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Love Wins Anthology

February 5, 2026 by in category Writing

I am so excited about an upcoming anthology to support pancreatic cancer and in memory of Twyla Turner.

LOVE WINS: STORIES OF HEAT, HEART, AND HOPE, a limited-edition charity anthology, celebrates the power of love in all its forms. Couples navigate between the pull of the past and the promise of the future with courage and passion. From curvy girls to tough guys, from tender new adults to seasoned older adults, these multicultural and interracial lovers invite us to savor the joy of living, loving, and believing. Dive into Love Wins, an anthology of diverse romances, featuring uplifting tales of hope, celebration, and second chances, curated in memory of our fellow writer and romance lover, Twyla Turner.

✨💜✨Participating Authors ✨💜✨
K. T. Bond
Harper Black
A.J. Buchanan
Gabbi Grey
Olivia Huxley
Gabbi Powell
Tracy Reed
Alexa Santi
A.M. Roark


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Tardy Slip

January 30, 2026 by in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as , , ,

Most of the seats at the DMV were filled when Charla arrived, license renewal form in hand, and she ended up taking an unoccupied plastic chair against the far wall. She had an hour and maybe a smidge more to get her new license before Sam started docking her pay for being late from her lunch break.

Photo by DAVIDCOHEN on Unsplash

She’d meant to renew weeks ago, when the notice first arrived, but lateness was programmed into her psyche. Her license was now expired, and what with people getting stopped routinely and forced to show their IDs, she worried about driving with a permit no longer valid. 

The room was subdued despite the crowd of fifty or so, with conversations kept muted. As a chime sounded at intervals, a steady stream of people rose from their chairs, made their way to the counter and conferred with the official on the other side of the plexiglass window. Six numbers lay ahead of Charla’s, with the clock ticking. She studied her expired license: Only four years had passed, but she grimaced at the image that stared back. The smile, tepid; her hair a mess, and that sweater, making her round face rounder.

“Those cameras are designed to make us look like criminals.” The man seated to her right was shaking his head, showing her his own license, which did indeed show a portrait that could have graced a wanted poster.

Charla, laughing, shoved hers back in her purse. “We’ll see what they capture of me today.” She checked her phone. “If they call my number before my break ends.” She’d missed doctors’ appointments, movie theater starts, and parties because she was always running late. Why couldn’t she ever be on time?

Her seatmate was soon off to the counter. The room slowly emptied, but Charla’s number still lagged, now behind two others. She had exactly five minutes left to complete the renewal. So much for lunch. Maybe Sam would let her sprint to the Wawa for a quick sandwich if things were slow at the dealership when she returned.

At last, she stood at the renewal counter and handed over her paperwork and old license. 

“Waited a little too long, did we?” The clerk’s tone was kind despite the snark of his words.

“I kept meaning to get here,” Charla said, her face warming. “And then it was too late.”

The clerk checked her information on his computer screen. “It’s never too late.” He grinned. “The good news is that you’re not so late that you have to retake the written test.”

“I’d have to do that?” She was not prepared for any exam.

“Only if your license was more than six months overdue.” He directed her to sit back in the chair. “Ready for your picture?”

She patted down her frizzy hair and smiled half-heartedly at the camera. She should have primped in the bathroom before her number was called. Too late now.

Within ten minutes, she was done. Her photo caught her smile—and the wild patch of hair that always stuck up. Now fifteen minutes past her lunch break, she left the DMV lot and sped up the road.

Two blocks from the dealership, cars stacked up behind flashing police lights.

More delays. Sam’s annoyed face loomed in her mind. Was this the day she lost her job? Time was never her friend. 

Turning onto a side street, she looped through an adjacent neighborhood to reach her workplace from the opposite direction. The Wawa store was on the way, so she stopped to buy a snack to get her through the afternoon—and early evening, to make up for the extra half hour she’d “borrowed.”

