical Fantasy novel, Babel, because even detectives need a break. It’s an intriguing account of an alternate history, set in 1828, Oxford University, Britain.

From the Amazon page: Babel is the world’s center for translation and, more importantly, magic. Silver working—the art of manifesting the meaning lost in translation using enchanted silver bars—has made the British unparalleled in power, as its knowledge serves the Empire’s quest for colonization.

P.P.S.: 📚 Recently, I caught myself giving in too easily, my will power scraping the floor, especially at the end of the day. Reaching for those sweets too often as cover for comfort. I knew I had to nip that thing in the bud. My remedy. Cold water showers. Takes more than one of course, gradual but obvious.

Reply below to share your Clue #1.

September Confessions From a Finished Draft

The end of summer is not so bad. I like fall, especially September. My birthday early in the month makes it feel like a new year.

And by this summer’s end, I’d achieved two goals

London Calling

Finally making that long-awaited trip to the UK. Strolling around London, eyes pointed in the wrong direction, sweet tea with friends, Cambridge’s famous halls, and my new favourite teacup from Harrods. Pure delight. Can’t wait to return.

The Bigger News

After five years… the first draft is done.

My next romantic suspense is complete. Or is it romantic thriller?
A pinch of real life, then my imagination gone wild.

The result?
Two people on opposite missions. Chaos fuelled by betrayal.
Sizzling chemistry that makes you say, oh my!
Heat level? Hot.

You decide when it hits the shelves.

What September Does to Stories

September stories don’t apologize. They don’t pull punches.
They don’t pretend love conquers all. Sometimes they whisper: Is love the weapon?

Five-year manuscripts develop their own DNA. Their own hunger.
Mine wants blood and butterflies. Danger and desire.
Readers sleeping with lights on.
But still swooning. Always swooning.

Because what’s scarier than falling for someone dangerous?

Morning Rituals Feeding My Creative Process

The routine starts at 6:30 a.m.
✓ Seven-minute breathwork.
✓ Ten-minute stretch.
✓ Fifteen-minute walk.
✓ Journal words.
✓ Action items scheduled.
✓ Twenty minutes reading anything.

Are we there yet?

✓ Ninety minutes until coffee.

This routine birthed my ending. Sometimes structure creates freedom.
Sometimes discipline unleashes chaos.
Sometimes the best plot twists come at dawn.

Would You Rather Read About . . .

❤️ Heroine who commits a crime to solve one? OR Heroine who plays by the rules and loses?

❤️ Hero whose protection feels like possession? OR One who loves from a dangerous distance?

Your September Confessions

Tell the truth now…
📖 What book surprised you by going darker than expected?
🔪 When did romance make you genuinely afraid for the characters?
💔 Which fictional betrayal still haunts your thoughts?

Manuscript Update

First draft complete: Three bodies. Two betrayals. One romance that might destroy everything. Or save it.

Editing begins next week. Launch date: Spring 2026.
Fair warning: this one doesn’t play nice.

That’s it from me. Catch up soon👋🏾

P.S.: 📚 Currently reading: Rita Dove, Collected Poetry 1974–2004. Every line teaches precision.

P.P.S.: ☕ That morning routine? It’s changing everything. Structure before coffee equals magic.

P.P.P.S.: 🍂 September gift: The draft is done. The real work begins.