Seek the Magic in Every Story

Would You Change the Past If You Could?

It is one of those questions that sounds simple until we truly begin to think about it:

If you could return to the past and change one thing, would you?

Most of us carry at least one moment we would like to revisit. A decision made too quickly. A conversation that ended badly. Words we wish we had spoken—or words we desperately wish we could take back.

Perhaps we would choose a different road, accept the opportunity we once refused, or walk away from something sooner. Perhaps we would hold someone a little longer, ask one more question, or say I love you when we still had the chance. At first, the answer seems obvious. Of course we would change it.

Wouldn’t we?

The Seduction of a Second Chance

The past has one great advantage over the present: we already know what happened.

Looking backward, we can see every missed sign and every approaching disaster. We recognize the moment when everything began to change, even if we didn’t recognize it at the time. How comforting it would be to return armed with everything we know now. We would be wiser. Braver. More careful.

Or so we tell ourselves.

But the person stepping back into that moment would no longer be the same person who first lived it. We would arrive carrying years of experience, disappointment, love, grief, and understanding. And that raises another question: if we erased the experience that taught us those lessons, would we still become the people we are today?

The Invisible Threads

Our lives are made of countless invisible threads.

One decision leads to another. One chance encounter becomes a friendship. One disappointment sends us down a road we never planned to travel. A door closes, forcing us to discover another door we might otherwise have ignored. If we pulled out one painful thread, what else might unravel?

Perhaps changing an unhappy relationship would mean never meeting someone who later became important to us. Avoiding one failure might prevent us from discovering a strength we didn’t know we possessed. Erasing a loss might also erase the path that eventually carried us toward love, purpose, or belonging.

We tend to imagine that we could remove the pain while keeping everything beautiful that came after it. But time might not be so accommodating. It could behave less like a polite editor and more like an enthusiastic toddler with a crayon.

The Question Behind My Stories

As a writer of time-travel romance, I return to this idea again and again.

What would happen if someone were given the chance to cross the boundary between past and present? Would love remain unchanged? Could a mistake truly be corrected, or would the attempt create an entirely different future?

My characters often believe they understand what they want from time. They want to return to someone they love. They want to uncover a mystery, prevent a tragedy, or find a person who vanished under impossible circumstances.

But time rarely gives them exactly what they expect.

It challenges them. It changes them. And occasionally, it reminds them that love is not about creating a perfect past. It is about recognizing what is worth fighting for—no matter the century.

Perhaps that is why time travel fascinates me so much. Beneath the clocks, portals, mysteries, and impossible journeys lies a deeply human longing: the desire for one more chance.

What Would You Say?

If I could travel into the past, I am not certain I would try to change anything. But I would be tempted to visit.

I would like to see certain people again—not to warn them about the future or interfere with the lives they were meant to live, but simply to sit beside them for a while.

I would listen more carefully. I would ask the questions I never thought to ask. I would tell them what they meant to me.

Maybe the greatest gift would not be the power to alter the past, but the opportunity to appreciate it while standing inside it. Because when we think about changing history, what we often want is not a different life. We want another moment with someone we loved. Another conversation. Another embrace. Another ordinary afternoon we didn’t realize was precious until it became a memory.

Perhaps We Are Already Changing Time

We may never find a glowing portal inside a grandfather clock. We may never discover a mysterious key or solve an equation capable of bending time.

But perhaps we possess another kind of power.

The past cannot be rewritten, but it can be understood differently. We can forgive the person we once were for not knowing what we know today. We can carry our memories with tenderness instead of regret. We can allow old mistakes to become wisdom rather than punishment.

And we can change what happens next. We can make the phone call now. We can offer the apology now.

We can say I love you now.

Perhaps that is the closest we will ever come to time travel—and perhaps it is enough. So, if you were offered one journey into your own past, what would you do? Would you change something? Would you simply watch?

Or would you find someone you miss, sit beside them once more, and tell them everything you never had the chance to say?

Mathematics and destiny may seem like complete opposites. Mathematics depends on logic, patterns, and proof. Destiny asks us to believe in invisible connections, inexplicable coincidences, and the possibility that some events are meant to happen.

But what if they are not opposites at all? What if destiny is simply an equation we have not yet learned how to understand?

That question lies at the heart of my upcoming novel, A Timeless Equation.

Andrew’s Search for Answers

Readers of the Upon A Time series may remember Andrew Morris as Nika’s younger brother. Andrew is a brilliant mathematician, practical by nature and far more comfortable with numbers than with mysteries that seem to defy explanation.

But when Nika disappears under baffling circumstances, logic can offer him very little comfort.

To everyone else, her disappearance may appear impossible to explain. To Andrew, however, the absence of an obvious answer does not mean that no answer exists. It simply means that he has not found it yet.

He cannot accept that his sister simply vanished. He needs to know where she went. More importantly, he needs to find a way to reach her.

That determination draws Andrew toward a mathematical theory suggesting that time may possess its own hidden coordinates. If those coordinates can be identified, calculated, and understood, perhaps time is not the impenetrable barrier humanity has always believed it to be.