Traffic was backed up on this side of the wreck, but Charla cut through a parking lot to reach the dealership. She hustled to the door, feeling like the tortoise in the race against the hare of time. A fire truck pulled up to the wreckage, and sirens continued to blare.

Instead of an angry frown over her tardiness, Sam’s face showed only relief. Several salespeople joined him, and Charla was wrapped in a sudden cocoon of welcome.

“You’re safe,” Sam said. He stepped forward as if to hug her, but stopped when she backed up. “We were so afraid you got caught up in that mess.”

Charla’s shoulders relaxed. “I was running late…” As usual, she almost added.

For once, time had been on her side.

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What My 2026 Writing Process Looks Like

January 12, 2026 by in category The Writing Journey by Denise Colby, Writing tagged as , ,

It’s a new year and I’m sharing what my 2026 writing process looks like for my first post of the year. Part of this is for me to do an honest review of what is working and what is not. It also reminds me of what I need to do. I’m currently coming out of an editing phase and need to dive into writing the next book. Remembering what works for me helps. I did some of this in my December 2025 blog post as I reviewed my word for the year – flourish

blog header titled What my 2026 writing Process looks like by Denise m. colby

Then I thought it would be helpful to write it out and share it. Holding myself accountable, but also providing others with ideas that they may have not tried yet.

I have found that there are multiple things needed in order to complete a manuscript. Some of this is what comes inside of a person. Determination. Discipline. Action.

But as many authors have asked as they write. What type of action? How do I find time? What type of schedule do I keep? How do I know if I’m doing the right things? What comes next? Asked a bazilion times, over and over.

Writing is a Marathon, Not a Sprint

When I got my contract, I had my first book finished and two rough drafts done. Or what I thought were rought drafts. I had to literally start over, and so the dates I had comitted to, I had to figure out how to deliver. It took my twelve years to write and publish the first book. Six months to write the next three. Add into that mix, editing sessions, proofing sessions, cover design, back matter, inside matter, launch team, promotions, newsletters, and the list goes on. There are a lot of things to juggle.

And you know what? I did it. I’ve released three books in the last two years, with the fourth one releasing in May 2026. Check out my Best-laid Plans Series page on Amazon.

It’s amazing when we have deadlines how we make it work.

But I also got more streamlined the further I went. This has helped me immensely.

The Writing Process I Morphed Into

By far there are a few things I know now I can’t live without in order to write, and I will continue to use these writing processes for 2026.

First is my critique group. Their feedback and support has been a continuous blessing. We send a chapter a week when we need something reviewed. Not all of us are in the writing phase so it’s not everyone sending a chapter a week. This helps. It’s like a rotation. And it has worked for us.

The next thing on my list would be the writing sprint group I belong to. It would be very easy for me to sleep in, get distracted by laundry, or not show up when it’s only myself. But having a 7am zoom call with others writers has helped not only finish three books, I have resources at my fingertips to ask during our five minute breaks.

So if you do not have a community of writers to work with, I suggest joining a local writing group, or an online group. There are many available by genre or in general. Ask here what you are looking for and I can provide links to one of the five groups I belong to (yes, five – and I love them all in different ways.)

I also set realistic weekly goals for myself. I love to cross out something on a list. So I write out all the chapters I need to write, figure out how many writing sessions (I use twenty-five minute sprints where I can write at least 500 words as my calculator) I need to do, then plan for so many words in a week.

When editing, I create a page with the chapter numbers and put a sticker by them to tell me they are done. All of this adds fun, accountability, and helps me see my goals accomplished.

Other writing tools I’ve used and will continue in 2026

Focus@will – this website has allowed me to pick music and sounds that fit my mood, and helps elevate my brain focus while writing. I feel I write stronger when I use it. It has a timer so I keep to the twenty-five minute sprints I’m now used to. 

Scrivener – this is the software I use to write my manuscripts

Apple notes – I started using this two years ago and it has worked well. It syncs between my computer, phone, and ipad, so that when an idea hits, I can capture it and then access it when and where I need to. I have built a lot of folders within notes. One folder by book. When writing the book, I have scene ideas and brainstorms, then later I put all my launch info in one note (with links).

