One of my very favorite events each autumn is the Show Low Film Festival, a celebration of storytelling that brings filmmakers from around the world right here to our mountain town. Each October, our theaters fill with new voices, fresh perspectives, and stories you won’t find on streaming platforms. And what makes it even more special? This festival is born out of love… love for film, for connection, and for our White Mountain community. I thought I’d share a little behind-the-scenes look at the festival, along with reasons you’ll want to join us whether you’re a filmmaker or simply a lover of good stories.

There’s just something about autumn that makes a book feel even more magical. Maybe it’s the crisp air, or the way golden light filters through the trees, reminding us to slow down and savor the fleeting beauty of the season. For me, autumn reading is less about the pages themselves and more about the ritual surrounding them.

There’s something about fall that always feels like a beginning. The crisp air, the swirl of red-gold leaves, the way even the simplest rituals… a steaming mug of chai, a knit scarf tugged close, a walk past a row of glowing porch pumpkins — seem to whisper: you’re home. For me, autumn has always been the season of stories. It’s when I pull old favorites off the shelf, light a candle that smells like cinnamon and clove, and let myself sink into the kind of tale that feels like comfort food for the soul.

There’s a certain kind of magic that only a bookstore can hold… the kind where every aisle hums with stories waiting to be discovered, and the air itself feels like it carries a quiet spell. Nestled right in the heart of Show Low, White Mountain Books is one of my favorite places to wander when I need to recharge, dream, or simply lose track of time.

There’s a word I keep coming back to whenever I think about creating warmth, connection, and comfort in my home: Hygge (pronounced HEW-gə or HOO-gə). This little word—born of Norwegian and Danish roots—doesn’t just mean “cozy.” It speaks to a whole way of being. Hygge is about leaning into the small rituals that make us feel safe, held, and content: candlelight glowing in the evening, a pot of tea shared with a friend, a blanket tucked around your shoulders on a stormy night. It’s not about perfection or grand gestures—it’s about savoring the ordinary moments that make life feel soft around the edges.

I used to think writing was supposed to be a solitary act — just me, my notebook, and maybe a cup of tea. And while there is magic in those quiet, tucked-away moments, I’ve learned something I wish I’d known years ago: stories grow stronger when they’re held in community. Whether it’s through a one-on-one brainstorming session with a trusted author friend, a late-night chat about plot holes, or connecting with readers at a book festival, I’ve discovered that building a writing community is less about selling books and more about finding your people.

Stories are more than words on a page—they are doorways. The Amberlight Valley trilogy was written as an invitation into a world of magick, memory, and transformation. Whether you’re reading The Christmas Witch, traveling Lost in Time, or uncovering The Secrets of Starlight Lake, each book holds space for wonder, grief, friendship, and healing. These book club questions are designed to spark meaningful conversation, offer gentle reflection, and stir up that sense of cozy curiosity that Amberlight Valley was built upon.

Every town has its heart spots… the places that become more than businesses, the ones that quietly weave themselves into your story. For me, one of those places will always be Arizona Mountain Coffee Co. With two locations—one in Show Low and one in Pinetop—this veteran-owned, family-run shop has been a backdrop for countless memories. Owners David and Heidi Brown have created something special: a space that is warm, welcoming, and just a little bit magickal.

There’s a quiet magic that happens when you treat reading as more than something to do while waiting in line or scrolling before bed. When you give it time, space, and intention, it transforms into a doorway… one that asks you to slow down, to breathe, and to let yourself be carried away.

There are seasons when writing feels like flying. And there are seasons when writing feels like clawing your way through fog. This post is for the latter. Whether you’re navigating burnout, low energy, high sensitivity, emotional overload, or just the foggy numbness that sometimes rolls in unannounced… this is how I write when it feels like I can’t.

Some blends soothe the throat. Others, the soul. One of my favorite memories from living in Colorado was visiting Miramont Castle, a 19th-century gem nestled in the hills of Manitou Springs. That’s where I first discovered the blend that would become a staple in my self-care rituals: Lavender Earl Grey. Since then, this blend has become more than just a beverage… It’s a balm. And now, you can make it with me!

There’s a moment in every creative journey when the intangible becomes real… when a story you've held in your heart begins to breathe outside of you. Directing is where that moment lives for me. It’s the bridge between dream and embodiment, and somehow, it still feels like alchemy every single time. Here’s what it’s like to direct through the lens of someone who still can’t quite believe this is real… but knows in her bones it is.

Let me start by being honest: I don’t actually feel like I balance anything. Not in the color-coded, Pinterest-perfect kind of way. More often than not, I feel like I’m dancing between worlds… one moment writing dialogue in my head, the next remembering I forgot to thaw the chicken. I hyperfocus on my projects (especially when I’m in deep creative mode like filming), and when that happens… everything else drops.

I believe that magick is a living, breathing thread that runs through everything… through God, through nature, through story, and through you. And in a world that often prizes speed over stillness, logic over intuition, and productivity over presence… returning to our magick can feel radical. Rebellious, even.

Bringing a story from the page to the screen is no small task—but when the story is full of magic, heart, and wonder, it feels less like work and more like destiny. Here's a little peek behind the scenes of our creative journey adapting The Christmas Witch into a film!

Over the years, I’ve come to see storytelling not just as something I do, but as something that does something to me. It heals me. It guides me. It holds a mirror up to the parts of myself I’m still learning to love. Whether I’m writing novels, screenplays, or blog posts like this one, I often find that my most personal truths come through in the spaces between the words. Below, I’m answering a few questions about how storytelling has shaped my healing journey… not just creatively, but soulfully.

Are you craving more magick in your everyday rhythm? If so, this is one of those posts you may want to tuck away, bookmark, or return to when the world feels dull and you need a spark.

Step inside the Amberlight Apothecary and discover how ancient brews can become vessels of intention, patience, and quiet celebration. From floral infusions to honeyed spells, this post guides you through the slow magick of mead-making—inviting you to stir with care, steep with wonder, and sip in rhythm with the turning of the seasons.

For me, storytelling isn’t just a passion. It’s how I process, how I feel, how I understand. This piece is a love letter to that experience. To the quiet magic of noticing. To the deep pulse of pattern. To the sacred way my mind finds meaning in ink.

A reflection on unlearning performance-based healing and honoring resistance as the body’s sacred wisdom, not a mindset flaw.