Perhaps it can be crossed.

When Science Encounters the Impossible

The idea of time travel has always fascinated me because it can be approached from so many directions.

It can be mystical—a doorway opening at midnight, an antique key turning in an unexpected lock, or a grandfather clock that measures far more than passing hours.

But it can also be scientific.

Physicists and mathematicians have long explored the nature of time. Is it truly linear? Can it bend? Can the past and present exist closer together than we realize?

I loved the idea of bringing a mathematician into the world of the Coleman House.

Until now, the mysteries surrounding the house and its grandfather clock have been experienced by characters who had little choice but to accept the impossible. Andrew is different. He does not want merely to believe. He wants to understand.

He wants to prove that what happened to Nika was real.

Yet some mysteries resist being reduced to numbers—and the Coleman House has never been inclined to surrender its secrets easily.

Enter Scarlett Fitzpatrick

Then there is Scarlett.

Scarlett Fitzpatrick is a museum curator. Her understanding of the past does not come from equations but from the objects people leave behind—paintings, documents, keepsakes, and fragments of lives that still have stories to tell.

Andrew studies time as an abstract mystery.

Scarlett sees its fingerprints everywhere.

Where he searches for patterns, she searches for meaning. Where he trusts calculation, she understands intuition. Their different ways of looking at the world place them on opposite sides of the same mystery.

They also make them exactly what the other needs.

Scarlett brings warmth and humanity to Andrew’s relentless pursuit of the truth. Andrew, in turn, challenges Scarlett to imagine that history may not be as fixed—or as unreachable—as it appears.

Together, they stand at the meeting point between mathematics and destiny.

Can Destiny Be Calculated?

While writing A Timeless Equation, I found myself thinking about the patterns within our own lives.

How many seemingly insignificant decisions led us to the people we love?

What if we had taken a different street, arrived five minutes later, or made another choice years earlier?

Were those encounters merely coincidences?

Or were they points in an equation quietly forming long before we recognized its shape?

Andrew believes every problem has a solution. But his journey will force him to confront something numbers alone cannot explain: sometimes the most important discoveries are not found through logic. Sometimes they require trust, courage, and a willingness to step into the unknown.

And sometimes destiny does not wait patiently for us to understand it.

Returning to the Coleman House

A Timeless Equation returns readers to the Coleman House, the mysterious grandfather clock, and the family whose lives have become intertwined across generations.

But this time, the doorway into the mystery is different.

Andrew approaches it through mathematics. Scarlett approaches it through history. And somewhere between them lies a truth that could reunite a family—or alter the lives of everyone connected to the house.

This story brings together familiar characters, unanswered questions, and new revelations. It is a story about a brother’s refusal to stop searching for his sister. It is also a story about two people discovering that the line between choice and destiny may be far thinner than either of them imagined.

Because perhaps time does have coordinates.

Perhaps destiny follows a pattern.

And perhaps love is the force that brings every part of the equation together.

A Timeless Equation will be released on September 22, 2026.

Andrew Morris has always trusted mathematics. Numbers are dependable. Equations follow rules. Even the most complicated problem has a solution—if one is patient enough to search for it.

Love, unfortunately, has never been quite so cooperative.

That contrast became one of the inspirations behind my upcoming novel, A Timeless Equation. Andrew is a mathematician, a man who believes that the universe, however mysterious it may appear, is governed by patterns waiting to be discovered. To him, time is not merely something measured by clocks. It is a puzzle—perhaps the greatest mathematical puzzle of all.

But for Andrew, solving that puzzle is far more than an intellectual challenge.

Andrew is Nika Morris’s younger brother, and her sudden disappearance under baffling circumstances has haunted him. While others may have accepted that she was gone, Andrew could not. He needed answers. Somewhere beneath the impossible explanations, the strange clues, and the unanswered questions, he believed there had to be a pattern.

His search for the truth becomes the driving force behind his work. If time can be understood—if it can be expressed through numbers and coordinates—perhaps he can discover what happened to his sister. Perhaps he can even find her.

Then Scarlett Fitzpatrick enters his life.

Scarlett is a museum curator, a woman surrounded by objects that have outlived the people who once owned them. While Andrew looks at the past through theories and calculations, Scarlett experiences it through art, history, and the stories left behind. They seem to belong to different worlds. And yet, sometimes the most unlikely elements create the most extraordinary equation.

When Andrew discovers a mathematical formula that may reveal the coordinates of time itself, the impossible suddenly begins to feel possible. The formula leads him toward the Coleman House—a place where the past has never been entirely willing to remain buried and where the mystery of Nika’s disappearance may finally be waiting to reveal itself.

But time is not a neat line stretching quietly from yesterday to tomorrow. It carries memories, secrets, consequences, and lives already altered by those brave—or foolish—enough to challenge it.

And love makes everything even more complicated.

Can love be predicted? Can it be measured by the years two people spend together, the sacrifices they make, or the distance they are willing to cross? What if that distance is not counted in miles, but in decades?