I’ve added a research folder and put all the links to things there as I find things. Yes, Scrivener has a place for research but I use that for book specific things. The research I’m leaving in notes work across my series. So in some ways I’ve made a little story bible within notes for easy access.

Other folders I’ve added include a social media folder where I type out my posts first (so I can control the spacing and links), as well as marketing folders for newsletters, bookfunnel promotions, blog posts (I have all my links on a page). This has come in handy when I’ve needed to find things quickly. Much faster than trying to find the file I saved.

2026 Writing Process improvements

I always love starting a new year with reflection and planning. Even though I hope this year is more of the same writing process I’m already doing, I hope it continues to become more refined. so I can write and publish more books.

What is part of your writing process wheelhouse that you can share with all of us?

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Finding Peace and Joy Again by Kitty Bucholtz

January 9, 2026 by in category It's Worth It by Kitty Bucholtz, Writing tagged as , , , , , ,

It’s been a rough few years for me. Burnout, butt-kicking perimenopause, then menopause that didn’t “pause” my symptoms much. I’ve felt broken. And every January, I hope and pray that this year will be better. This New Year’s, I barely let myself consider the idea for fear that I will be disappointed yet again.

And yet…

A friend of mine has been urging me for months to read some of the materials she’s found on ADHD in adult women. I’ve resisted, feeling these diagnoses are yet another fad created by Big Pharma to increase their profits at our expense. But I finally listened to one of the audiobooks over Christmas vacation. I felt as gobsmacked as when I took the CliftonStrengths test a year or so ago!

Suddenly, it seemed a light turned on in my head showing me what I already knew about myself but with a lot more depth and clarity and understanding. Both times, it was like I could see things I knew were there (like the living room couch, the TV stand, the window covered with blackout curtains) but now I could SEE them! The couch is red and has thick, soft cushions. The TV stand is small, made of pale wood, but the TV is quite large. And the window is bigger and lets in more light than I realized when it was curtained.

What a difference!!

Personality traits that I have been both comfortable with and frustrated by now appear to be different than I’d thought. Maybe I wasn’t actually broken; maybe some of my tools had broken. The tools I’d used to cope with life (we all have them, whatever our personality traits) stopped working as well when hormones and stress blind-sided me. But the books I’ve been reading have reminded me that I am not broken and I don’t need to be fixed. I’ve just been shoved, hard, off course and need to catch my breath and remind myself how to get back up again.

I have no interest in getting tested for ADHD by a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I am very interested in improving my toolbox: sharpening old skills, developing new ones, perhaps letting go of mechanisms that no longer work as well for me. And I think this is going to make a big difference in my writing.

I’ve just started reading The Artist’s Joy by Merideth Hite Estevez, and The ADHD Advantage by Dale Archer, M.D. Both are blowing me away and making me feel — I’m not the only one who feels this way!! (The book that I first read on my friend’s suggestion is A Radical Guide for Women with ADHD by Sari Solden, M.S.)

If you’re feeling overwhelmed with life, or lacking joy and passion, perhaps some of these books or other similar titles will help you get a better handle on what’s not working and how to get back on track again. I’ll continue writing about this in the future in case it’s helpful!

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Season’s Greetings

December 30, 2025 by in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as , ,

Just one week until Christmas. This is my last craft fair for the season—thank god! I have been selling my hand-crafted greeting cards every weekend since early October, and let me tell you, I’m burned out. I’ve done okay, made my table fees back at most events, but it’s a grind. Today, I’m set up in a community center near Reading, along with what must be forty other vendors.

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

This is your last chance, people, to find the perfect gift! My perfect gift would be a medical miracle for my dad. He’s been unconscious for two weeks, since the car wreck on I-80. The doctors say he should recover—if he wakes up. But he’s pushing eighty. It may not happen.