As I wrote Andrew and Scarlett’s story, I kept returning to one thought: we often try to understand love as though it were a problem we could solve. We search for explanations. We analyze every word, every silence, every choice. We wonder why two people meet at one particular moment—or why they find each other when the timing seems completely wrong.

But perhaps love was never meant to be solved. Perhaps its power lies in its refusal to follow the rules.

A mathematical equation requires balance. Change one part, and everything else must adjust. Love can be much the same. One meeting can redirect an entire life. One decision can echo across generations. One person can transform everything we believed we knew about ourselves—and about the future awaiting us.

Andrew may understand numbers, but Scarlett forces him to confront questions no formula can answer. How much would you risk for someone you love? Would you trust what cannot be proven?

And if you discovered a way to reach through time, would you dare to use it—knowing that the smallest change might alter everything?

A Timeless Equation is Andrew and Scarlett’s story, but it also brings us back to the mystery that has connected the entire Upon A Time series: the Coleman House, the grandfather clock, and the invisible threads binding people across different eras.

Familiar lives intersect with new ones. Old choices reveal unexpected consequences. And once again, time proves that it has plans of its own…

Because some mysteries may eventually be explained. Some equations may finally be solved.

But love? Love remains the one beautiful equation whose answer can only be found by living it.

A Timeless Equation will be released on September 22, 2026.

There is something almost magical about opening a brand-new printed book. The quiet crackle of the spine. The smoothness of untouched pages. The scent of paper and ink. Even the simple pleasure of sliding a bookmark between the pages before placing the book on the nightstand feels like a tiny ritual. A printed book is more than a container for words. It is an object we can hold, admire, lend to a friend, or keep on a shelf for years. Sometimes, simply seeing a beloved title brings back memories of where we were—and who we were—when we first read it.

And then there is the ebook. It may not have the fragrance of paper or the satisfying weight of a novel in our hands, but it possesses a different kind of magic. Within seconds, a story can travel from an online bookstore directly into our possession. No waiting. No shipping. No impatiently checking the mailbox.

An entire library can accompany us on vacation without adding a single pound to our luggage. We can enlarge the print, adjust the brightness, search for a forgotten name, and read late at night without turning on a lamp—or waking the person sleeping beside us. Of course, that person might still wake up when we whisper, “Just one more chapter,” for the fifth time.

The Pleasure of Paper

For many readers, printed books offer an emotional and sensory experience that a screen cannot quite duplicate. We remember the covers. We notice how far we have traveled through the story by feeling the pages shift from our right hand to our left. We find old receipts, pressed flowers, handwritten notes, and forgotten bookmarks tucked inside books we read years ago. A personal library also tells a story of its own. Its shelves reveal our interests, our dreams, our obsessions, and perhaps a few guilty pleasures we insist are there purely for research.

Printed books can become companions. Their covers grow worn. Their pages soften. Favorite passages are underlined, and certain corners may be folded despite every librarian’s desperate plea not to do it. There is comfort in that familiarity. A well-loved book carries evidence that it has lived alongside us.

The Freedom of an Ebook

Ebooks offer something equally valuable: freedom. They make reading wonderfully accessible. A new book is available at the touch of a button, whether we are sitting at home, waiting in a doctor’s office, or traveling far from the nearest bookstore. For readers who need larger print, ebooks can make the experience much more comfortable. For travelers, they eliminate the terrible choice between packing another pair of shoes and bringing three more novels. And let us be honest—three more novels will probably win.

Ebooks also allow us to read privately. No one on the bus, at the airport, or in the waiting room needs to know whether we are studying ancient history, solving a murder, traveling through time, or enjoying a romance with a particularly irresistible hero on the cover.

But Does the Story Feel Different?

I believe the format can change the reading experience—but it does not change the heart of the story.

A printed book encourages us to slow down. It gives us something tangible to associate with the journey. An ebook offers immediacy, convenience, and the ability to carry countless imaginary worlds wherever we go. But when a story truly captures us, the format begins to disappear.

We no longer notice the paper, the screen, the font, or the percentage displayed at the bottom of the page. We are standing inside an old house at midnight. We are listening to a forgotten melody. We are falling in love, solving a mystery, confronting a villain, or stepping through a portal into another century. That is the real magic of reading. A printed book lives on our shelves. An ebook travels in our pockets. But a beautiful story makes its home in our hearts.

So, which do you prefer?

Are you devoted to the scent and feel of printed pages? Do you love the convenience of carrying your library everywhere? Or, like me, are you happily surrounded by both?

Team Paper, Team Ebook—or Team Story, in whatever form it finds you?

This summer, I lost two dear friends: Sharon Burke and Emma Janis Hess.

Even as I write those words, they do not feel quite real. Perhaps loss is always like that. The mind understands what has happened, but the heart continues to expect another conversation, another message, another familiar voice saying our name.

Grief arrives in strange and unpredictable ways. Sometimes it comes as tears. Sometimes as silence. Sometimes it hides inside an ordinary moment—a song, a photograph, a familiar phrase—and suddenly, the person we miss is standing beside us again, if only in memory.

But I have come to believe that the people we love do not simply disappear from our lives. They become part of who we are.

We carry their words. Their laughter. Their kindness. We remember the way they encouraged us when we doubted ourselves and how they made the world feel a little warmer simply by being in it.

Sharon Burke was not only my dear friend but also my editor and my mentor. She knew my stories intimately—the characters, the emotions, the tiny details that make an imaginary world feel real. She helped me shape my words, but more importantly, she believed in them. A good editor improves a manuscript. A true friend strengthens the person behind it. Sharon did both.

Her wisdom, encouragement, and careful attention remain woven through my books. Whenever I open one of the stories we worked on together, I will find traces of her there—in a sentence she helped polish, a scene she encouraged me to deepen, or a moment when her faith in me gave me the courage to continue.

Emma Janis Hess also left her own precious imprint upon my life. Some friendships become part of the quiet architecture of our hearts. We may not always recognize how much they hold us up until we are forced to face the empty space their absence leaves behind. Yet even that emptiness speaks of love.

We grieve because someone mattered. Because their presence changed something within us. Because the world was different—and better—when they were here.

As a writer, I have often explored love that survives separation, time, and even death. I have written about people finding one another across decades and lifetimes. But grief reminds us that this idea does not belong only to fiction. The people we love continue to reach us.

They live in the stories we tell about them. In the lessons they taught us. In the choices we make because we once knew them. Their voices return when we need comfort or guidance. Their kindness moves forward through every kindness we offer someone else. Perhaps that is one of the ways love defeats time.

Sharon and Emma will not be present for the future moments I wish I could share with them. That truth hurts more than words can express. But they were here. I knew them. I loved them. And my life is richer because our paths crossed. There is profound gratitude hidden inside grief—the gratitude of having had someone worth missing.

So today, I do not want to remember only that Sharon Burke and Emma Janis Hess are gone. I want to remember that they lived. That they were loved. That they left memories behind in the hearts of those who knew them. And I want to say their names. Sharon. Emma.

They were here. They mattered. They will be remembered.

Some people leave our sight, but they never truly leave our stories. We carry them forward—in our memories, in our hearts, and in the people we become because we loved them.

And in that way, they remain with us.

Always.

Every story begins somewhere. Mine began with the steady tick of an old grandfather clock. Standing in the foyer of the Coleman House, it appeared to be nothing more than a magnificent relic from another century—tall, elegant, and solemn, its polished wooden case holding more than a hundred years of memories.

But this was no ordinary clock. It did not merely measure time. It opened a doorway through it.

The Heart of the Coleman House

From the beginning, I knew the Coleman House needed a powerful connection to its past. The house itself already felt alive to me, filled with old memories, family secrets, and the lingering presence of everyone who had once called it home. The grandfather clock became its heartbeat.

Its ticking echoed through the foyer. Its chimes marked the passing hours. It stood quietly while generations of Colemans lived, loved, quarreled, celebrated, and grieved beneath the same roof.

And all the while, it guarded its secret. The clock could do what humanity has dreamed of doing for centuries: open a passage between the present and the past.

But only with the right key.

The Key That Changed Everything

A key is such a small object. It can fit inside a pocket or rest unnoticed in the palm of a hand. Yet keys have always carried a certain kind of magic. They open doors. They protect secrets. They offer entry into places that were once beyond our reach.

In the Upon A Time series, the key and the grandfather clock belong together. One is powerless without the other. When the key is placed into the clock at precisely the right moment, the familiar world disappears—and another century waits on the other side.

That single turn of the key changed Nika Morris’s life forever. One moment, she was a modern woman standing inside an old house she had been hired to restore. The next, she found herself in 1909, surrounded by people who had no idea that she came from more than a hundred years in their future.

Among them was Elijah Coleman. And from that moment, nothing would ever be the same.

More Than a Portal

The grandfather clock may be the means of traveling through time, but it soon became far more than a convenient doorway between two centuries.

It became a symbol of choice.

Every journey through the clock requires someone to leave something behind. Familiar surroundings. Family. Security. Sometimes even the life they once believed they were meant to live. The clock offers possibilities, but it never promises an easy journey. It brings people together—and separates them. It grants second chances—but demands courage. It can carry someone toward love, forgiveness, or belonging. Yet the traveler must still decide whether the destination is worth the sacrifice.

That is what makes the clock so important to me. It does not solve my characters’ problems. It simply opens the door. They must decide whether to walk through it.

The Silent Witness

Imagine everything that old clock has witnessed. It watched children grow and families change. It stood in the same foyer through happiness and heartbreak, births and deaths, welcomes and farewells.

It witnessed Nika’s impossible arrival in 1909. It saw love blossom where it should never have been possible. It watched people leave without knowing whether they would ever return. And through it all, the clock remained silent—patiently counting the seconds while holding the past and future within its wooden walls.

In many ways, it became a character of its own.

It never speaks, yet its presence can alter the course of every life around it. Its ticking can offer comfort or sound like a warning. Its midnight chime may signal an ending—or the beginning of an entirely new story.