That would make a good card theme, right? A get-well wish made for people whose loved one is in a coma. May they snap out of it. Or, how about: Wake up, sleepy Jean. But that’s my dark humor bubbling up. Damn it, now my eyes are blurry.

The crowd today has been steady, and there’s plenty of buying going on, judging by the packed bags people are toting around. Most of the merchandise has no appeal for me; I’m not into ninety-dollar stone reindeer, or fat crocheted cats, or ceramic tabletop Christmas trees, or polished plaques that say “What-cha cookin’.” To be fair, my stuff doesn’t appeal to everyone either. I’ve had window shoppers tell me point-blank, “I don’t send cards.”

Still, I have my regulars and I love ‘em. They buy from me every year, oohing and ahhing over my new designs. But the nonbuyers are right: Who sends greeting cards anymore? Especially when you can zap out an e-card or text an emoji or even write a general Insta post—that takes care of a lot of people in one sweep.

Greeting cards are special to me, though. I used to do a bit of calligraphy, fancy addresses on envelopes, cool name tags, that sort of thing. Then I discovered watercolors, and the people at work said I had talent, and here we are. 

But you can’t please everybody. Some folks don’t like my designs. Not religious enough, they say. I say, my cards touch people’s souls; do you? Other folks want a poem inside—they’re the Hallmark crowd. I don’t do poetry, not that kind anyway. Make me write a poem, and I’ll give you Macbeth: Foul is fair and fair is foul.

And some people even expect me to mail the cards for them. If you pay for postage, I’ll think about it. 

It’s about a half hour before this craft event is over and I can stuff my wares into my SUV and head home. Later, I’ll stop by the hospital and sit with Dad for a while. And keep my fingers crossed, hoping. Mom passed six years ago, and he’s all I’ve got left. My brother lives across the country and can’t be bothered.

I reach for a box beneath my table to start packing up. The place is emptying out; I doubt I’ll get many more customers at this hour. Then I see him, one of my regulars. He’s heading my way, his eyes roving my displays and finally finding my gaze. 

“Hi, Roy,” I say. “It’s about time you showed up.” I rib him gently; he always buys a handful of cards. 

“What’s new this year?” He stands about my height, stocky with a beard. His watch cap in Eagles green has slid up his forehead, revealing the worry lines that come with life. I know nothing about him beyond his first name. He’s friendly enough, but he’s never revealed anything personal in our interactions. Married? Loner? I have no idea.

I spin the rack to a new design, a swirl of deep indigo tinged with a hint of orange along one edge. The dark of the storm before the dawn. Before I can pick it up, he has his hand on it. 

“Yes,” he says. “This’ll do.” He selects a half-dozen other designs, then stares at me briefly. “The storm clouds are thinning, I think.”

I record his purchase and place the cards and their envelopes in a slim paper bag. He hands over the cash. Without thinking, I blurt, “Peace be with you.” Where that came from, I have no idea. I’m not devout about anything but my cards. 

He nods once. “Best wishes for your father,” he says, and strides away. 

“What?” I murmur. I must have misunderstood. When I open my hand to count the money, mixed in with the bills is a Patriots key chain. My dad’s favorite team, even years after he left New England. “Wait,” I call out, but when I look up, Roy has merged into the trickle of customers. I no longer see him.

Odd. He must had carried the key chain in his pocket and pulled it out without realizing it. I run a thumb over the raised logo. A Patriots symbol deep in Eagles country, just like Dad. He’ll chuckle at the irony—. I stop my thoughts before I lose my composure. How did Roy know about Dad?

As I box up inventory and break down my racks, my phone lights up. It’s the hospital. Suddenly lightheaded, I sit on my folding stool, gripping the phone so hard my fingers ache. 

“Yes?” I say, afraid to hear whatever news they have to share.

There is a pause as a connection switches and it’s the nursing station. 

They say: My father is now awake and alert. 

And he’s asking for me.

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