Why a Grandfather Clock?

I could have chosen many ways for my characters to travel through time. A mirror. A doorway. An enchanted book. A mysterious staircase. But none of them felt quite right.

A grandfather clock is different because it already belongs to time.

It measures every passing second while appearing almost untouched by the years. Long after the people who first wound it have disappeared, it continues to tick. It passes from one generation to the next, carrying its history with it.

There is also something wonderfully dramatic about a tall antique clock standing in the shadows of an old house. The movement of its pendulum. The deep resonance of its chimes. The hands creeping toward midnight.

A clock reminds us that time is always moving forward. But what if—just once—it allowed us to move backward?

The Clock That Started It All

Without the grandfather clock, Nika would never have traveled to 1909. She would never have met Eli.

Abby’s future would have unfolded differently. Alex and Verochka’s lives would have taken other paths. The Coleman House would have remained merely an old building filled with unanswered questions.

And the Upon A Time series would never have begun.

The grandfather clock is more than a portal. It is the heartbeat of the Coleman House, the keeper of its secrets, and the silent guardian of everyone who has passed through its halls. It carried love across more than a hundred years. It gave my characters the chance to change their destinies.

And with one turn of a mysterious key, it started everything.

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A question for my readers:

If you discovered a clock that could carry you into another time, would you turn the key?

And if you did—would you travel into the past or the future?

Every novel begins with its hero and heroine.

They’re the first faces readers meet, the ones who fall in love, overcome impossible odds, and carry the story from the first page to the last.

But somewhere along the way, something magical happens.

A loyal friend speaks a line that was never part of the original plan. A mentor offers wisdom that changes everything. A housekeeper becomes family. A quiet soul unexpectedly steals an entire scene. Before I know it, my supporting characters have claimed a place in my heart right alongside my protagonists.

Today I’d like to introduce you to six of them.

They may not always stand in the spotlight, but without them, my stories simply wouldn’t be the same.

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Marie Dubois

Rostoff Family Saga

Elegant, compassionate, and wonderfully perceptive, Marie possesses the rare gift of making everyone around her feel understood. She reminds us that true strength often reveals itself through kindness, quiet dignity, and unwavering loyalty. Whenever Marie appears, she brings warmth, wisdom, and a sense of home.

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Vlad Albrecht

Rostoff Family Saga

Dependable, honorable, and fiercely devoted to those he loves, Vlad is the kind of man every family hopes to have in its corner. His quiet courage speaks louder than grand gestures, and beneath his calm exterior lies a heart willing to sacrifice everything for the people he cares about.

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William O’Brien

Upon A Time

Brilliant, delightfully eccentric, and endlessly curious, William is far more than a trusted friend. His intelligence, wit, and unwavering loyalty often become the invisible thread holding impossible situations together. Some of my favorite conversations in the series belong to William, whose clever observations never fail to surprise me.

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Mrs. Smith

Upon A Time

Every home has a heart.

For the Coleman household, that heart is Mrs. Smith.

Gentle yet strong, practical yet deeply compassionate, she loves fiercely, protects without hesitation, and somehow always knows exactly what someone needs—whether it’s a warm meal, wise advice, or simply a comforting embrace. She reminds us that family isn’t always defined by blood, but by love.

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Emma

Rhapsody in Dreams

Grace, wisdom, and quiet mystery surround Emma wherever she goes. She possesses the rare ability to see beyond the obvious, gently guiding others without ever taking away their freedom to choose. Some people change lives with dramatic actions. Emma does it with compassion, understanding, and perfectly chosen words.

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Nick St. George

Rhapsody in Dreams

Calm, thoughtful, and quietly reassuring, Nick is the steady presence every great story needs. His strength isn’t loud—it rests in his unwavering support, his integrity, and his willingness to stand beside those he loves no matter what lies ahead. Characters like Nick remind us that true heroes don’t always seek recognition; sometimes they simply show up when they’re needed most.

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One of my greatest joys as an author is watching these characters grow beyond the roles I originally imagined for them. Many began as supporting voices, yet over time they became indispensable parts of their stories—and of my own journey as a writer.

In many ways, they remind me that life itself isn’t made memorable only by its leading moments. It’s also shaped by the friends who stand beside us, the mentors who guide us, and the quiet souls whose love changes us forever.

Now I’d love to hear from you.

Which supporting character from one of my books has stolen your heart?

Sometimes the people standing just beyond the spotlight leave the deepest impression of all.

One of the questions I’m asked most often is whether I outline my novels before I begin writing.

The answer is yes. At least, I try. I usually know where the story begins. I have a good idea where it’s headed. I even know many of the scenes I want to include along the way. Then something unexpected happens.

The characters decide they have other plans.

It may sound strange to anyone who has never written fiction, but writers often talk about their characters as though they are real people. That’s because, after spending months—or even years—with them, they begin to develop personalities of their own. They surprise us. They argue with us. Sometimes, they completely ignore us.

More than once, I’ve sat down at my computer fully intending to write one scene, only to watch a character say something I never expected. Suddenly, the conversation takes a different direction, a relationship changes, or an entirely new chapter is born. Those are some of my favorite writing days.

Nika, for example, has never been particularly interested in following my plans. She is fiercely independent, wonderfully stubborn, and rarely waits for permission to do anything. More than once, I thought she would choose the sensible path. Instead, she marched straight into trouble because that’s exactly who she is.

And the funny thing is…she was right. Had I forced her to behave differently, she would no longer have felt like Nika.

Eli surprised me in a different way. On the surface, he is composed, thoughtful, and every bit the gentleman. But beneath that calm exterior lies remarkable determination. There were moments when I expected him to step back, only to discover that his quiet strength was far greater than I had imagined.

Alex also had a habit of changing the rules. He often entered a scene intending to play a supporting role, only to take command before I realized what had happened. His loyalty, protectiveness, and unwavering sense of responsibility gave him a presence that simply couldn’t be ignored.

Then there is Elizabeth Rostoff.

She never argued with me. She simply smiled…and did exactly what she intended to do. I confess there were times when I wished she would make a kinder choice. I wanted her to show compassion, to soften, to surprise me. She never did. Because that wasn’t who she was.

As frustrating as it could be, I eventually realized something important. Characters don’t become memorable because they obey the author. They become memorable because they remain true to themselves. Perhaps that’s why readers often ask me whether my characters are real.

In a way, they are.

Not because they exist somewhere in the world, but because they become so vivid that they begin making decisions based on their own personalities rather than my outline. When that happens, writing becomes less like giving instructions and more like listening.

I know that may sound impossible. But every novelist I know has experienced it. Characters have a way of revealing themselves one conversation at a time. As authors, our job isn’t to control them.

It’s to pay attention.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thank you for joining me behind the scenes of my writing process today. I’d love to know—have you ever read a book where a character felt so real that you forgot they were fictional? Those are the characters we never truly leave behind.

Until next time,

Happy reading,

Stella May

Have you ever picked up an old object and wondered where it had been? Who held it before you? What conversations did it witness? What secrets does it keep?

I’ve always believed that objects have stories to tell.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I enjoy writing historical fiction and time travel novels so much. While people come and go, certain things remain. They quietly survive the passing of years, carrying memories from one generation to the next.

A weathered photograph. A handwritten letter. A wedding ring. An old key. A grandfather clock.

None of these objects can speak. And yet, each has a story.

As an author, I often find that an object becomes much more than a simple detail in a scene. Sometimes it becomes the heart of the story itself. Take the grandfather clock in my Upon A Time series.

At first glance, it’s simply an elegant antique standing in the hallway of Coleman House. But it is also so much more. It marks the passage of time, guards old secrets, and ultimately becomes the gateway between centuries. Without it, Nika’s extraordinary journey would never begin.

Then there’s the key. A small, ordinary object. One that most of us wouldn’t think twice about. Yet in the right hands, a key can unlock far more than a door. It can open forgotten memories, impossible adventures, and entirely new lives.

In Rhapsody in Dreams, music itself becomes a kind of object of memory.

A handwritten manuscript. A melody. A piano.

These are tangible things, yet they carry emotions that words sometimes cannot express. A single piece of music has the power to awaken feelings buried deep within the heart.

The Rostoff Family Saga has its own silent storytellers as well.

Family photographs. Letters. Heirlooms passed from one generation to the next. Each reminds us that history isn’t made only by extraordinary events. It’s also preserved in the ordinary things we choose to keep.

Perhaps that’s why we treasure certain possessions, even when they have little monetary value. An old watch that belonged to a grandfather. A recipe written in a mother’s handwriting. A postcard tucked inside a favorite book. A faded ticket from a memorable journey.

To anyone else, they’re simply objects. To us, they’re pieces of our lives.

As writers, we’re fortunate. We have the privilege of giving those silent objects a voice. A key becomes the beginning of an adventure. A clock becomes the keeper of time. A melody becomes the language of love. A letter becomes the bridge between generations.

The object itself may be small. The story it carries can be enormous.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to stories that connect the past with the present. Because sometimes the most extraordinary journeys begin with the simplest things.

The next time you come across an old object—a pocket watch in an antique shop, a handwritten note tucked inside a book, or a key whose lock has long since been forgotten—pause for just a moment. Imagine the lives it has touched. Imagine the stories it could tell. You may discover that the greatest treasures are not the objects themselves… But the memories they continue to carry.

Until next time,

Happy reading,

Stella May

People often ask authors which character is their favorite to write. The answer usually surprises them.

It’s rarely the hero. Sometimes it’s the villain.

Not because we admire them, of course, but because creating a believable villain is one of the greatest challenges a writer can face. Heroes are often guided by love, hope, loyalty, and courage. Villains, on the other hand, force us to explore the darker corners of human nature—pride, jealousy, greed, fear, and the desperate need for control. They ask difficult questions. What makes an ordinary person cross a moral line?

At what point does ambition become obsession? Can love become possessiveness? Can pain become cruelty?

As a writer, I don’t believe villains wake up in the morning thinking, “Today I’ll become the bad guy.”

Like all of us, they believe they are justified. They make one choice. Then another. And before long, they’ve become someone capable of hurting the people around them without remorse.

Writing those moments can be surprisingly uncomfortable.

There were times while writing the Rostoff Family Saga when I found myself shaking my head at Elizabeth Rostoff. She is, without question, one of the most difficult characters I have ever written.

She manipulates. She deceives. She places her own desires above the happiness of those she claims to love.

More than once, I wanted to reach into the manuscript and tell her to stop. Of course, she never listened.

Because once characters become real, they begin making their own decisions. As strange as that may sound, many writers will understand exactly what I mean.

Elizabeth taught me something important. A memorable villain isn’t frightening because they are powerful.

They are frightening because they are believable.

History—and life itself—reminds us that the greatest harm is often caused not by monsters, but by ordinary people making selfish choices. That is what I wanted Elizabeth to represent. Not evil in its most dramatic form. But the quiet damage one person can inflict on an entire family when pride and self-interest replace compassion.

Ironically, writing a villain also made me appreciate my heroes even more. Without darkness, courage cannot shine. Without betrayal, forgiveness loses its meaning. Without obstacles, triumph feels unearned.

Every hero needs someone to challenge them. Every family saga needs conflict. Every great story needs a reason for readers to keep turning the pages.

In the end, I don’t write villains because I enjoy cruelty. I write them because they remind us why kindness matters. They make us appreciate honesty, loyalty, sacrifice, and love.

And perhaps that is the greatest purpose any villain can serve. They don’t teach us how to become better people. They remind us why we should.

Before I close, I’d like to share a small glimpse of Elizabeth Rostoff.

I won’t reveal too much—after all, every villain deserves to make their own first impression—but I hope this brief excerpt offers a window into the woman who challenged not only the Rostoff family, but me as an author.

Writing Elizabeth was never easy. There were days when I disliked every decision she made. There were moments when I wished she would choose compassion over manipulation, honesty over deception, love over control. But if she had, she wouldn’t have been Elizabeth. And perhaps that’s the greatest lesson she taught me.

As authors, we don’t get to choose only the characters we’d enjoy having over for dinner. We must also create the ones who make our heroes stronger, our readers angrier, and our stories impossible to forget.

So, I’d like to introduce you to one of the most unforgettable women I’ve ever written.

Excerpt from “New Dawn“

Her Grace, Princess Elizabeth, Elizaveta Andreevna Rostoff, sat in her favorite chair embroidered with Monarch’s golden lily, engrossed in a book. For a moment, Dmitry stood unnoticed and studied his aging mother.

At sixty-four, she was still beautiful with her thick white-silver hair cut in a stylish bob. His eyes traveled past the long column of her neck and stopped on her arresting face. Slashing cheekbones, high forehead, Greek nose.

She looked as if chiseled from a piece of marble, exquisite as it was cold. Regal was the only word to describe Her Grace Elizabeth.

Sensing intrusion, his mother sharply turned her head left and looked up. Straight at him. Her intense and brutally intelligent eyes held him captive. They always reminded him of a stormy sky—angry, cold, majestic.

“Hello, Mother.” Dmitry greeted her in Russian, for Elizabeth forbade any other language inside the house. Fluent in five—French, English, German, Italian and Spanish—Dmitry never heard her speak any other language except her native tongue in her domain. Her mausoleum.

“Hello, Dmitry,” Elizabeth replied in the frosty alto he loved and hated for as long as he could remember.

“I hope nothing’s wrong with the business?” she inquired dryly.

Oh, how predictable.

Dmitry barely controlled his disgust.

Business, her beloved company. It always comes first. Damn her.

Officially, Elizabeth retired from the family business several years ago after he took over Rostoff & Co. Correction—after she entrusted it to him with great reluctance and wariness. But Elizabeth was still the president, and she controlled the board of directors single-handedly and unquestionably, leaving her only son the chair and position of the CEO.

Although she preferred to live in her California manor, the headquarters of Rostoff & Co. were located in New York—Midtown Manhattan, to be precise—in the old building his grandfather bought and painstakingly rebuilt for the first store during The Roaring Twenties. Since then, it was expanded several times to accommodate the growing business enterprise soon to become a nationwide chain of jewelry stores. Rostoff’s gems, especially diamonds, were famous throughout the world, unrivaled by their beauty and value.

They were also the only thing Elizabeth loved and cared about with passion.

“Rest assured, Mother, your beloved business is all right.” More harsh and brusque than was permitted by Elizabeth’s rules, Dmitry’s reply triggered an immediate reaction. As two perfect brows raised, the color of her eyes deepened to the shade of pewter.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Dmitry.” The ice in her voice may well have extinguished an inferno.

She looked at him pointedly, waiting for an apology. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and leave in silent protest. But such a behavior was adolescent rebellion, silly and pointless. Dmitry never resorted to it, even in his early teenage years. He wasn’t about to start now.

After all, who knew Elizabeth better than he did? He taught himself early on to never expect from her what she was unable to give, simple warmth and compassion.

“Forgive me, Mother,” he said dryly. “It was rude of me.”

Elizabeth nodded regally. She held out her hand, queen to a peasant. Dmitry bent forward and gingerly kissed it. As soon as his lips touched her skin, she withdrew her fingers. She didn’t like to be touched by anybody, even her own son. As if such an act as physical contact with another body might sully her perfection.

Dmitry wondered how she permitted her husband to be intimate with her and touch her long enough to conceive him. She undoubtedly hated every second. And once again, he wondered if his mother’s obsession with power and her passion for precious stones replaced in her heart the most natural needs. And if it was enough.

“Now, explain your sudden request for this late meeting.” Elizabeth’s calm, detached voice interrupted his musings.

“I have some news,” Dmitry replied calmly and detached. He was his mother’s son, after all.

“Sit,” Elizabeth ordered, pointing to a chair nearby, directly opposite her own.

Dmitry sat, carefully adjusting his tailored trousers, and holding his back straight and his head high. He looked at Elizabeth’s classically beautiful face and into her smoky eyes, and winced inwardly because he realized revealing his secret about Svetlana to her was simply unbearable, like stripping naked before her eyes. Only he wouldn’t be stripping his body, but his soul. And Dmitry hated that with every fiber of his being.

If not for this damned baby, he thought bitterly, his hate for this tiny unwelcome intruder increasing tenfold. He preferred to grieve in silence, to mourn the woman he loved in the sanctuary of his own home, alone. But no, Dmitry fumed impotently, as he was cheated out of even this small luxury, and all because of the baby. This nameless, useless, five-days-old baby.

“Mother, I’m afraid what I’m going to tell you will be an unpleasant surprise.”

Elizabeth didn’t react at all, only kept staring at him, her gunmetal-gray eyes cold and sharp.

He counted ten seconds then said, “Do you remember three years ago when I flew to Moscow to clean up the mess with customs?”

She nodded, her face remaining emotionless.

Dmitry pressed his lips tight before continuing, “I met a woman.” His voice betrayed him, catching on the last word. He fell silent, avoiding her face and those brutal eyes of hers. “She…I…”

“Stop mumbling like an imbecile, Dmitry. You met a woman, you had an affair. At least be man enough to say it,” Elizabeth hissed through her perfect teeth, her distaste quite apparent.

Dmitry jerked back as if she had slapped his face.

“Svetlana Zakharova,” she continued in a dry, almost bored voice. “Ballerina, born December tenth, nineteen sixty-five in Moscow, orphaned two years later. Entered Moscow Ballet Academy on special scholarship for poor gifted children in nineteen seventy-three. Prima ballerina of The Bolshoi Theatre since nineteen eighty.” Elizabeth stated the facts ruthlessly, calmly, brutally.

Shocked, Dmitry looked at her in horrified silence. Each and every word out of her mouth was another nail hammered into the coffin of his disillusionment. Heat crawled up his neck. He felt stupid, mortified.

“You knew? All this time—”

“Of course I knew.” She snorted but managed to do it almost delicately, for snorting was considered beneath her aristocratic statue and very unladylike. “Do you think I’m a fool? I knew all along about—”

“Don’t,” Dmitry’s cut her off with just one word. Softly, almost inaudibly.

He kept his eyes on her face that suddenly was bleached of any color. After a long, charged moment, Elizabeth took a deep breath and visibly recovered.

Took you long enough, Mother.

Was it small of him to draw satisfaction from it? He shrugged inwardly.

To hell with it.

 “All right.” She bowed out semi-graciously. “I won’t say anything more. But it has to stop, Dmitry. Immediately. It went on for too long. May I remind you, in case you forgot, that you are a married man? You have a son, for goodness’ sake.” Then she stated coldly, with brutal finality, “Three years should be enough.”

Dmitry exploded. “How would you know?!”

He was so angry he forgot the cardinal rule of Elizabeth’s household and slid from Russian into English.

“You never loved anybody in your life. I bet you never lost your calm demeanor, not to mention your sense.”

He rose from his chair and towered over her, his hands white knuckled.

“Have you ever felt so happy, so overwhelmed, so gloriously in love that nothing mattered except being together? Have you ever had the absolute knowledge of the one and only person created by God just for you? Have you wished to spend all your days and nights together and even that wouldn’t be long enough?” His voice rose to a shout and he failed to stop himself. “You’ve never known what passion is, have you, Mother? You never lost yourself or your precious self-control in the arms of a lover even for a split second. Sometimes I wonder if you’re human at all.”

A sharp wince contorted her face.

Too close to the truth?

“That’s enough,” she snapped in English, her voice a harsh whisper.

Thank you for stepping behind the scenes with me today.

Writing villains may be one of the hardest parts of storytelling, but it has also taught me that even the darkest characters can illuminate the very best qualities of the heroes who stand against them.

Until next time,

Happy reading,

Stella May